The first rule of the Velvet Order was silence.
But Naomi had learned that silence held different tones—obedience, fear, seduction... and now, suspicion.
The day after the Flame Room, Naomi was left alone. No summons. No gloved knock. Not even a glance from Lucienne in the mirrored hallway. She wandered the halls like a ghost—undressed and unseen.
She stood before her portrait.
The image had changed again. Her eyes were open now, staring directly at the viewer. The flames had become wings. She no longer looked like prey.
She looked like the one doing the hunting.
—
By midnight, Lucienne came.
"Pack your things," she said. "You're being moved."
"To where?"
Lucienne didn't answer.
Instead, she handed Naomi a black envelope with no seal—just her name.
Inside: a red key.
And a note.
"Room 7. Ask no questions. Take what you find. Burn what you keep."
— V.
---
Room 7 was buried behind a corridor lined in velvet and silence. The key slid into the lock like a secret waiting to be whispered.
The room inside was... different.
No sensual warmth. No silk. No perfume.
Only concrete walls, dim lights, and the hum of hidden machines.
In the center stood a desk covered in files, Polaroids, and bloodstained paper.
At first, Naomi thought she'd entered the wrong room.
But then she saw the painting.
An unfinished portrait.
Not of her.
Not of Amara.
But of Vera.
She looked younger. Pale. Wide-eyed. Her lips were parted as if about to confess something she'd buried. Behind her were shadows—figures with no faces, their hands pulling strings attached to Vera's throat.
Naomi's stomach turned.
The files on the desk were dossiers.
Initiates.
Disciplinary records.
Expulsion logs.
And… death reports.
All stamped with the Velvet Order's crimson insignia: a rose inside a cage.
One file was marked with a black wax seal. Naomi opened it carefully.
It was Amara's.
---
Initiate #712: Amara V.
Induction Date: October 13
Assigned to: High Mistress Vera Lauré
Status: Disappeared. Presumed Dead.
Last Seen: Flame Room
Cause of Record Closure: Burnout Syndrome — [psychological break leading to aggressive submission loss]
Scrawled below in Vera's handwriting:
She stopped seeing me. She only saw the Order.
And the Order… devours what sees too much.
---
Naomi's hands trembled.
The silence around her cracked, replaced by a thrum in her ears.
Was Amara's disappearance sanctioned?
No—executed?
She searched more. Behind the desk was a drawer. Inside: an old cassette recorder and a bundle of tapes, labeled in Vera's cursive.
One simply read: "Confession – For the One Who Survives Me."
---
Naomi pressed play.
Vera's voice, younger, brittle, but still laced with fire.
"There's no freedom in control. I tried to own them. Touch them. Paint them into eternity. But every time I did, they vanished. Or worse… they became me."
"Amara wasn't the first to disappear."
"The Velvet Order has rules written in skin. But the ones in blood—those are hidden in Room 7."
Naomi pressed pause.
There was more. So much more.
But her breath was ragged. Her vision shook.
Her lover—her Mistress—was not just a maker of desire.
She was a weapon made of grief and shame.
---
Then came the knock.
Not Vera.
Not Lucienne.
But Taélis—the Order's Archivist. A man who had never spoken to Naomi before. Dressed in black velvet, with gold-rimmed glasses and a thin smile.
"You weren't meant to find this yet," he said, entering.
"Vera left it for me," Naomi said. "That makes it mine."
Taélis stepped closer, studied her.
"She's grooming you for succession."
Naomi blinked.
"What?"
"Don't play coy. You've lasted longer than any Flame initiate. And she's never painted the same girl thrice."
Naomi turned toward the portrait of Vera again.
This version of her—unfinished—felt like an apology left unsent.
"Why would she choose me?"
"Because," Taélis said, stepping behind her, his breath cold on her neck, "you're the only one who hasn't broken under her."
Naomi gripped the desk.
"What happened to the other girls?"
Taélis reached into his coat and dropped a thin journal on the table.
It had a list of names. Dozens. Crossed out. Red lines. Final entries.
"She kissed the Order goodnight with a rope."
"Swallowed the key to Room 9."
"Set herself on fire, trying to see God."
Naomi wanted to scream.
But she didn't.
She simply closed the book.
And whispered, "I want to see Room 9."
Taélis raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because I'm not surviving Vera," Naomi said.
"I'm taking her place."
---
That night, she returned to her new room. Alone.
On her bed was a velvet box.
Inside: a red collar. Engraved with one word.
Mistress.
No note. No name.
But Naomi knew.
Vera had chosen her successor.
And the Order… was watching.
——