The memory flooded back with sudden clarity.
The party had been held at the Grandmont Estate, one of the largest and most luxurious venues in the city. It was a celebration for some special civic event—Aster couldn't even remember what exactly, something about the city's founding anniversary or a new trade agreement. All he knew was that everyone important had been there: wealthy merchants, noble families, influential politicians, celebrated artists. The city's biggest stars, all gathered under one roof.
The hall itself had been breathtaking: massive marble columns reaching up to a ceiling painted with classical frescoes, golden chandeliers casting warm light over everything, tables laden with expensive delicacies and fine wines. Orchestra music had filled the air, and people had moved about in their finest clothes, laughing and conversing.
But Aster had sat alone at a small table near the edge of the room, feeling out of place despite his family's status. He'd never been comfortable at these grand social events. Too many eyes. Too many expectations.
That's when he'd seen the man.
Standing alone near one of the far columns, partially hidden in shadow. He wore an immaculate black suit—not unlike Aster's own—but his tie was a deep, vibrant red that seemed to almost glow in the chandelier light. And his eyes...
Even from across the crowded room, Aster had noticed those eyes. They were wrong somehow. The color was normal enough—dark, maybe brown or black—but there was something in the way they moved, the way they observed everything with an intensity that made Aster's skin crawl. They didn't blink often enough. They tracked people's movements with an inhuman precision.
The man hadn't been eating. Hadn't been drinking. Hadn't been talking to anyone. Just... standing there. Watching. Almost as if he wasn't real at all, but rather a painting that had been placed there, a two-dimensional figure pretending to be three-dimensional.
Aster had stared at him longer than he should have, unable to look away, feeling an inexplicable sense of wrongness radiating from the figure.
And then—
*Tink.*
A small, clear sound had cut through the music and conversation.
Aster's eyes had been drawn down to the marble floor. A ring had fallen from someone's pocket—a simple gold band that rolled across the floor before coming to rest near his table.
The moment he saw that ring, something changed.
His mind had gone completely numb. His hands had begun trembling uncontrollably. And he'd felt it—an evil presence entering his domain, pressing against his consciousness like icy fingers wrapping around his throat.
The sounds of the party had faded to a distant murmur. His vision had tunneled. The air had grown thick and hard to breathe.
He'd looked back up toward where the man in black had been standing.
But the man was gone.
Simply gone. As if he'd never been there at all.
That was all Aster could remember clearly. The rest of the evening was a blur—he must have left shortly after, must have made his way home in a daze, must have collapsed into his chair the moment he arrived.
But he couldn't tell if this memory was real or if it was part of the nightmare. Had there really been a man at the party? Or had his stressed mind conjured him up?
---
*Thump.*
His violin finally hit the floor, the sound pulling him violently back to the present moment.
Aster looked around his room with fresh eyes, and horror crept up his spine like a spider.
*What he did know was real was this: his current situation.*
His mind was still in that same state of numb dread. The glass from the fallen lantern lay scattered across his floor, glittering like fragments of stars. The blue torches in their wall sconces had all gone out—when had that happened? He hadn't noticed. The room was now lit only by the moonlight streaming through the window and the few remaining lanterns, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls.
The books had fallen from his piano. His violin lay on the floor.
Was this just a series of impossible coincidences? Or was it his fate catching up to him? The curse the presence had spoken of?
*The curse of the unknown follows you.*
Then he heard it.
A long, slow screeching sound.
The door to his room was opening. Slowly. Inch by inch.
The hinges creaked with a sound like nails on glass.
Aster's whole body went rigid. He couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. His eyes locked on the door as it continued to swing open at an agonizingly slow pace, revealing the darkness of the hallway beyond.
Something was coming in.
His heart pounded so hard he thought it might break through his ribs. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but his legs wouldn't obey.
The door opened wider.
Wider.
And then a small figure stepped into the moonlight.
"Aster? Why is your room so dark?"
It was his little sister, Lily. She was only twelve years old, with the same dark hair as him but tied back in a braid. She wore her nightgown and held a small candle in her hands, looking at him with concern.
The tension drained from Aster's body so suddenly that he nearly collapsed. "Oh... oh, it's you," he managed to say, his voice shaking slightly with relief. "You scared me."
Lily walked further into the room, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. She looked around with growing confusion and disapproval. "Your room is a complete mess. You better clean it up before Dad gets home from his trip." She walked over to where the lantern had broken. "And why are the lanterns broken? And your violin is on the floor!" She picked it up carefully, examining it for damage. "What were you doing in here?"
Aster forced what he hoped was a casual smile, though it felt more like a grimace. "Nothing, really. I just... I fell asleep in my chair and knocked some things over when I woke up. That's all."
Lily gave him a skeptical look that was far too knowing for a twelve-year-old. "Uh-huh. Sure." She set his violin back in its stand. "Well, whatever happened, you need to clean this up before it's too late. Dad will be back in the morning, and you know how he gets about keeping the mansion proper."
"I will. Thanks, Lily."
She nodded and turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. "Are you okay? You look really pale."
"I'm fine. Just tired. Long night."
"Okay. Don't stay up too late." She gave him one more concerned look before disappearing into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind her.
The moment she was gone, Aster let out a long, shaky breath.
He was being ridiculous. It was just a series of coincidences. The lantern had fallen because it wasn't placed securely. The books had fallen because they were stacked too high. The torches had gone out because... because they'd been burning for hours and ran out of fuel. That's all.
He needed to clean up and get some proper sleep. Everything would make more sense in the morning.
Aster raised his right hand, and a soft blue glow emanated from his palm—his magic responding to his will. One of the benefits of coming from the Thornwood family: they were one of the old bloodlines, families that still carried genuine magical ability in their veins.
The broken lantern lifted off the floor, its shattered pieces drawing back together like a video played in reverse. Within seconds, it was whole again, the crack in its base sealed perfectly. He set it back on the side table.
Next, he directed his magic toward the wall sconces. Blue flames flickered to life in each one, replacing the ones that had gone out.
His violin rose gently into the air and settled back into its proper stand.
Finally, the books on the floor lifted and arranged themselves in a neat stack on his piano, just as they'd been before.
The room looked normal again. Perfect, even.
But something still felt wrong.
Aster turned to check the time, thinking he might as well get ready for bed properly since sleep probably wouldn't come easily after everything that had happened tonight.
He looked at the ornate clock on his wall.
And his blood turned to ice.
11:30.
It was still 11:30 PM.
*Is the clock broken?*
But no—he could see the second hand still ticking. Moving at its normal pace. Not frozen. Not stopped.
Yet it was still 11:30.
He looked at his pocket watch, pulling it out with trembling fingers.
11:30.
He rushed to the window and looked out at the sky, trying to gauge whether any time had actually passed. But the stars were in the exact same positions. The moon hadn't moved even a fraction of an inch.
His breathing quickened.
With every second that passed—every tick of the clock—his chest grew tighter. The terror that had briefly subsided came rushing back with renewed force, stronger than before.
Because he suddenly understood, with horrible certainty, that time wasn't moving forward.
The clock was ticking, but time itself had stopped.
He was trapped in 11:30 PM.
And somewhere in the darkness beyond his window, something was watching. Waiting.
*The curse of the unknown follows you*