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Chapter One
“My door stays shut during the nighttime.”

There is a creepy cathedral that sits atop a lonely hill overlooking a cheery town. Black and dark, no one in the town ever journeys to visit the dilapidated church for worship because of the devil girl that lives inside.
The people whisper quietly to each other about the mysterious group “They”, who are associated with the old building. No one bothers to see if the rumors are true, for the truth was never a pretty sight.
A light cascading darkness fell about me as I wandered the lonely halls of this quiet building. They say that someone died in here… this very hallway where I stand.
A window of pure red stained glass lay behind me, casting my shadow in a sea of crimson. A low wind whistled lightly out in the shadows outside and I wondered what it was like to journey outside… to see light.
My feet made no noise as I treaded along the hall, mysterious and cold it was. The floors of black stone, stone that was colder than any ice I had ever dared to tread.
A whisper echoed lightly in the hall. I wondered if it was my breath.
Running, faster, quicker, than I had ever done before, I met the cold stone of my terrors full face.
No one knew what it was like in this abyss, for it was always me and my loneliness.
My straggly orange hair fell loosely to the glimmering ice of black and I stared at my reflection in its quiet gaze. If people were to look at me –as they often did for a quick glance passing by- they only saw a quiet girl with lips, bitten and bloody; all the color from her face gone, a white canvas with no expression; and eyes, dark remnants of their former glimmering world of heavenly grey, reduced to mere whips of fog that hid in the shadows. My clothes were that of black, a color I had come to hate the more I saw it. Yet, this painful color was the one I wore, day in, day out; there was no where for me to run now.
“Catleya, is there something wrong?” I heard a soft voice call to me. He was there to guide me, but not for my alliance. The only trust I believe in was that there is no trust, not even within myself.
“No.” I call back weakly, standing up and brushing off my thin black dress lightly. My bare feet were used to the bitter touch of the floor; it was all I had to assure myself that I was really alive.
Shrake looked at me quietly. “You’ll need to be more careful, Catleya, you bruise easily.”
I growled at his words. He speaks as if I didn’t know. Angry, I marched down the hallway, with him traveling behind slowly.
I stared down at the tile and saw his reflection in it; the floor revealed so much about what it saw. Mirrors never lie, no matter where they are placed. Shrake’s gaze was that of quiet contemplation. His deep blue eyes stared only at me, while his black hair shimmered lightly with the flickering candles. Shrake prided himself too much on looks; I’m sickened by him. I don’t understand who he is trying to impress.
“Catleya, why do you always stare at the floor?” Shrake asked delicately, as if trying to make me think he cared.
“Because it is better than looking at you, or anything else for that matter.” I replied.
My feet padded along the floor, the floor I had so long treaded, never fully understanding why I was stuck in this place.
The stairs that lead down to my room came upon me and I walked down them gingerly, being careful not to harm myself. It had always been this way, the carefulness, and the worries that I’d be hurt. After all, no one wants me hurt, I’m the tool.
Shrake stood at the top of the stairs and called down to me. I looked at him quietly and waited patiently for his response.
“Catleya… we’ve known each other for a while now… and I was wondering… if you’d like to go to a movie… or something.” He asked weakly, fidgeting with his hands.
I snorted lightly. He speaks as if he knows nothing of me.
“I cannot journey outside, Shrake, nor would I with an imbecile such as you.” I murmured lightly, opening the darkened oak door lightly and shutting it behind me. I turned the giant iron key and listened gratefully as it clicked shut. I was finally alone, alone with the bittersweet loneliness.
I gasped as I felt something suddenly brush against my foot. A piece of paper lay next to my foot; I stared at it in wonder. “A note?” I murmured quietly to myself, picking it up gingerly and holding it to my nose. The scent of Shrake was on the frayed parchment. Knowing full well it was another hideous prank of his; I put the paper in the garbage.
I struck a match and lit on of my favorite candles. The smell of vanilla warmed my room, the only room without the ice.
I sighed as I fell atop my bed and brushed a dirty curl from my face.
Holding my hand out in front of me, I stared quietly at my wrists. The slits were large, deep, the scars that I had never been able to escape.
How I had wished for the door to my room to always remain locked, so the terrors wouldn’t come for me, so I didn’t have to feel the ice.
I curled up into a little ball and hid beneath the black satin sheets of my bed. Nighttime wasn’t safe for me outside my room. They lurked about during the nighttime. Nighttime was witching hour.
Every full moon, they’d come for me, with hot candles and cold hands. I’d be strapped to the ice, shuddering, shivering, screaming, but they do not hear me, they merely smile as my blood enters their bodies.
Afterwards, I’d be rewarded with fresh food, but it did nothing to satisfy the emptiness that shattered my bones. Never allowed to go outside… never to play, I was so tired…. of this hateful place. Why I was still alive, I could only guess.
As I lay on my bed, trying to free my mind from its frozen bonds, I heard a knock at the door.
“Catleya let me in.” I heard Shrake state forcefully.
It was the nighttime. My door stays shut during the nighttime.
“Catleya, I just want to talk.”
My door stays shut during the nighttime.
Suddenly, I heard a fist slam against the door and a soft sliding sound.
“Catleya, why do you always burn my notes to you?” Shrake asked lightly. I buried my head beneath my pillow, wishing that he’d go away.
I heard him sigh and stand up quietly. “I’ll leave your gift at the door then.”
I lifted my head quietly and murmured softly, “What’s a gift?”
I shrieked when I heard Shrake slam his fists again against the door.
“DAMMIT, Catleya!” He shouted angrily. He sounded like them. I started sobbing.
“Catleya… I’ll be back tomorrow. You don’t have to open it if you don’t want to.”
My candle went out. There is a gift outside my door. My room stays shut during the nighttime.

I like the repeated phrase, "My door stays shut in the nighttime." It's almost haunting, as the protagonist says it over to herself.

Good idea for a story, it's very... addictive (;

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