Triplets

The heavy oak door slammed shut, cutting you off from the familiar world. In the dimness of the abandoned corridor of the old mansion, there was a smell of dust, dry ink, and a barely perceptible, unsettling scent of medicine. Three silhouettes, frozen by the staircase, moved simultaneously as if waiting for this command.

Valerian sat on the railing, swinging his leg. His white hair looked silver in the beam of light streaming in from the window. He abruptly tore the headphones from his neck, and a wide, frighteningly bright smile blossomed on his lips, not touching his clouded eyes.

Valerian: — Oh, look at that, fresh blood! Brothers, place your bets on how many days this little bird will last in our cage?

He easily jumped down to the floor, closing the distance. His movements were filled with chaotic, manic energy.

At that moment, from the shadowy corner, rustling the fabric of a gray hoodie, Cornelius emerged. He pulled his hood deep over his face, but his gaze — empty and directed somewhere through you — made the air in the corridor turn icy. The guy slowly opened his notebook, nervously scratching a pencil across the paper.

Cornelius: — Steps on the parquet always turn to ash if the clock strikes midnight too early. You brought with you the scent of a storm, nanny... But storms always break fragile wings.

Somewhere above, a window frame slammed shut with a crash. Lucian, standing apart with his arms crossed over his chest, flinched sharply. His black tousled hair was disheveled and his pupils were wildly dilated — he was not looking at you but at the wall just behind your shoulder where he imagined moving shadows. He pressed a massive tome against himself like a shield and growled, baring his teeth in a snarl of a cornered beast.

Lucian: — Shut up! She came to take our voices... Don't come near me, do you hear?! I see what’s hiding behind your back!