Scene 3 – The Vanished Hunger
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The hallway leading to the grand dining room felt unusually long tonight. Every step Sarah took echoed faintly on the cold marble floor, like whispers of hesitation bouncing off stone walls. Her heart thumped against her ribs, loud enough to be mistaken for footsteps behind her.
She wasn't entirely in her mind—her thoughts flipped like frantic pages, torn by wind, out of sequence. She didn't want to go. Every part of her resisted. But hunger, and something colder—fear, perhaps—pushed her forward.
A moment earlier, a timid knock had broken her silence.
"Ms. Sarah," the maid said, voice low, "The lord wishes you to join him for dinner."
Not an invitation. A decree.
Sarah had only nodded. "Hmm… okay."
Now, walking as directed, her chest felt heavier with every step. When she opened the door to the dining hall, her breath caught.
A grand chandelier spilled warm, golden light across the space. The silverware glimmered like diamonds against pristine plates. The long table—made of dark mahogany—stretched like a stage. At the far end of it, Andrew was already seated, unnervingly poised, as though he'd been waiting all along.
Sarah entered, eyes tracing everything—the curtains, the flowers, the walls—everything but him.
A servant quietly pulled out her chair. She sat, her head lowered slightly, shoulders tense. Her hands were cold despite the warmth of the room.
Then, with a casual wave, Andrew dismissed the servant.
Now, it was just them.
Her pulse quickened. The silence thickened.
And then—
"Start eating," he said.
His voice was raw and clipped. Not unkind. Just unreadable. Commanding.
Sarah nodded, barely, and picked up her fork. She stared at her plate. The food looked beautiful. Lavish. Fragrant.
But her appetite had vanished the moment she entered the hall. Hunger had been replaced by an invisible weight pressing against her chest. Every swallow was a struggle.
The only sound was the sharp, metallic click of cutlery against fine porcelain.
Then, without looking at her, he spoke again—
"Accompany me like this every evening. During dinner."
It wasn't a question. It wasn't even a request. Just another order. Spoken in a voice calm enough to scare her more than shouting ever could.
Sarah nodded again, her grip tightening around the fork.
Every second passed like an hour. She wanted to disappear.
She wanted to breathe.
And yet—she stayed.
She didn't know what he wanted from her. Why he had brought her here. Why this.
Only when he finished his meal did he finally say—
"You may go. Rest."
She stood up without speaking, without looking back. Her hands trembled at her sides. Her steps felt hollow.
And when she reached her room, she shut the door with a quiet slam—not from anger, but as if trying to hold everything else out.
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