The Mystic Castle - Part 1
My footsteps tapped eerily across the stone floor as I hurried to the east wing of the castle. The most deserted wing, the most accessible wing, and easily the darkest.
The lanterns hadn't been lit since ten years ago; August 1976. The servants simply didn't bother. Indeed, the wooden door carved with a wreath of roses and ivy was rusty and the lock looked as if it would rather fall down than stay in place. The dust had gathered round the frame and set off a thundercloud of ominous grey shooting off into the distance every time I went through.
Some people said the wing was haunted, but I didn't believe them. Not really. I appreciated
e the possibility that there could be a ghost lurking in it's rooms, but I was a more scientific person. No people there - no ghosts.
Ghosts or not, it was a jolly good place to explore. The rooms here had evidently been made for children; the rocking horses stared at me mournfully with their beady glass eyes, the teddies' heads lolled on by their last stitches, evidently having been hugged (or rather, choked, to death), and the dolls' once-poker-straight blonde hair was tangled and matted with neglect.
I didn't mind, though the nannies and governesses which had nursed the children here probably would faint on the spot if they saw the state of the space they'd once had spick-and-span.
To be honest, I thought being here was helping me cope. Cope with realizing the childhood I'd had was peppered with trauma and that my parents hated me. They didn't care. Neither did they want to change.
My mother had died last year, my father was left disabled. Car accident.
I'd been found where I'd been hiding in the nearby village, Poppywoe, with my friend. I'd ran away from the castle as a teenager, fixated on the idea my parents weren't really the loving type and I'd be better off in a platonic relationship with my friend. It was true, true as heck - but I still needed to be there, apparently, for my father, after his crash.
To "cheer him up," apparently. How on earth was I supposed to cheer him up when half my childhood he'd yelled at me?
I missed my mother, of course. But I still remembered the abuse she'd poured down on me, the endless bad words and streams of negativity. I hadn't ran away for nothing.
My father wasn't in no fit state to yell at me anymore. You could see it in his eyes, though, the way he looked at me - he hated me no end, yet wanted - needed- me to help him.
I wasn't the Devil. I helped him. Reminisced on the rare nice moments I'd had with my mother. And got on with my miserable life back at the castle.
But now, so late at night and so alone with my thoughts, I felt overwhelmed.
Runaway-victim of abuse- carer- loser.
The words running through my head were harsh.
I leant my head against the stain-glass window at the other end of the room. It felt cool and deliciously refreshing. I wanted to stay there, I didn't want to go back.
But I had to. I had no other choice.
Oh, it was just too much. I wanted to sink down on the floor and weep, and stay curled up in a ball forever. I couldn't cope. I needed help. Serious help.
The tears splashed down my face in steady rivulets as I pressed my face even harder against the glass.

The End
What do you think will happen next?
The Bookworm

In the next part, you may find the protagonist seeking solace or guidance, perhaps encountering a mysterious figure within the castle. Emotions will likely intensify as they grapple with their past and current responsibilities, leading to a pivotal moment of decision or revelation.

Hi Aayushi, thanks for the reply - I love your suggestion! Let's see if you were right in Part 2!

Part 2: (The Mystic Castle Short Story)
I stayed leaning against the window for what seemed like forever, wrapped up in my own pities, thoughts and trials. I didn't know what to do anymore - who to turn to, what to comfort me - how to solve the problem. In the past I'd always made myself a hot chocolate and then burrowed under my four-poster bed, wept for an hour, dried my tears, and gritted my teeth as I got out. It was the way I worked. Independent. Mostly self-reassuring. Mostly.
But now, as negativity clouded my brain, the part of me that used to tell myself I'd blunder through somehow was getting lost. I felt like I'd been shattered into a million pieces; my mind foggy and distant, my head burning.
I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts, and checked my watch. Half past two at night. I had to get back to bed before anyone noticed me. I slipped back into my wing and into my quarters. No one would dare pry here. I was safe now to plan my escape; heaven knew I needed to get out of there.
If I didn't, I'd rot - for certain.
It didn't matter I felt a terrible daughter at leaving my father to be sick, I told myself. It didn't. He received the best care from the servants daily. All I was there for was to "give him pleasure," according to the butler who took pity on the swears my father used daily and thought he could do with some family love.
I snorted unbelievably at this. My father could not love me even if he tried. It's a fact.
Where would I go? I could not possibly go back to Lottie in the village again. It would be far too dangerous for her and it would be the first place the search party would look. I thought far and wide, and suddenly - bingo!
When a child in the village disappeared "under mysterious circumstances" four years ago, the villagers appealed outside the castle to my father for a search party to be sent out. The generals fired up their skills and, under my father's orders (at that point, he desperately needed some popularity), they searched every part of the county. But they didn't search beyond the county; they said it was not possible a child could not have enough intellect to travel unseen further than where they had searched. But I disagreed. And so - if I managed to travel further than I did on my last attempt, I could be successful.
A spark of excitement kindled in my stomach. I was latching onto a rather ingenious idea.

In the next part, the character will continue to develop her escape plan and carry it out to some extent... how do you think she will escape and do it successfully?
I'd appreciate any suggestions if you have any!
Thanks, The Bookworm