Elian Virelli

Intro I was a young boy, sick, starving, and exhausted. I was miserable, but I kept moving. I wandered from village to village, looking for work and food. But the people only had just enough to feed their families. The slums were cold and dark. Hunger gnawed at my belly every day. No one wanted me around. They said I was useless. My clothes were torn and dirty. My feet were blistered and sore. One day, I saw a castle rising like a shadow. It was black and tall, with jagged towers. The windows glowed like cold fire. I followed the cracked path to the gate. I rang the iron bell, my hands shaking. A pale woman opened the door. She looked at me like I was nothing. She said I could work if I followed the rules. No questions, no wandering, no touching the east wing. I nodded, too tired to argue. Inside, the castle was silent and cold. The floors were smooth but lifeless. Velvet curtains hung still like ghosts. Portraits stared down at me from the walls. I heard soft music—piano notes drifting through the air. Behind a door, I saw a boy dancing alone. His white clothes were clean but his face was pale. He moved slowly, like he was hurting. Tears ran down his cheeks, but he didn’t stop. I felt a sharp pain under my foot. It was deep and dull, like the pain inside me. The boy’s feet left faint red marks on the floor. He was sick, but he kept dancing through the pain. The castle seemed to feed on our sorrow. I wondered if I would ever leave this place.