《Victoria's Secret》


 Prologue- An Early Fright

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    In the earliest memory etched into my mind, one that has lingered vividly since childhood, I recall a night that left an indelible mark on my young self. It may seem trivial to some, yet its significance will become apparent in due time. The nursery, my private domain within the vast castle, was a spacious room with an imposing oak roof. At the tender age of six, I awoke one night to find the nursery deserted. Neither the nursery maid nor my nurse was in sight, leaving me with a sense of abandonment. Unfamiliar with ghostly tales and fairy lore that often haunt young minds, I felt more annoyed than frightened at being left alone. Just as I was about to voice my discontent with a bout of tears, a lovely face caught my eye¡ªa young lady kneeling beside my bed, her hands gently tucked under the covers.


    Her presence, solemn yet comforting, calmed my unease. She caressed me tenderly, lying down beside me with a reassuring smile that lulled me back to sleep. However, my peaceful slumber was abruptly interrupted by a sharp pain in my chest, as if two needles had pierced me simultaneously. Startled, I cried out, prompting the lady to retreat and seemingly vanish under the bed.


    Fear gripped me for the first time as I screamed for help. The household rushed to my side, their attempts to soothe me tinged with an underlying anxiety. Despite their efforts to dismiss my account as mere imagination, their pale faces betrayed their concern. The housekeeper¡¯s whispered revelation to the nurse confirmed my fears¡ªthe spot beside me was still warm, indicating someone had indeed been there.


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    In the aftermath of that eerie night, a servant was stationed in the nursery every night until I reached my teenage years. The incident left me jittery and wary, leading to frequent visits from a doctor whose pallid countenance and antiquated wig did little to ease my discomfort.


    Even in the reassuring light of day, I couldn¡¯t shake off the terror that had gripped me. My father¡¯s attempts to console me fell short, as I knew deep down that the spectral visitation was no mere dream¡ªit was a chilling reality that haunted my thoughts.


    The nursery maid¡¯s attempt to reassure me, claiming she had been the one beside me in bed and that I must have mistaken her face in my drowsiness, offered some solace. However, her words, echoed by the nurse, didn¡¯t entirely dispel my doubts.


    As I reflected on that unsettling night, a memory surfaced¡ªa dignified elderly man in a black cassock, entering the room with the nurse and housekeeper. His presence exuded kindness and wisdom, his face etched with a serene gentleness. He spoke to them briefly and then turned to me, joining my hands together and guiding me in a soft prayer, ¡°Lord hear all good prayers for us, for Jesus¡¯ sake.¡± Those words stuck with me, becoming a part of my nightly prayers as my nurse instructed.


    The image of that old man, with his silver hair and comforting demeanor, remained vivid in my mind. Standing amidst the ancient furnishings of the room, bathed in the dim light filtering through the small lattice window, he knelt down along with the three women. His voice, filled with sincerity, echoed in prayer for what seemed like an eternity. Everything before and after that moment is a blur, shrouded in obscurity, but the scenes of that day remain starkly clear in my memory, like vivid pictures in a darkened gallery.

 Chapter 1 - The Letter

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    Allow me to unravel a tale so extraordinary, it challenges the very boundaries of belief. What I share is no figment of imagination but a firsthand account of an event that defies conventional explanation.


    It was a serene summer evening when my father proposed a leisurely stroll, a customary pastime for us. We wandered along a picturesque wooded trail near our family¡¯s estate, known as the schloss, enveloped in the tranquil whispers of nature.


    Amidst our tranquil walk, my father¡¯s words shattered the peaceful silence. ¡°General Hamilton¡¯s visit to our abode has been delayed,¡± he revealed, a tinge of disappointment in his tone.


    The General had promised a prolonged stay, set to commence the following day. Accompanying him was to be his niece and ward, Mademoiselle Reinfeldt¡ªa lady whose physical form I had yet to behold but whose character had been vividly painted in my mind through animated descriptions. The prospect of her arrival had fueled my solitary daydreams for weeks, promising a new and enchanting companionship. The delay in their visit dashed my hopes, a sentiment perhaps incomprehensible to those immersed in urban distractions or social revelries. For me, this anticipated meeting and the prospect of a novel friendship had been the focal point of my thoughts.


    Yearning for a glimmer of optimism, I asked eagerly, ¡°When can we expect them?¡±


    ¡°Not until the leaves don their autumn attire. At least a couple of months from now,¡± he replied gravely. ¡°In truth, it¡¯s a blessing that you haven¡¯t met Mademoiselle Reinfeldt.¡±


    Intrigued and eager for answers, I pressed on, ¡°Why do you say that?¡±


    The weight of my father¡¯s next words bore down heavily upon me. ¡°The unfortunate young lady has passed away,¡± he revealed, sorrow shading his eyes. ¡°I neglected to tell you earlier¡ªI received the tragic news in General Hamilton¡¯s letter this evening while you were out of the room.¡±


    His announcement hit me like a sudden tempest; our previous correspondence with General Hamilton had hinted at his fragile health but had given no indication of imminent danger.


    Handing me the letter, he added, ¡°Here, read it for yourself. The General¡¯s words are heavy with grief; each sentence seems penned by a hand trembling under the weight of despair.¡±


    With a sense of apprehension, I unfolded the parchment, each line confirming the depth of sorrow that gripped the General¡¯s soul¡ªa sorrow now beginning to echo within me.


    Seeking solace, my father and I found respite on a rustic wooden bench, nestled amidst the grandeur of towering linden trees. The fading daylight cast a solemn beauty over the scene, as the nearby brook¡ªour constant companion, flowing beneath an ancient stone bridge¡ªreflected the dimming twilight in its tranquil waters. General Hamilton¡¯s letter, filled with passionate yet contradictory sentiments, compelled me to read it twice¡ªonce silently, and then aloud for my father to hear¡ªyet its mystery remained elusive. It was evident that grief had clouded the General¡¯s reasoning.


    The letter began with a heartrending confession. ¡°The blow has fallen¡ªI¡¯ve lost my beloved daughter, as dear to me as life itself. In Mollie¡¯s final moments, I lacked the strength to convey this sorrow to you.


    I had shielded myself in ignorance until reality dealt its cruel hand. Mollie departed this world, clinging to her innocence and bright with dreams of eternity. The very presence we welcomed into our home, believing it to be a source of joy and purity, turned out to be the harbinger of tragedy. How blind I was! In our midst, evil masqueraded as charm, deceiving us all.¡±


    ¡°My gratitude to fate knows no bounds, for Mollie departed this world without knowledge of the affliction that claimed her or the sinister obsession that led to her demise. My life¡¯s purpose now is to hunt down and eradicate this monstrous evil. There are whispers of hope that I may yet succeed in this righteous crusade. Yet, as it stands, my resolve flickers amidst the darkness of this mission,¡± the General confided, his words heavy with grief.


    ¡°I blame myself for my skepticism and arrogance, for failing to see the truth until it was too late. Curse my shortcomings!¡± he lamented. ¡°But these realizations come too late. I struggle to find words now; grief clouds my thoughts. Once I regain composure, I plan to embark on an investigation, possibly even to Vienna, to untangle this web of deceit.¡±


    ¡°Whether by autumn¡¯s arrival or sooner, if fortune allows, I aim to visit you¡ªshould you be open to such a meeting. Then, face-to-face, I will share with you what my pen trembles to write. Until then, dear friend,¡± he concluded, ¡°farewell and keep me in your prayers.¡±


    As I finished reading the perplexing letter, a wave of emotion swept over me. The name Mollie Reinfeldt, a stranger to me, stirred an inexplicable sadness and disappointment within.


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    The world around us had transitioned into twilight, casting everything in a dusky hue as I returned the letter to my father. Lost in contemplation, we strolled through the gentle clarity of the approaching night, pondering the dark secrets and turbulent emotions hidden within those cryptic lines.


    Our path back to the main road¡ªa stretch of nearly a mile¡ªwas dappled with shadows and moonlit patches, creating a surreal ambiance. As we approached the schloss¡¯s drawbridge, the lively chatter of Madame Penelope and Mademoiselle De Lafontaine reached us before we saw them¡ªenjoying an evening stroll without their bonnets to savor the night¡¯s tranquility.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t tonight simply magical?¡± exclaimed Madame Penelope as we drew near.


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s like a scene from one of Lady Ward¡¯s novels,¡± Mademoiselle De Lafontaine replied dreamily. They were captivated by the moonlit scenery, their voices filled with excitement as they discussed the enchanting night.


    Reaching the bridge¡¯s arch alongside them, we paused to admire the view¡ªa landscape bathed in silver moonlight, transforming our familiar surroundings into a Gothic masterpiece, perfect for whispered tales and shared awe under the watchful gaze of the moon.


    The clearing stretched out before us, revealing its natural splendor under the moon¡¯s gentle glow. On our left, a narrow path wound through majestic trees, vanishing into the dense forest. To our right, the same path crossed a picturesque bridge, flanked by a weathered tower that once stood sentinel over the pass. Beyond the bridge, a steep hill emerged, crowned with trees and dotted with grey rocks embraced by ivy, casting eerie shadows in the moonlight.


    A soft mist draped over the grass and lowlands like ethereal smoke, creating a translucent veil that occasionally revealed glimpses of the shimmering river below.


    Despite the weight of recent news hanging heavy in my heart, casting a bittersweet hue over the scene, the profound tranquility of the landscape remained unbroken. There was an enchanting aura of haziness and mystery that pervaded the air, untouched by earthly concerns.


    My father, an admirer of such scenic vistas, and I stood in silent reverence, absorbing the beauty before us. Behind us, our governesses engaged in their own quiet discourse about the panoramic view, their voices a melodic backdrop to the serene night.


    ¡°Oh my goodness,¡± sighed Madame Penelope, her hand resting on her chest. She was of a comfortable build and seasoned in years, her eyes alight with a romantic fervor. ¡°Isn¡¯t this scene reminiscent of poetry?¡±


    ¡°Yes, indeed,¡± Mademoiselle De Lafontaine added, her tone contemplative. With her German heritage, she often delved into matters of philosophy and mysticism. Absently twirling a lock of her hair, she continued, ¡°The moon¡¯s brilliance tonight speaks of profound awakenings in the spiritual realm.¡±


    ¡°Do you truly believe that?¡± Madame Penelope inquired, drawn into Mademoiselle¡¯s musings.


    ¡°Absolutely,¡± Mademoiselle affirmed, her expression earnest. ¡°The full moon¡¯s radiance influences more than just the tides and the passing hours¡ªit stirs dreams, incites passions, and impacts those of us attuned to its subtle energies.¡± She clasped her hands together as if embracing this profound truth. ¡°Its power over life is extraordinary.¡±


    Madame Penelope nodded in agreement, captivated by Mademoiselle¡¯s insights into the lunar mysteries.


    ¡°To illustrate,¡± Mademoiselle interjected with a theatrical flair, pausing for effect, ¡°I recall a tale from a cousin of mine who served as first mate on a ship. One moonlit night much like this, he fell asleep on deck.¡±


    ¡°And then?¡± prompted Madame Penelope, leaning in with anticipation.


    ¡°He dreamt of an old hag clawing at his cheek,¡± Mademoiselle continued in a hushed tone, adding a touch of mystery to her narrative. ¡°Upon waking, his face bore a twisted expression from the moon¡¯s touch¡ªa deformity that never fully corrected itself afterward.¡±


    Gasps of astonishment escaped Madame Penelope¡¯s lips, while my father and I quietly observed how even our governesses¡¯ imaginative tales couldn¡¯t disturb the serene beauty of the night.


    ¡°The moon tonight,¡± Mademoiselle whispered, her voice carrying a reverence akin to ancient legends, ¡°bathes the world in a tranquil yet enchanting light. Look at the castle¡¯s facade¡ªsee how it gleams! Its windows seem alive, as if beckoning ethereal beings to fill its chambers with the spirits of yore.¡±


    In that moment, I surrendered to a tranquil mood, content to listen to the soft rhythm of conversation weaving around me. The ladies¡¯ voices created a delightful melody that harmonized with the peaceful scene.


    Breaking the quietude that had settled like a gentle blanket, my father spoke, his tone tinged with a hint of melancholy. ¡°Tonight finds me lost in somber contemplations.¡± Drawing from Shakespeare¡¯s wisdom, he recited with the familiarity of an old friend: ¡°¡¯In truth, I know not why I am so sad. It wearies me; you say it wearies you. But how I got it¡ªwhat it stems from¡ª¡¯¡± He paused, his memory faltering. ¡°The rest escapes me. Yet, there¡¯s a weight upon my chest¡ªa sense of impending events. Perhaps it¡¯s sparked by the troubling letter from General Hamilton.¡±


    Amidst our introspective musings, an unexpected commotion shattered the tranquility¡ªan approaching procession of carriage wheels and hoofbeats, disrupting our serene gathering. The sounds grew louder, signaling their imminent arrival from the elevated path overlooking the bridge.


    Our curiosity piqued, we turned our attention to this unusual spectacle making its way toward us. Two riders on horseback led the procession, followed closely by a grand carriage drawn by four steeds, flanked by two more riders at the rear.


    The pageantry before us bespoke nobility on the move¡ªa sight seldom seen in these parts. Such grandeur held us spellbound until what was once merely intriguing took a sharp turn into chaos.


    As they crested the top of our viewable world¡ªthe apex of that looming bridge¡ªone beast reared in terror, unleashing its panic into its kin. A few heartbeats¡¯ worth of struggle later saw them all succumbing to frenzy; they galloped as one towards us¡ªa stampede fueled by unbridled terror.


    The spectacle turned harrowing as we heard it: a woman¡¯s scream¡ªa crystalline and sustained note of fear¡ªfrom deep within that wildly swaying carriage as it hurtled itself like a thunderbolt down upon us.

 Chapter 2 - The Wreckage

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    Approaching cautiously, a mix of dread and curiosity propelled me forward in silence, contrasting sharply with the terrified cries erupting from my companions into the chilly night air. The torturous wait for what was to come didn¡¯t linger long.


    As we neared the castle¡¯s imposing drawbridge, following the same path as the panicked travelers, a grand lime tree stretched towards the sky on one side, while an ancient stone cross stood sentinel on the other¡ªa testament to bygone solemnities. The horses, in their blind panic and frantic sprint, jerked violently to avoid the gnarled roots of the sentinel tree.


    Bracing for the impending disaster, I shut my eyes tight, unwilling to witness the impending calamity, while my head turned away in horror. Desperate screams from my companions rang out behind me, urging me to look away, but their cries were abruptly silenced by the shock of what unfolded.


    With morbid fascination, I forced my eyes open to witness chaos incarnate. Two horses lay defeated on the ground, their carriage tilted grotesquely on its side, its wheels mocking us from above. Rescuers scrambled to free the steeds from their entangled burden as a woman of commanding presence emerged, her pale hands clutching a fluttering handkerchief that seemed like a ghostly signal amid the chaos.


    ¡°Oh God, someone help!¡± Her voice cut through the disorder, a cry of desperation.


    From the wreckage emerged another figure¡ªa young woman who seemed more ethereal than flesh, gently lifted from the wreckage. My father, ever the pillar of compassion, rushed to offer solace to the older woman, his gestures conveying both comfort and sanctuary within the safety of our family¡¯s stronghold. But her focus remained solely on the frail figure cradled against the earth.


    ¡°Sir,¡± she finally spoke with trembling lips to my father, ¡°your kindness is a beacon in this dark hour.¡±


    Only time would reveal if that light could dispel the encroaching shadows¡ªor if darkness would once again claim dominion over our fates.


    As I drew closer, the eerie stillness surrounding the girl lying on the ground unsettled me. Yet, she breathed¡ªa fragile flicker of life refusing to be snuffed out. My father, assuming the role of healer, pressed his fingertips against her pale wrist, assessing her weak yet steady pulse. The distraught woman, claiming to be her mother, absorbed his reassurance like a thirsty flower soaking in rain. Her hands joined in a silent prayer of gratitude before she succumbed once more to her melodramatic sorrow¡ªan inherent trait in some.


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    Despite her age, the woman exuded remnants of a once-striking beauty. Clad in somber black velvet, she projected an aura of noble authority even as fear visibly shook her.


    ¡°Could this be my luck¡ªforever haunted by misfortune?¡± I overheard her dramatic lament to the empty air. ¡°Here I am, in the midst of a critical journey where every moment counts¡ªtime lost could mean everything lost. My daughter lies weak and vulnerable; her recovery¡¯s timing is uncertain. But I cannot delay; I must press on without her. Sir,¡± she implored my father with urgency, ¡°how far is the nearest settlement? I have no choice but to leave her, only to reunite months from now, unable to catch even a glimpse of my precious child or hear news of her recovery.¡±


    Urgently tugging at my father¡¯s sleeve, I whispered with pleading intensity, ¡°Dad, you have to offer her to stay with us¡ªit would be amazing, wouldn¡¯t it? Please!¡±


    Turning to the lady with a proposal aimed at easing her distress, my father began with a touch of formality, ¡°Madame, if you would honor us by entrusting your daughter into my care, alongside my own child and our esteemed governess Madame Penelope, we would welcome her as a cherished guest. We¡¯ll ensure her safety and well-being until your return, treating her with the utmost care and responsibility.¡±


    The lady hesitated, torn between desperation and gratitude. ¡°Oh sir,¡± her words seemed to well up from deep within, ¡°I couldn¡¯t possibly burden you with such kindness and chivalry.¡± Despite her protest, a glimmer of unspoken hope shone through her tear-filled eyes.


    With graceful insistence, my father implored her, ¡°Sheltering her in our home would be a mercy for which we¡¯d be forever grateful. Misfortune has cruelly robbed my daughter of her anticipated joy. Your trust in leaving her under our roof would be her salvation.¡± The urgency of the situation was evident¡ªthere was no nearby village offering suitable lodging, and the dangers of continuing her journey were undeniable. ¡°If you must proceed on your voyage,¡± he reasoned with the distraught woman, ¡°then entrust her to our guardianship tonight.¡±


    Despite her grand carriage, the lady exuded nobility and authority, commanding respect beyond her external trappings, subtly conveying her high status.


    With the carriage restored to its upright position and the horses calm once more, a silent exchange between mother and daughter hinted at an affection less warm than expected. The lady signaled discreetly to my father, stepping aside for a private conversation that struck me with its seriousness¡ªa marked departure from her earlier charm.


    I couldn¡¯t resist stealing glances at their hushed yet intense dialogue, intrigued by the unfolding drama.


    After a brief conference, she returned to her daughter¡¯s side under Madame Penelope¡¯s watchful care. Kneeling down, she whispered what sounded like a prayer or a protective spell, followed by a swift embrace. Then, with the urgency of someone fleeing shadows, she boarded her carriage.


    As the door closed behind her, liveried attendants sprang into action. Spectators watched as outriders set off with a startle, and postilions urged their steeds forward amid cracking whips. The carriage surged into motion, leaving us in a whirl of dust and intrigue¡ªfuel for whispered tales among both nobility and common folk.

 Chapter 3 - We Compare Notes

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    As the woman¡¯s carriage disappeared into the mist-shrouded forest, it felt like a fleeting dream, leaving behind only the fading echoes of hooves and wheels in the night¡¯s quietude. The only tangible reminder of the recent commotion was the stirring figure of the girl, slowly awakening. Though her face was turned away from me, I caught the soft query that escaped her lips, ¡°Where¡¯s my mother?¡±


    Madame Penelope, ever maternal, responded with a gentle warmth, her words aimed at comforting the young girl¡¯s troubled soul.


    Confusion tinged her next whisper, ¡°Where am I?¡± Her voice rose with a hint of panic. ¡°I can¡¯t see our carriage. And where¡¯s Maska?¡±


    Madame Penelope offered explanations as best she could, while the events of the past moments slowly began to piece together in the young lady¡¯s mind. The realization that her mother had left her temporarily brought tears to her eyes.


    I moved forward with words of solace, but Mademoiselle De Lafontaine¡¯s firm touch on my arm stopped me. With wise eyes, she murmured, ¡°Hold back; too many voices might overwhelm her fragile spirit.¡±


    Plans were made to visit her once she had rested in her room. In the meantime, my father quickly dispatched a servant to fetch a doctor from a distant location, while preparations for the girl¡¯s accommodations were underway.


    Struggling to stand, the stranger leaned on Madam¡¯s arm for support, and together they made their way across the drawbridge and through the ancient gates of our castle¡ªa sanctuary unknown yet laden with unspoken mysteries.


    Entering the echoing hall, a group of servants stood ready, poised to guide her to her chamber. Our usual gathering spot, the lounge, sprawled with its quartet of windows overlooking the moat and drawbridge, revealing the forest vista I had described earlier. Adorned in ancient oak, with heavy cabinets and chairs draped in rich crimson Utrecht velvet, it was a blend of grandeur and comfort. Tapestry-clad walls framed in gold depicted life-sized figures in archaic attire, frozen in scenes of revelry and hunting. Despite its imposing appearance, the lounge exuded warmth; it was where we gathered for tea¡ªa nod to my father¡¯s fondness for tradition¡ªalongside our coffee and chocolate.


    That night, we convened there, the soft glow of candles illuminating our discussions about the day¡¯s peculiar events.


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    ¡°Another cup, Madame Penelope?¡± I offered, extending the teapot, while Mademoiselle De Lafontaine leaned in with a conspiratorial giggle.


    ¡°Our mystery maiden has already succumbed to sleep,¡± I remarked with fascination in my voice. Turning to Madame Penelope, I couldn¡¯t resist probing, ¡°What¡¯s your impression of her? Share your thoughts!¡±


    Sipping her tea delicately, Madame couldn¡¯t contain her enthusiasm. ¡°She¡¯s enchanting,¡± she revealed with a smile. ¡°Truly, she might just be the most beautiful young lady I¡¯ve ever seen; she carries herself with such grace and charm, reminiscent of you at her age.¡±


    Mademoiselle leaned forward with eager anticipation, nearly spilling her tea in her eagerness. ¡°She is bewitchingly beautiful,¡± she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling after sneaking an earlier glimpse at the stranger¡¯s quarters.


    Madame Penelope sighed dreamily, filled with wonder. ¡°And oh! That voice,¡± she added, her expression full of admiration.


    The room fell into a momentary silence before Mademoiselle leaned closer, her voice low but urgent. ¡°But did any of you catch sight of that strange woman in the carriage? After they righted it? She never came out but just stared...¡±


    ¡°I only saw shadows,¡± I replied, a shiver running down my spine at the memory.


    Mademoiselle¡¯s narrative unfolded about the haunting figure in black with a vibrant turban who watched them from behind the glass, her eyes flashing with a hint of malice.


    ¡°And what about those ghastly men?¡± Madame Penelope interjected, her tone pointed.


    My father¡¯s sudden appearance interrupted our discussion as he leaned against the door frame, his expression a mix of concern and sternness. ¡°Never have I seen such sinister vagabonds¡ªthey were quite unsettling. Let¡¯s hope they don¡¯t harbor ill will towards our guest.¡±


    Pushing his spectacles up his nose, he mused aloud, ¡°Perhaps travel weariness has drawn such dark shadows over their faces.¡±


    Madame Penelope speculated hopefully, ¡°The lady shall unfold her story on the morrow.¡±


    My father, however, hinted at hidden layers with a knowing smirk, ¡°If she is ready.¡± His words hung in the air, inviting us into silent contemplation of the mysteries surrounding our new guest.


    Eager to uncover more, I implored my father to share the secret. ¡°Come on, you can¡¯t keep me in suspense!¡±


    He relented, revealing the woman¡¯s cautious words about her daughter¡¯s fragility but sound mind, and her urgent, secretive journey.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it bizarre to state all that so plainly?¡± I mused, intrigued by the gravity of the woman¡¯s mission.


    My father chuckled, dismissing my confusion. ¡°Be that as it may, she was clear and deliberate. Her stern gaze when speaking of ¡®secrets¡¯ suggested she guards a hidden truth zealously.¡±


    I pondered his words with excitement rather than concern. ¡°How peculiar... It¡¯s as if we¡¯re part of a tale where shadows whisper secrets.¡±


    My anticipation soared, eager to meet this enigma of a girl and unravel the mysteries that seemed to cling to her like unseen currents through ancient corridors, injecting excitement into our secluded existence.

 Chapter 4 - Recognition

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    The doctor¡¯s late arrival only added to the night¡¯s intrigue. Sleep felt like a distant notion, much like catching up to the enigmatic lady in her black velvet carriage on foot. Eventually, the doctor descended to deliver reassuring news: my guest had made a remarkable recovery, composed and steady. Her nerves, though briefly agitated, were now at ease. With no impediments against it, a brief meeting was deemed acceptable.


    Wasting no time, I sent a message to request an audience in her chamber. Her swift and enthusiastic response confirmed her willingness.


    Filled with anticipation, I hurried to her suite¡ªone of the grandest in the schloss. Despite its grandeur, the room exuded a mix of stateliness and eerie charm. ¡°Isn¡¯t it rather imposing?¡± she greeted me, a wry smile playing on her lips as her eyes wandered to the tapestry depicting Cleopatra¡¯s enigmatic gaze, surrounded by serpents.


    ¡°Yes, a touch grim,¡± I agreed, taking in the muted mythological scenes adorning the walls, yet offset by the opulent carvings and rich drapes that added vibrancy. ¡°But there¡¯s a beauty in its solemnity¡ªa blend of majesty and mystery.¡±


    Candles cast flickering shadows, adding to the room¡¯s mystique. She sat on the edge of the bed, clad in an ethereal dressing gown adorned with ghostly flowers¡ªa stark contrast to the silk quilting beneath her, remnants of her mother¡¯s frantic care during her earlier distress.


    As I approached, a sense of familiarity washed over me, freezing my greeting momentarily. Her face, hauntingly beautiful, stirred memories from my childhood¡ªimages that had long lingered in my mind with a hint of dread.


    Our gazes locked, and her expression shifted from melancholy beauty to a recognition that mirrored my own realization.


    A moment of silence hung between us until she broke it with words that echoed my own unspoken thoughts. ¡°Incredible,¡± she whispered, wonder tingling in her voice. ¡°Your face has lingered in my mind like a persistent dream from twelve years ago.¡±


    ¡°Equally incredible,¡± I managed to say, though a shroud of unease momentarily stole my voice. ¡°It¡¯s like our paths crossed in some twisted fate or illusion back then. Your face has never faded from view; it haunts me still.¡±


    Her smile lost its eerie edge, transforming into an inviting warmth. All that had seemed unnerving dissipated into a charming expression that played across her now lively and knowing cheeks.


    Assurance washed over me, and I embraced the warmth, greeting her with open arms. ¡°Your arrival,¡± I said with newfound joy, ¡°it¡¯s serendipitous, a delightful surprise that has brightened this home, especially mine.¡±


    Clasping her hand gently, I sensed a flush of timidity within me¡ªa trait common among those who thrive in solitude. Yet the moment stirred a boldness, and words flowed with surprising ease. She acknowledged the gesture, her hand warm atop mine. When our eyes met, a spark ignited, and she smiled tenderly, her cheeks tinged with color.


    Her voice, laced with grace, received my welcome. We sat side by side, a whirlwind of wonder encircling us as she spoke with hushed excitement.


    ¡°You won¡¯t believe this, but I had an uncanny vision about you,¡± she confided, her eyes dancing with mystery. ¡°Our dreams intertwined so peculiarly¡ªa vivid premonition of this very instance when we were merely children.¡±


    Intrigued, I urged her to continue.


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    She wove her tale with compelling detail. ¡°Imagine being six again; waking up amidst a dream-turned-reality in a chamber unfamiliar¡ªshadowed and adorned with crude wood furnishings.¡± Her description painted an image so bleak yet so real¡ªthe stark cupboards, hefty bedsteads¡ªwith nothing but silence.


    ¡°I remember feeling so small under one bed,¡± she mused. ¡°But then¡ªa cry broke through.¡±


    Her next words carried a ghostly weight¡ªher revelation sent shivers down my spine.


    ¡°It was you,¡± she insisted, her gaze locked onto mine. ¡°As sure as my own reflection¡ªit was your countenance; your golden locks framing those ocean-blue eyes and lips...¡± She hesitated, breathless. ¡°Lips that mirror yours right at this moment. Our spirits were entwined even then.¡±


    A beat passed before she described how they connected without words¡ªclasping onto each other for comfort until the world fell into quiet darkness and screams shattered their peace.


    ¡°Our embrace broke,¡± she whispered dramatically. ¡°Your scream startled me awake¡ªas if from one nightmare to another.¡± A look of confusion briefly crossed her face as she recalled slipping into oblivion.


    ¡°I woke back in my nursery,¡± she ended with an eerie calmness, ¡°but the vision of your face never left me.¡± Her stare was intent and unwavering. ¡°I knew I would recognize you¡ªthat it was more than just mere resemblance.¡±


    I listened speechlessly to her gothic fairytale¡ªher haunting certainty captivating me wholly¡ªknowing full well that our fates were peculiarly entangled since those unremembered childhood days.


    The moment had come for me to share my own haunting vision, which I recounted to the breathless awe of the enigmatic girl before me.


    ¡°You¡¯re an enigma,¡± she proclaimed, a playful smirk gracing her lips. ¡°Should we be wary of each other, or is it fate steering our paths to cross? Despite your beauty, a part of me trembles at your aura. Yet here we are, both so young and vibrant¡ªI feel like our souls were intertwined a dozen years ago. Have we not earned the right to peer into each other¡¯s depths? It¡¯s almost as if destiny whispered of our friendship from our cradles. Do you sense that magnetic pull towards me as I do towards you? I long for a true companion¡ªcould that be you?¡± As she confided in me, her eyes, dark as a starless sky, glimmered with a yearning intensity.


    The truth was, this mysterious beauty stirred an odd tumult within me. As much as I was drawn to her¡ªlike iron filings to a magnet¡ªthere was an undercurrent of fear mingled with my intrigue. Yet the allure she exuded was overpowering; her charm and unearthly grace captivated my very being.


    Watching her now, a veil of weariness seemed to drape over her features. ¡°Good night,¡± I murmured hastily, noticing her growing fatigue.


    ¡°Doc believes you should not be alone tonight,¡± I offered carefully. ¡°We have arranged for one of our maids to watch over you¡ªa silent guardian.¡±


    ¡°No need,¡± she demurred with an airy wave of her hand. ¡°Attendees disrupt my slumber¡ªI have always been so. And between us,¡± she leaned in closer as if imparting a dire secret, ¡°I¡¯m haunted by fears of thieves ever since horrors befell my household.¡±


    She locked eyes with mine as she continued, ¡°This lock... it¡¯s become my small fortress. You won¡¯t think less of me?¡± Her gaze now held mine captive¡ªshe found comfort in whispers rather than keys.


    Our farewell lingered; she clasped me in an embrace that was tender and desperate all at once. ¡°Farewell for now, darling,¡± she breathed into my ear. ¡°Parting is a bitter draught, but dawn will reunite us.¡±


    She receded into the shadows of her pillows; yet even as she laid down, her eyes¡ªa melting pot of fondness and sorrow¡ªremained fixed on me. ¡°Good night, cherished soul,¡± she echoed once more.


    Youth often leads hearts on impulsive flights¡ªI found myself charmed and beguiled by the affection this spectral beauty bestowed upon me so willingly. Here lay trust untested by time; it seemed predestined that we should forge an indestructible bond amidst the Gothic shrouds that enveloped us.


    As dawn¡¯s light vanquished the night¡¯s shadows, our paths intersected once more. Ecstasy flooded my senses upon sighting my newfound ally ¨C she was, in countless ways, enchanting. The brilliance of day did nothing but enhance her allure; she undeniably eclipsed all beauty I¡¯d ever encountered. Any lingering unease from that nocturnal vision of a distorted visage faded, its startling recognition dissolving in the morning air.


    ¡°I must admit,¡± she said, the hint of a smile dancing on her lips, ¡°your face struck a chord with a ghastly dream of my own.¡±


    Her confession sent shivers down my spine; her experience mirrored mine¡ªa twinge of aversion wrestling with the awe her elegance inspired. In the space between heartbeats, we shared a laugh, our brief discomfort now a ghostly whisper to mock in the burgeoning daylight.

 Chapter 5 - Secrets

    <hr>


    From the moment my eyes met hers, I was captivated by nearly every facet of her being, though some aspects stirred a subtle unease. She possessed a height that surpassed most, moving with a graceful elegance that belied her strength; there was nothing fragile about her. Picture her with me: skin alive and radiant, features delicately sculpted, eyes vast and enigmatic like the depths of a midnight sky, and her hair¡ªa breathtaking cascade of rich, luscious strands that flowed like twilight itself when unbound. I¡¯d run my fingers through it, marveling at its weight and silky texture, its deep brown hues kissed by golden sunlight. In moments of privacy, she¡¯d relax, speaking in soft tones as I reveled in the luxurious feel of her hair¡ªtwisting, braiding, letting it fall in gentle waves.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it surprisingly heavy?¡± I¡¯d whisper.


    Yet, a veil of mystery shrouded her, an enigma I felt from our first encounter. Despite the warmth of her trust, there was an impenetrable fortress guarding her personal history, her family¡¯s secrets.


    ¡°Why keep everything so hidden?¡± I asked once, my frustration evident.


    ¡°It¡¯s not for me to reveal,¡± she answered with that enigmatic smile.


    I should have heeded the ominous warnings from the woman in velvet¡¯s dark attire, but the mystery ignited a relentless curiosity within me¡ªa flame I couldn¡¯t extinguish without answers. Was confiding in me truly a risk? Did she doubt my discretion or loyalty? My assurances fell on deaf ears as she maintained her silence.


    ¡°Can¡¯t you trust me?¡± I pleaded, trying to meet her elusive gaze.


    With a gentle yet firm tone, she replied, ¡°Some truths are best left unsaid.¡±


    Despite my longing for understanding, she remained resolute¡ªher refusal oddly mature for her age. We didn¡¯t argue over it; she avoided conflict. Pressing her about this hidden aspect felt improper and rude, yet I couldn¡¯t quell my curiosity. Looking back, perhaps some mysteries should have stayed veiled.


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    The fragments of her story she shared were frustratingly vague, mere hints:


    First, she whispered, ¡°I go by Victoria.¡±


    Second, with a distant gaze, she admitted, ¡°My lineage dates back as far as the stars.¡±


    Third, pointing to the horizon, she murmured, ¡°My home lies where the sun bids the day farewell.¡±


    But probing further¡ªher family¡¯s name, their crest, their domain, or even their country¡ªremained elusive. I wasn¡¯t pestering for answers; I sought glimpses of her past. Sometimes, I asked more directly. Yet, like a shadow in the night, clarity eluded me.


    ¡°Please,¡± I pleaded one evening as moonlight spilled through the window, casting ethereal patterns on the floor, ¡°why keep your past veiled in shadows?¡±


    ¡°No matter how you charm or cherish me,¡± she replied with defiance wrapped in tenderness, ¡°the mystery of my existence remains unspoken.¡±


    She quickly soothed any rising frustration with sweet sorrow and gentle reassurances, making confrontation seem futile. Her expressions of affection and trust in my integrity, coupled with cryptic assurances of eventual clarity, tempered any anger I might have felt.


    ¡°Listen,¡± Victoria implored, drawing me close in an embrace that carried layers of emotion in her voice. ¡°Don¡¯t judge me harshly for being bound by forces beyond my control. While your heart yearns for answers, mine bleeds with empathy. Embracing what shames me also brings me profound joy.¡±


    In those intimate confessions, each word a tender caress on my soul, she painted a blurry vision of passion mingled with pain.


    ¡°Darling,¡± she continued, her grip tightening as kisses rained down like morning dew. Her eyes held an otherworldly gleam, hinting at centuries of hidden truths. ¡°Our lives are intertwined in ways that lead you to others as I am drawn to you. Embrace this exquisite torment, for it is a facet of love. Trust me, even when understanding eludes you.¡±


    Her impassioned words left me in awe yet longing for clarity¡ªadrift in a sea of poetic phrases woven with the ebb and flow of her enigmatic spirit.


    Though rare, I yearned for moments of freedom from her intense embrace. Yet, in those fleeting instances, my resolve wavered. Her whispers were like a siren¡¯s song, lulling my resistance to sleep until she released me from her entwining hold.


    "Why do you resist?" she would purr, her breath a ghostly caress against my neck.


    In her enigmatic presence, my feelings were a whirlwind of conflict¡ªa tantalizing thrill tainted by an unsettling mix of dread and revulsion. During such bewildering encounters, thoughts eluded me. But one truth remained¡ªI was entangled in an affection that bordered on worship, shadowed closely by loathing. This contradiction puzzles the mind, and yet it is the only way to describe the tempest within me.

 Chapter 6 - Her Habits鈥擜 Saunter

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    Over a decade has slipped by like sand through my fingers, leaving me here, my hand trembling above the blank page, memories swirling in a chaotic dance of horror and confusion. They¡¯re like ghosts haunting the corridors of my mind, except for one vivid, chilling memory that stands tall amidst the fog of forgetfulness. But isn¡¯t it true that the most tumultuous storms of emotion in our lives are also the hardest to grasp when we try to hold onto them?


    Every now and then, in stolen moments snatched from the monotony of life, my enchanting yet enigmatic friend would reach for my hand with a warmth that pulsed like a heartbeat; her cheeks would flush with a delicate rose tint as her half-closed eyes, ablaze with a feverish intensity, met mine. Her breath would come in passionate bursts, making her gown ripple like the waves of a restless sea. It felt like the fiery embrace of love¡ªintense, slightly unsettling, yet irresistibly commanding. Drawing me closer, her fervent lips would trace a path across my face, leaving behind trails of fiery kisses, while her whispers bordered on desperate pleas: ¡°You are mine; we are destined to be together forever.¡±


    Then she would retreat into her chair, her petite hands covering her eyes, leaving me to shiver in the aftermath.


    ¡°Do we share the same blood? Why do you torment me like this?¡± My voice would waver. ¡°Is it because I remind you of someone you loved? But please, I can¡¯t bear this unease; your intense gaze and passionate words overwhelm me.¡±


    She would sigh wearily at my resistance before turning away, releasing my hand.


    Faced with these bewildering displays, no rational explanation seemed sufficient¡ªnot deception nor strategy. It was as if raw emotions and buried instincts were clawing their way to the surface. Despite assurances from her mother, doubts crept in¡ªwas madness creeping into her life uninvited? Or was this all a carefully crafted performance? Stories from the past flitted through my mind¡ªof secret lovers donning disguises with the help of wily conspirators. Yet reality often punctured such romantic fantasies¡ªespecially mine¡ªbecause none of the charming gestures that men often use in courtship were directed at me.


    In between these enigmatic bursts of passion, where a melancholic flame flickered within her eyes, fixated solely on me, she seemed to regard me as invisible. Amid these episodes, there stretched vast stretches of ordinary moments¡ªmoments of light-heartedness, ponderous gloom, or sheer girlishness, with an underlying weariness uncommon for someone of her youth and vitality.


    Her quirks were peculiar in some ways, though perhaps not as remarkable to a refined city lady as they seemed to us rustic folk. She often appeared quite tardy, sometimes not appearing until the clock struck one, showing no urgency for sustenance but content with a cup of chocolate. Then, we would venture out for a leisurely stroll, a mere amble, yet she would soon tire, seeking solace either back at the schloss or on one of the scattered benches nestled among the trees. Despite her languid physicality, her mind never mirrored this inertia. She sparkled in conversation, her intellect casting a brilliant light on every topic.


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    Occasionally, she hinted at her origins or shared a tale of an adventure or custom, offering brief glimpses into a world of strange traditions and distant lands. These clues hinted at a homeland far more exotic than I initially imagined.


    It was during one such languid afternoon, as we lounged under the twisted branches of the trees, that a solemn procession passed by. It was the funeral of a young maiden, often seen in the tender care of our beloved ranger. The grief-stricken father followed the coffin, his sorrow palpable as he mourned his only daughter.


    Peasants marched behind, their voices heavy with grief as they sang a mournful dirge. Moved by respect, I stood, paying my respects as they passed, my voice blending with their mournful melody.


    To my surprise, my companion abruptly interrupted, her tone sharp and cutting. ¡°Do you not sense the discord?¡± she demanded.


    ¡°I find it rather melodious,¡± I replied, irritated by the interruption and hoping our discourse went unnoticed by the mourners.


    Undeterred by her interruption, I collected myself swiftly and resumed my position. Yet once again, I found myself interrupted, this time with a touch of anger in Victoria¡¯s voice. ¡°You assault my ears,¡± she declared, delicately sealing her ears with slender fingers. ¡°And how can you assume that your beliefs align with mine? Your rituals disturb me, and I have a strong aversion to funerals. What a fuss! In the end, we all face mortality¡ªevery soul must yield. And often, in death, there¡¯s a strange peace. Let¡¯s go back home.¡±


    ¡°Father went with the clergyman to the cemetery. I thought you knew today was the burial,¡± I replied, my confusion evident in my tone.


    ¡°She? I pay no attention to commoners¡¯ troubles. I don¡¯t know who she is,¡± Victoria retorted, her gaze sharp like lightning.


    ¡°She¡¯s the unfortunate girl who thought she saw a ghost a fortnight ago. Her health declined rapidly until she passed away yesterday,¡± I explained solemnly.


    ¡°I have no interest in ghost stories. If you continue, the night will bring no peace,¡± Victoria dismissed with a wave of her hand.


    Despite her dismissal, I persisted, ¡°I hope no illness or plague strikes us; this all feels eerily familiar.¡± My words found agreement, ¡°The swineherd¡¯s wife died just a week ago. She believed something was choking her in bed, and within a week, she was gone. Father says such hallucinations often come with certain fevers. She was perfectly fine the day before.¡±


    Victoria sighed in relief, ¡°I hope her funeral was dignified and her requiem peaceful. I don¡¯t want any more unsettling disturbances. Please, sit beside me; come closer; hold my hand firmly.¡±


    We moved to another bench, finding a bit of solace in the quietude.


    She settled back, and in that instant, her demeanor transformed, sending shivers down my spine. Her complexion darkened to a ghastly shade, her teeth clenched, and her hands balled into fists. Frowning deeply and pressing her lips together, she stared fixedly at the ground, trembling as if caught in an unyielding shiver, reminiscent of ague. It seemed as though every ounce of her being fought against an impending fit, a struggle evident in every strained breath. Finally, a subdued cry of agony slipped past her lips, and gradually, the hysteria ebbed. ¡°See! This is what happens when hymns suffocate people!¡± she exclaimed, her voice strained. ¡°Hold me, keep me steady. It¡¯s passing.¡±


    And indeed, it did; perhaps in an effort to dispel the heavy atmosphere lingering from that haunting episode, she became unusually lively and talkative as we made our way home.


    This incident marked the first time I saw tangible evidence of the delicate constitution her mother had spoken of. It was also the first glimpse of her temper.


    Yet, these traits faded like a fleeting summer cloud; and only once more did I witness a brief flare of anger from her. Allow me to recount that moment.

 Chapter 7 - The Hunchback

    <hr>


    She and I stood by one of the long drawing room windows, watching as a familiar figure entered the courtyard, crossing the drawbridge with an air of confidence. This wanderer, a regular visitor to the schloss twice a year, was none other than a hunchback with sharp, lean features typical of deformity. His pointed black beard contrasted with his wide grin, showcasing his white fangs. Dressed in a mishmash of buff, black, and scarlet, adorned with countless straps and belts, he carried a magic lantern and two intriguing boxes¡ªone housing a salamander and the other a mandrake, creatures that never failed to amuse my father. These monsters, crafted from bits of various animals, dried and stitched together with precision, always brought laughter to our halls.


    Accompanying him was a rough, spare dog that hesitated at the drawbridge, eventually howling dismally. Meanwhile, the mountebank, standing confidently in the courtyard, tipped his grotesque hat and greeted us in a mix of execrable French and slightly better German. He then proceeded to entertain us with lively music on his fiddle, singing with a merry discord and dancing in a comical manner that even made the howling dog pause.


    Approaching the window with a flourish, hat in hand, fiddle under his arm, he launched into a rapid-fire advertisement of his skills, offering amulets against the oupire¡ªcreatures rumored to roam our woods like wolves. His charms, oblong slips of vellum adorned with cryptic symbols, promised protection and laughter in the face of danger. Victoria and I couldn¡¯t resist; we promptly purchased one each.


    As he looked up at us, his sharp black eyes seemed to catch something, sparking a moment of curiosity. In a flash, he unfurled a leather case filled with an array of peculiar steel instruments, ready to showcase his talents and entertainments.


    ¡°Look here, my lady,¡± he exclaimed, displaying his wares and turning to address me directly, ¡°among my many talents, I¡¯m a skilled dentist. Curse that dog!¡± he added, irritated. ¡°Quiet, beast! Your howling is drowning out my words. Your friend here,¡± he gestured towards Victoria, ¡°has a particularly sharp tooth¡ªlong, thin, pointed like an awl or needle! Ha, ha! With my keen eyesight, I¡¯ve seen it clearly. If it¡¯s causing her any discomfort¡ªand I suspect it must¡ªI have the tools to fix it. I can round it off and make it smooth, turning it from a fish¡¯s tooth into a beautiful young lady¡¯s. What do you say? Is she offended? Have I overstepped?¡±


    Victoria¡¯s expression turned to anger as she recoiled from the window. ¡°How dare that charlatan insult us like this? Where is your father? I¡¯ll demand satisfaction from him. My father would have had this rogue tied up and flogged, then branded like cattle!¡±


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    Stepping back from the window, she sat down, her initial fury quickly dissipating. Soon, she returned to her usual demeanor, seemingly forgetting about the hunchback and his antics.


    <hr>


    My father seemed unusually somber that evening. When he returned, he shared news of another case similar to the recent fatal ones. A young peasant¡¯s sister on our estate, just a mile away, was gravely ill. She described her condition as an attack nearly identical to the others and was now steadily declining.


    ¡°This is all due to natural causes,¡± my father remarked. ¡°These people feed each other¡¯s superstitions, creating images of terror in their minds.¡±


    ¡°But that¡¯s what¡¯s so terrifying,¡± Victoria interjected. ¡°The fear of imagining such things; it¡¯s almost as bad as the real thing.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re in God¡¯s hands,¡± my father reassured. ¡°Nothing happens without His permission, and for those who love Him, all will be well. He¡¯s our faithful creator; He made us and will take care of us.¡±


    ¡°Creator? Nature?¡± Victoria mused. ¡°And this disease spreading through the country is natural. Everything stems from Nature, doesn¡¯t it? All things in heaven, earth, and under the earth act as Nature dictates. That¡¯s what I believe.¡±


    After a moment of silence, my father mentioned the doctor¡¯s impending visit. ¡°I want to hear his opinion and what he thinks we should do.¡±


    ¡°Doctors have never helped me,¡± Victoria remarked.


    ¡°Have you been ill?¡± I inquired.


    ¡°Worse than you can imagine,¡± she replied. ¡°But let¡¯s not dwell on it. You wouldn¡¯t want to upset a friend.¡±


    With a loving gesture, she took my arm and guided me out of the room. My father was engrossed in paperwork by the window.


    ¡°Why does your father talk of such frightening things?¡± Victoria asked, with a sigh and a shudder.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t mean to frighten us, Victoria; it¡¯s the furthest thing from his mind.¡±


    ¡°Are you afraid?¡± she pressed.


    ¡°I would be if I thought there was a real danger of falling ill like those poor people did.¡±


    ¡°Are you afraid to die?¡± Victoria¡¯s question hung in the air.


    ¡°Yes, like everyone else.¡±


    ¡°But to die as lovers might¡ªto die together, so they can live together. Girls are like caterpillars in the world, waiting to become butterflies in summer. But in the meantime, we¡¯re grubs and larvae with our own needs and structures. That¡¯s what Monsieur Buffon says, in the big book in the next room.¡±


    Later that day, the doctor arrived and had a lengthy discussion with my father. He was a skilled man, aged sixty or more, with powdered hair and a cleanly shaved face. After their meeting, they emerged from the room together, and I overheard my father laughing and teasing the doctor.


    ¡°Well, I must say, for a wise man like you, what¡¯s your take on hippogriffs and dragons?¡± my father quipped.


    The doctor, smiling, replied while shaking his head, ¡°Life and death remain mysterious realms, and we have much to learn about their workings.¡±


    With that, they continued their conversation, and I didn¡¯t catch any more of their exchange at that moment. At the time, I didn¡¯t fully understand what they were discussing, but looking back, I think I have a better idea now.

 Chapter 8 - A Wonderful Likeness

    <hr>


    This evening brought an unexpected arrival from Shultz¡ªa solemn-faced young man, the son of our picture cleaner, driving a horse and cart loaded with two hefty packing cases, each brimming with numerous paintings. The journey had been quite a trek, spanning ten leagues, and whenever a messenger arrived from our quaint capital of Shultz, we would gather eagerly in the hall, hungry for news.


    The arrival of these cases stirred quite a commotion in our secluded abode. The crates were left in the hall, and the messenger was attended to by the servants until he had finished his supper. Then, armed with tools like hammers, chisels, and screwdrivers, along with some assistants, he joined us in the hall for the unveiling of the paintings.


    As the old pictures, mostly portraits awaiting restoration, were gradually revealed, Victoria sat by, her interest feigned, while my father, armed with a list, identified each piece as the artist retrieved them. Most of these paintings had come to us through my mother¡¯s lineage, hailing from an old Hungarian family.


    ¡°There¡¯s one I haven¡¯t laid eyes on yet,¡± remarked my father. ¡°It bears the name ¡®Marcia Rosewood¡¯ in one corner, alongside the date ¡®1698.¡¯ I¡¯m quite curious about its condition.¡±


    I vaguely recalled this piece¡ªa small, square picture without a frame, so obscured by age that its details were nearly lost. But when the artist presented it, there was a collective gasp. It was breathtaking¡ªa striking resemblance to Victoria, alive and vibrant in the painting.


    ¡°Victoria, look at this marvel. It¡¯s like seeing you come to life,¡± exclaimed my father, pointing out the intricacies, even down to a tiny mole on her throat.


    While my father appreciated the likeness, his attention seemed fleeting, turning back to the conversation with the picture cleaner, who, being an artist himself, discussed the restored works with expertise. Meanwhile, I was captivated by the lifelike portrayal before me, my wonder deepening with each passing moment.


    "Can I hang this picture in my room, dad?" I eagerly inquired.


    "Of course, sweetheart," he replied with a smile. "I''m glad you find it so striking. It must be even prettier than I realized."


    The young lady didn''t acknowledge this compliment, seemingly lost in her thoughts. She leaned back in her seat, her eyes peering at me from beneath long lashes, a smile of quiet delight playing on her lips.


    "Now you can read the name clearly in the corner. It''s not Marcia; it appears to be done in gold. The name is Sienna, Countess Rosewood, with a little coronet above and ''A.D. 1698'' below. I''m descended from the Rosewoods; well, my mother was," I explained.


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    "Ah, how intriguing," she responded languidly. "I believe I am too, from a very distant line. Quite ancient. Are there any living Rosewoods now?"


    "No one with that name, I believe. The family suffered ruin in some old civil wars, but the remnants of the castle are just three miles away," I shared.


    "Very interesting," she murmured. "But look at that beautiful moonlight outside!" She glanced towards the partially open hall door. "How about a stroll around the courtyard? We can admire the view of the road and river."


    "It reminds me of the night you first arrived," I remarked.


    She sighed softly, smiling, and rose to her feet. We linked arms, stepping out onto the pavement.


    In quietude, we sauntered down to the drawbridge, where a picturesque landscape unfolded before us.


    "You were thinking about the night I came here?" she whispered softly.


    "I was thrilled when you arrived," I admitted.


    "And you wanted the picture that resembles me for your room," she murmured, drawing me closer as she rested her head on my shoulder. "You''re quite the romantic, Victoria," I teased gently. "Your story will be filled with grand romances."


    She responded with a silent kiss, the moonlight casting a gentle glow around us.


    "I''m certain, Victoria, there''s a love story unfolding in your heart right now," I ventured.


    "I''ve never loved anyone, and I doubt I ever will," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Unless, of course, it''s you."


    In the moon''s gentle glow, she looked ethereal, her gaze shy yet intense as she nestled her face against my neck, her breath mingling with mine in soft, trembling sighs.


    Her hand in mine quivered, her cheek warm against my own. "Darling, darling," she murmured, "I exist in you; I''d sacrifice everything for you, that''s how much I love you."


    I was taken aback by her sudden intensity.


    Her eyes, once filled with passion, now seemed distant, her face pale and devoid of emotion.


    "Are you feeling cold, my love?" she murmured sleepily. "I feel a shiver; was I dreaming? Let''s go inside. Come; come; come in."


    "You seem unwell, Victoria; a bit faint. You must have some wine," I insisted.


    "Yes, please. I''m feeling better now. Just give me a little wine," Victoria replied as we headed towards the door.


    "Let''s take one more look; it might be the last time we see the moonlight together," she said wistfully.


    "How are you feeling now, Victoria? Are you truly better?" I inquired, starting to worry about the strange symptoms she displayed.


    "Papa would be worried sick," I added, concerned that she might have caught the mysterious illness plaguing the area.


    "I''m sure he would. You''re all so kind. But, my dear, I''m fine now. I just get a little weak sometimes. People say I''m delicate, that I can barely walk a few steps, and occasionally I falter like you just saw. But I bounce back quickly; in no time, I''m back to normal. See how well I am now."


    Indeed, she seemed to have recovered. We chatted animatedly, and Victoria seemed like her usual self for the rest of the evening, without any recurrence of her earlier strange behavior that had unsettled me.


    However, that night brought an event that shifted my thoughts and briefly stirred Victoria''s usually languid nature into action.

 Chapter 9 - A Very Strange Agony

    <hr>


    When we settled in the drawing room, sipping our coffee and chocolate¡ªVictoria abstaining, yet seeming back to her usual self¡ªMadame and Mademoiselle De Lafontaine joined us for a small card game. Papa later joined, calling it his ¡°dish of tea.¡±


    After the game, he sat beside Victoria on the sofa, a hint of concern in his voice as he asked if she had heard from her mother since arriving. ¡°No,¡± she replied. He pressed further, inquiring about a reliable way to reach her mother. ¡°I can¡¯t say,¡± she replied vaguely. ¡°But I¡¯ve been considering leaving. You¡¯ve been incredibly hospitable and kind. I¡¯ve caused you a lot of trouble, and I¡¯d like to take a carriage tomorrow to search for her. I know where she¡¯ll be, but I can¡¯t tell you yet.¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t entertain such a thought,¡± my father exclaimed, to my immense relief. ¡°We can¡¯t bear to lose you, and I won¡¯t agree to you leaving unless your mother instructs it. I¡¯d feel much better if you heard from her. Tonight, news about the mysterious illness in our area has gotten worse. Without guidance from your mother, I feel the weight of responsibility. But I¡¯ll do my best. You mustn¡¯t leave unless she explicitly directs it. We¡¯d be devastated to see you go without her say so.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, sir, a thousand times for your hospitality,¡± Victoria replied, blushing slightly. ¡°You¡¯ve all been so kind to me. I¡¯ve rarely been happier than I have been in your beautiful chateau, under your care, and in your daughter¡¯s company.¡± He gallantly kissed her hand in his old-fashioned manner, visibly pleased by her words.


    As usual, I accompanied Victoria to her room, chatting with her as she prepared for bed. ¡°Do you think,¡± I asked after a while, ¡°that you¡¯ll ever fully confide in me?¡±


    She turned toward me, a smile lingering on her lips, but she remained silent, her eyes speaking volumes.


    ¡°You won¡¯t tell me?¡± I prodded gently. ¡°It¡¯s alright if you can¡¯t, or don¡¯t want to.¡±


    ¡°You were right to ask, about anything,¡± she replied softly. ¡°You have no idea how important you are to me, how much I value your trust. But I¡¯m bound by vows, like a nun under strict rule, and I can¡¯t reveal my story yet, not even to you. The time is coming when I¡¯ll share everything. You might think me selfish, even cruel, but love tends to be that way¡ªthe stronger, the more self-centered. You must either come with me, loving me till death, or hate me and still be by my side, hating me even in death and beyond. Indifference has no place in my nature.¡±


    ¡°Victoria, you¡¯re starting with your whimsical talk again,¡± I interjected quickly.


    ¡°Not today, not for you,¡± she replied, a hint of playfulness in her tone. ¡°I¡¯ll speak like a sage for your sake. Have you ever been to a ball?¡±


    ¡°No, but you¡¯re jumping topics. What¡¯s a ball like? It must be wonderful.¡±


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    ¡°It¡¯s been ages,¡± she mused. ¡°I almost forget.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not that old. Your first ball should still be fresh in your memory.¡±


    ¡°I remember it all, with effort,¡± she explained. ¡°It¡¯s like seeing through water¡ªclear but distorted. Something happened that night, something that blurred the picture and dimmed its colors. I was nearly killed in my bed, wounded here,¡± she touched her chest, ¡°and I¡¯ve never been the same since.¡±


    ¡°Did you almost die?¡±


    ¡°Very nearly. A strange, cruel love¡ªit demanded my life. Love has its costs. Sacrifice isn¡¯t real without pain. Let¡¯s sleep now; I feel so lazy. How can I muster the energy to get up and lock my door?¡±


    She lay there, her hands tangled in her hair, a shy smile playing on her lips, watching me with glittering eyes that held a mystery I couldn¡¯t quite grasp.


    I wished her good night and left her room with an uneasy feeling gnawing at me. I often pondered whether our charming guest ever said her prayers. I had never witnessed her kneeling in prayer. In the mornings, she didn¡¯t appear until long after our family prayers, and in the evenings, she remained in the drawing room while we gathered for our brief evening prayers in the hall. If she hadn¡¯t mentioned in passing that she had been baptized, I might have doubted her Christianity altogether. Religion was a topic she never broached, a silence that struck me as odd. If I had been more worldly-wise, perhaps her disregard or aversion to religion wouldn¡¯t have surprised me as much.


    The precautions of anxious minds are contagious, and those of similar temperaments tend to adopt them over time. I had taken to Victoria¡¯s habit of locking her bedroom door, swayed by her whimsical fears of nighttime intruders and lurking threats. I also followed her routine of briefly scanning her room, ensuring no hidden assailants or burglars were ¡°ensconced¡± there.


    With these precautions in place, I settled into bed and drifted off to sleep. A lamp glowed softly in my room¡ªan old habit I couldn¡¯t bring myself to abandon. It provided a sense of security, allowing me to rest peacefully. However, dreams disregard barriers; they pierce through walls, brighten dark corners, or darken well-lit spaces, and their actors enter and exit as they please, mocking even the most secure locks.


    That night, I had a dream that marked the beginning of a peculiar torment. It wasn¡¯t quite a nightmare, as I was aware of being asleep, yet I felt just as present in my room, lying in bed as I was in reality. I saw¡ªor imagined I saw¡ªthe room and its furnishings just as they were, albeit in near darkness. A figure moved around the foot of my bed, initially indistinct but gradually taking the form of a soot-black creature resembling a monstrous cat. It seemed about four or five feet long, matching the length of the hearthrug as it prowled back and forth with an eerie restlessness. Although I wanted to scream, fear had rendered me voiceless. Its movements grew swifter as the room darkened further until only its eyes were visible.


    Suddenly, the creature leaped onto the bed, its eyes glaring at me, and I felt a sharp, piercing pain as if two large needles had plunged into my chest. I jolted awake with a scream, greeted by the comforting glow of the candle burning throughout the night. To my horror, a female figure stood at the foot of my bed, shrouded in a dark gown with her hair cascading over her shoulders. She remained unnaturally still, like a statue, and as I stared, she seemed to shift position, eventually disappearing through the door.


    Relieved but still shaken, I checked my locked door, fearing that Victoria had played a prank and I had forgotten to secure it. To my relief¡ªor perhaps heightened fear¡ªit was still locked from the inside. I buried myself under the covers, too terrified to move until morning, my mind racing with unanswered questions and lingering dread.

 Chapter 10 - Descending

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    The memory of that night still sends shivers down my spine. It wasn¡¯t a fleeting scare like a bad dream; it lingered, growing more intense with time, seeping into the very essence of the room and its furnishings, tainted by the specter¡¯s presence.


    The following day, I couldn¡¯t bear to be alone even for a moment. I contemplated confiding in my father but hesitated for conflicting reasons. I feared he¡¯d dismiss my tale as a joke or worse, think I¡¯d fallen victim to the mysterious illness plaguing our neighborhood. Despite my own lack of fear regarding the illness, I didn¡¯t want to alarm him, especially since he had been unwell lately.


    I found solace in the company of Madame Penelope and the lively Mademoiselle Lafontaine. They sensed my unease and eventually coaxed the truth from me.


    Mademoiselle Lafontaine laughed and said, ¡°Oh, you¡¯ve got a lively imagination, dear. Haunted walks and ghostly figures, it¡¯s all in good fun, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    Madame Penelope¡¯s expression turned serious. ¡°These things can be unsettling. Dreams and fears have a way of creeping into reality.¡±


    In a lighter moment, Mademoiselle Lafontaine teased about the supposedly haunted lime tree walk behind Victoria¡¯s window. She said, ¡°You know, Martin swears he¡¯s seen a ghost there, twice before sunrise. But then, Martin can make a tale out of a shadow, can¡¯t he?¡±


    Madame Penelope shook her head. ¡°Nonsense. It¡¯s probably just the farmhands going about their early chores.¡±


    I quickly cautioned against sharing such tales with Victoria, knowing her penchant for fear. ¡°Let¡¯s not add to anyone¡¯s nighttime anxieties.¡±


    When Victoria joined us later than usual, she looked visibly relieved to be among us. ¡°I had the most dreadful night,¡± she confessed, her voice trembling slightly.


    Madame Penelope leaned forward. ¡°What happened, dear?¡±


    Victoria recounted her experience. ¡°I dreamt of something dark hovering over my bed. And when I woke up, I thought I saw a figure by the chimney, but my charm saved me. The moment I touched it, the figure vanished.¡±


    We exchanged nervous glances, each of us harboring our own fears and suspicions, unsure of what was real and what was mere imagination.


    ¡°Well, listen to me,¡± I began, drawing Victoria closer as we sat in the cozy corner of the drawing room, the fire crackling nearby. I recounted my eerie experience from the previous night, noticing Victoria¡¯s wide-eyed horror as I spoke.


    ¡°And did you have the charm with you?¡± she asked, her tone tinged with concern.


    ¡°No, it was in the china vase downstairs, but after your story, I¡¯ll definitely keep it close tonight,¡± I replied, feeling a sense of unease creeping back.


    As I reflect on that time now, it¡¯s hard to fathom how I mustered the courage to spend another night alone in my room. I distinctly remember pinning the charm securely to my pillow, finding a strange comfort in its presence. Surprisingly, I drifted off to sleep almost instantly, enjoying a deeper slumber than usual.


    The following night passed without incident, my sleep undisturbed by haunting dreams. However, upon waking, a lingering weariness and melancholy hung over me, though it was a melancholy that bordered on a strange sort of luxury.


    ¡°Well, I told you so,¡± remarked Victoria when I shared my peaceful night¡¯s sleep. ¡°I had a wonderfully restful night too; I kept the charm close to me this time. It¡¯s all in our heads, you know. Our doctor explained that dreams are often just our bodies reacting to passing fevers or illnesses.¡±


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    ¡°And what do you think the charm actually does?¡± I inquired.


    ¡°It¡¯s been treated with some medicinal substance, probably an antidote to airborne illnesses,¡± Victoria explained confidently. ¡°It acts on our bodies, not on mystical spirits. These illnesses start by affecting our nerves, then our minds, but the charm wards them off before they can take hold.¡±


    I wanted to believe Victoria¡¯s rational explanation, but doubts lingered. For a few nights, I slept deeply, yet each morning brought the same weariness and a growing sense of being changed. Melancholy thoughts crept in, gently wrapping me in their embrace. It was a sadness tinged with a strange sweetness, a feeling I couldn¡¯t resist.


    Despite my inward changes, I refused to admit any ailment, keeping my feelings to myself and avoiding involving my father or calling for a doctor. Victoria, on the other hand, grew more devoted, her bouts of adoration becoming increasingly intense as my own energy waned. These displays of affection sometimes bordered on the edge of unsettling, like fleeting glimpses of a disturbed mind.


    I found myself unwittingly descending into the grips of an illness unlike any mortal had endured. Initially, there was a strange allure in its early symptoms, almost making me welcome the disabling effects it brought. This allure intensified until it reached a tipping point, where a sense of horror began to seep in, gradually darkening and distorting every aspect of my life.


    The first subtle change was rather intriguing. It was like standing on the brink before plunging into the abyss. Odd sensations crept into my sleep¡ªa chilly thrill akin to swimming against a current. Dreams followed, so nebulous that recalling their details was futile. Yet, they left an eerie imprint, a feeling of exhaustive danger and mental strain.


    After these dreams, fragments lingered¡ªa dim place, unseen conversations, and a haunting female voice resonating with solemnity and dread. Sometimes, it felt like a gentle touch tracing my skin or warm lips on my neck, lingering lovingly yet unnervingly. My heart raced, breath hitched, and a sense of suffocation loomed, leading to unsettling convulsions and unconsciousness.


    Three weeks had passed since this inexplicable state began, and its toll showed on my appearance¡ªpale complexion, darkened eyes, and a growing weariness etched on my face. Despite my father¡¯s concerns, I stubbornly insisted on my well-being, though deep down, I knew something was amiss.


    My suffering seemed confined to the realms of imagination or nerves, keeping the full extent of my torment shielded within. It couldn¡¯t be the dreaded ailment known as the oupire, which typically ended within days. Victoria, too, experienced unsettling dreams and feverish episodes, yet hers paled in comparison to the alarming nature of mine. If only I could grasp the gravity of my condition, I would have sought help desperately. But an insidious influence clouded my senses, numbing my perception of the impending danger.


    <hr>


    Let me recount a dream that unraveled an eerie discovery. One night, amidst the usual darkness, a voice¡ªsweet yet chilling¡ªpierced through, whispering, ¡°Your mother warns you to beware of the assassin.¡± Simultaneously, a sudden light flooded the room, revealing Victoria standing by my bed, her white nightdress stained with a pool of blood from chin to feet.


    Startled awake, I let out a scream, convinced Victoria was in mortal danger. Without a second thought, I leaped from my bed, rushing to the lobby, crying out for help. Madame and Mademoiselle emerged from their rooms in a panic, drawn by the commotion. The lobby¡¯s lamp illuminated our distress, and they quickly grasped the cause.


    Insisting on checking on Victoria, we pounded on her door, receiving no response. Our calls grew frantic, echoing through the silent hallway, but still, there was no answer. Fear surged as we realized the door was locked, leaving us feeling helpless.


    Retreating to my room, we rang the bell urgently, hoping to summon aid. If only my father¡¯s room had been closer, we would have sought his immediate assistance. Alas, he was too far away to hear our cries, and seeking him out seemed daunting in our state of dread.


    Soon, the servants arrived, responding to our distress calls. We hastily donned dressing gowns and slippers, gathering our wits. Recognizing the urgency in our voices, the servants joined us as we ventured back to Victoria¡¯s door, repeating our futile attempts to reach her.


    Finally, I ordered the lock to be forced open. With a loud crash, the door gave way, and we stood in the threshold, our lights illuminating the empty room. We called out to Victoria, but silence greeted us. The room appeared undisturbed, frozen in the same state as when I bid her good night, yet Victoria was nowhere to be found.

 Chapter 11 - Search

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    The room stood silent and untouched, save for our tumultuous entrance, which gradually calmed our nerves. We dismissed the men, and Mademoiselle suggested that Victoria might have hidden in a panic, prompted by the commotion at her door, until the servants left. We resumed our search, calling her name repeatedly, hoping for a response that never came.


    Our agitation grew as we scoured every corner, checking behind curtains and in closets, yet finding no trace of Victoria. I pleaded with her to end the charade if she was hiding, urging her to alleviate our anxiety. But it was as if she had vanished into thin air, leaving us utterly baffled. Could she have discovered one of the rumored secret passages in the old chateau?


    As daylight broke, the mystery remained unsolved. The household, led by my father, frantically searched the chateau and its surroundings, but Victoria was nowhere to be found. Anxiety gripped us all, knowing the distressing news we would have to relay to her mother upon her return. My own distress stemmed from a different source, a mix of confusion and concern for my missing friend.


    Hours passed with no sign of Victoria. By midday, I rushed to her room, only to find her standing at her dressing table, an unexpected sight that filled me with relief and disbelief. She motioned me closer, her expression a mix of fear and bewilderment.


    Overwhelmed with joy, I embraced her, unable to contain my emotions. I rang the bell urgently, summoning others to witness her return and alleviate my father¡¯s distress. As questions poured out, Victoria recounted a night of inexplicable events, leaving us all puzzled and seeking answers.


    My father, after dismissing the servants, sat with Victoria thoughtfully, seeking to unravel the mystery that surrounded her strange disappearance. Her eyes flickered with a hint of secrecy as she recounted the bizarre turn of events from the previous night, leaving us all perplexed and searching for explanations.


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    "May I venture a conjecture and ask a question?" my father inquired gently.


    "Of course, ask away," Victoria replied. "I''ll tell you everything I know, which unfortunately is very little. But you''re aware of the limits my mother has set."


    "Absolutely," my father acknowledged. "I won''t breach those boundaries. Now, what''s intriguing about last night is how you were taken from your bed and room without waking, with the windows secured and both doors locked from the inside. Here''s my theory and question."


    Victoria sat with a hint of melancholy, while Madame and I leaned in attentively.


    "My question is this: have you ever been known to sleepwalk?" my father asked.


    "Not since I was very young," Victoria answered. "But I used to, as my old nurse often reminds me."


    My father nodded thoughtfully. "Here''s what likely happened. You unconsciously unlocked the door, took the key out, locked it from the outside, and then wandered off to one of the many rooms on this floor or elsewhere in the house. With so many rooms and clutter, it would take ages to search thoroughly. Do you follow?"


    "I do, somewhat," Victoria replied.


    "And how do you explain waking up on the dressing room sofa, after we''d already searched it?" I added.


    "You probably ended up there after our search, still asleep, and woke up later, just as surprised as we were," my father explained with a chuckle. "I wish all mysteries were this easily solved and harmless. No drugging, no tampering with locks, no intruders or danger¡ªjust a sleepwalking adventure."


    Victoria looked radiant, her beauty accentuated by a graceful weariness that was uniquely hers. My father''s gaze seemed to contrast her with me, prompting him to comment, "I wish my Belle looked as vibrant as you," with a hint of sadness.


    With that, our worries were dispelled, and Victoria rejoined us, unharmed and relieved.

 Chapter 12 - The Doctor

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    Victoria adamantly refused to have a servant sleep in her room, so my father arranged for one to stay outside her door, ensuring she wouldn¡¯t attempt another nighttime escapade without being stopped at her doorstep.


    The following night passed without incident, and early the next morning, a doctor arrived, summoned by my father without my knowledge. Madame escorted me to the library where the serious-looking doctor with white hair and spectacles awaited us.


    As I recounted my story, his expression grew increasingly grave. We stood facing each other in a window alcove, and when I finished, he leaned against the wall, fixing me with an earnest and somewhat horrified gaze.


    After a brief pause, he asked Madame if he could speak with my father. Upon my father¡¯s arrival, the doctor¡¯s demeanor turned somber, signaling something serious. Their conversation, held in the recess by the window, was intense and prolonged.


    ¡°My dear, will you forgive me if I risk a conjecture and ask a question?¡± the doctor began as he and my father talked.


    ¡°Of course, ask anything,¡± I replied. ¡°But you know there are certain topics my mother wants us to avoid discussing.¡±


    ¡°Perfectly understood,¡± the doctor said. ¡°Now, the marvel of last night consists of your being removed from your bed and your room without being awakened, and this happening while the windows were secured and the doors locked from the inside. I have a theory and a question for you.¡±


    Victoria leaned on her hand dejectedly, and Madame and I listened breathlessly.


    ¡°Now, have you ever been suspected of sleepwalking?¡± the doctor asked.


    ¡°Never, since I was very young indeed,¡± Victoria replied.


    ¡°But you did sleepwalk when you were young?¡± the doctor pressed.


    ¡°Yes, I know I did. My old nurse told me so often,¡± Victoria confirmed.


    ¡°Well, what has happened is this,¡± the doctor explained. ¡°You got up in your sleep, unlocked the door, not leaving the key in the lock as usual but taking it out and locking it on the outside. Then you carried the key away to some room on this floor or elsewhere in the house. Do you see what I mean?¡±


    ¡°I do, but not entirely,¡± Victoria replied with a furrowed brow.


    The doctor continued, ¡°And how do you account for finding yourself on the sofa in the dressing room, which we had searched so carefully?¡±


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    ¡°I came there after you had searched, still in my sleep, and woke up spontaneously, as surprised as anyone else to find myself there,¡± Victoria explained.


    After their discussion, my father looked pale and thoughtful. ¡°I wish all mysteries were as easily and innocently explained as yours, Victoria,¡± he said with a sigh of relief.


    ¡°Ah, you see?¡± he added, turning to my father. ¡°Should I inform Madame?¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± replied my father.


    He beckoned Madame over and explained, ¡°Our young friend here isn¡¯t feeling well. It hopefully won¡¯t be serious, but for now, Miss Belle mustn¡¯t be left alone for any reason. That¡¯s the only instruction for now. It¡¯s crucial.¡±


    Madame assured him of her compliance, eager to be of help. ¡°You can count on us, Doctor,¡± my father added.


    ¡°And dear Belle, I trust you¡¯ll follow the doctor¡¯s advice,¡± he said to me.


    ¡°I will,¡± I assured them.


    ¡°I¡¯ll need your opinion on another patient, a young lady with symptoms similar to what I¡¯ve just heard,¡± my father said to the doctor. ¡°She¡¯s our guest, and since you¡¯ll be passing by this evening, you might as well have dinner here and see her then. She doesn¡¯t come down until the afternoon.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, I¡¯ll be here around seven this evening,¡± the doctor replied.


    With these arrangements set, my father and the doctor left together, engrossed in deep conversation as they paced along the grassy platform in front of the castle.


    The doctor didn¡¯t return, riding eastward through the forest after their discussion. At the same time, a messenger arrived from Dranfield with letters for my father.


    Meanwhile, Madame and I speculated about the doctor¡¯s urgent instructions. Madame feared a sudden health crisis, while I imagined it was merely to prevent me from overexerting myself or indulging in risky activities common to young people.


    About half an hour later, my father returned with a letter from General Hamilton, a guest expected soon. However, my father¡¯s expression wasn¡¯t one of excitement but rather concern, hinting at something troubling him about the impending visit.


    ¡°Papa, do you think I¡¯m very ill?¡± I asked, sensing his unease.


    He reassured me, ¡°No, dear. With the right steps, you¡¯ll be on the road to recovery in a day or two.¡±


    ¡°But what does the doctor think is wrong with me?¡± I pressed.


    ¡°Nothing serious,¡± he replied, a bit curtly. ¡°Let¡¯s not dwell on it now. You¡¯ll know more soon.¡±


    He left the room, returning briefly to announce we were going to Rosewood, where he had some business with the local priest. Victoria would join us later for a picnic at the ruined castle, a plan to distract us all from the worries of the day.


    At noon, I was all set, and soon after, my father, Madame, and I embarked on our planned drive. Crossing the drawbridge, we veered right, tracing the road over the Gothic bridge that led westward toward the abandoned village and the decaying castle of Rosewood.


    The path we took was nothing short of picturesque. The landscape undulated gently, adorned with lush woods that lacked the rigid orderliness of manicured gardens. Instead, nature¡¯s hand had shaped the terrain with a wild elegance, weaving the road through rolling hills and winding paths that seemed to emerge spontaneously around rugged hollows and steep slopes.


    As we rounded a bend, we were surprised to come face to face with our old acquaintance, General Hamilton, riding towards us with his attendant. His luggage trailed behind in a hired cart, following his horse¡¯s lead.


    The General greeted us warmly, and after exchanging pleasantries, he gladly accepted the invitation to join us in the carriage, sending his horse ahead with his servant to the schloss.

 Chapter 13 - Bereaved

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    Ten months had passed since we last saw General Hamilton, yet the time seemed to have etched years onto his appearance. His once serene countenance was now tinged with gloom and anxiety, replacing the cordiality that once defined his features. The penetrating gaze of his dark blue eyes now held a sternness, peeking from beneath his shaggy grey eyebrows. This transformation wasn¡¯t merely a product of grief; it carried hints of deeper, angrier emotions that had reshaped him.


    As we resumed our drive, the General, in his usual direct manner, delved into what he termed a ¡°bereavement¡± ¨C the loss of his beloved niece and ward. His tone shifted to one of intense bitterness and fury, railing against the nefarious forces that had ensnared her. He expressed not just outrage but a fervent disbelief that such malevolence could exist unchecked by divine intervention.


    ¡°My dear General,¡± my father interjected gently, ¡°what you describe is indeed troubling. Would you be willing to share the circumstances that led to such strong sentiments?¡±


    The General paused, his eyes clouded with memories and emotions. ¡°I should tell you all with pleasure,¡± he said, ¡°but you would not believe me.¡±


    ¡°Why should I not?¡± my father asked.


    ¡°Because,¡± the General answered testily, ¡°you believe in nothing but what consists with your own prejudices and illusions. I remember when I was like you, but I have learned better.¡±


    ¡°Try me,¡± said my father; ¡°I am not such a dogmatist as you suppose. Besides, I very well know that you generally require proof for what you believe, and am, therefore, very strongly predisposed to respect your conclusions.¡±


    ¡°You are right in supposing that I have not been led lightly into a belief in the marvelous¡ªfor what I have experienced is marvelous¡ªand I have been forced by extraordinary evidence to credit that which ran counter, diametrically, to all my theories. I have been made the dupe of a preternatural conspiracy.¡±


    Notwithstanding his professions of confidence in the General¡¯s penetration, I saw my father, at this point, glance at the General, with, as I thought, a marked suspicion of his sanity.


    The General did not see it, luckily. He was looking gloomily and curiously into the glades and vistas of the woods that were opening before us.


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    ¡°You are going to the Ruins of Rosewood?¡± he said. ¡°Yes, it is a lucky coincidence; do you know I was going to ask you to bring me there to inspect them. I have a special object in exploring. There is a ruined chapel, ain¡¯t there, with a great many tombs of that extinct family?¡±


    ¡°So there are¡ªhighly interesting,¡± my father replied. ¡°I hope you are thinking of claiming the title and estates?¡±


    My father said this gaily, but the General did not recollect the laugh, or even the smile, which courtesy exacts for a friend¡¯s joke; on the contrary, he looked grave and even fierce, ruminating on a matter that stirred his anger and horror.


    ¡°Something very different,¡± he said, gruffly. ¡°I mean to unearth some of those fine people. I hope, by God¡¯s blessing, to accomplish a pious sacrilege here, which will relieve our earth of certain monsters, and enable honest people to sleep in their beds without being assailed by murderers. I have strange things to tell you, my dear friend, such as I myself would have scouted as incredible a few months since.¡±


    My father looked at him again, but this time not with a glance of suspicion¡ªwith an eye, rather, of keen intelligence and alarm.


    ¡°The house of Rosewood,¡± he said, ¡°has been long extinct: a hundred years at least. My dear wife was maternally descended from the Rosewoods. But the name and title have long ceased to exist. The castle is a ruin; the very village is deserted; it is fifty years since the smoke of a chimney was seen there; not a roof left.¡±


    ¡°Quite true. I have heard a great deal about that since I last saw you; a great deal that will astonish you. But I had better relate everything in the order in which it occurred,¡± said the General. ¡°You saw my dear ward¡ªmy child, I may call her. No creature could have been more beautiful, and only three months ago none more blooming.¡±


    ¡°Yes, poor thing! when I saw her last she certainly was quite lovely,¡± said my father. ¡°I was grieved and shocked more than I can tell you, my dear friend; I knew what a blow it was to you.¡±


    He took the General¡¯s hand, and they exchanged a kind pressure. Tears gathered in the old soldier¡¯s eyes. He did not seek to conceal them. He said:


    ¡°We¡¯ve been friends for so long; I knew you¡¯d understand, especially since I have no children of my own,¡± the General lamented, his voice heavy with sorrow. ¡°She meant everything to me, brought light into my life, and now it¡¯s all shattered. I don¡¯t have many years left, but I pray I can do something meaningful before my time is up¡ªto seek justice for my daughter and bring closure to this nightmare that has torn apart our lives!¡±


    ¡°You mentioned wanting to share the details of what happened,¡± my father prompted gently. ¡°Please, go ahead. We¡¯re here to listen, not out of mere curiosity, but out of genuine concern.¡±


    As we approached the point where the Drunstall road diverged from our path to Rosewood, the General¡¯s eyes searched ahead anxiously. ¡°How much farther to the ruins?¡± he asked.


    ¡°About half a league,¡± my father replied. ¡°Please, continue with the story you promised to tell us.¡±

 Chapter 14 - The Story

    <hr>


    ¡°With all my heart,¡± the General began, his tone carrying a mix of determination and sorrow. After a brief pause to gather his thoughts, he delved into a tale that left us all captivated.


    ¡°My daughter was eagerly anticipating the visit you kindly arranged for her with your delightful daughter,¡± he nodded to me with a bittersweet smile. ¡°But just before that, we received an invitation from my old friend Count Karlfeldt, whose castle lies about six leagues beyond Rosewood. He invited us to join the festivities in honor of the Grand Duke Charles.¡±


    ¡°A grand affair, I¡¯ve heard,¡± my father remarked.


    ¡°Absolutely regal! The night in question was devoted to a splendid masquerade,¡± the General continued, painting a vivid picture. ¡°The grounds were aglow with colored lamps, fireworks lit up the sky in a spectacle rivaling Paris, and the music¡ªah, the music! It transported me back to the romance of my youth.¡±


    ¡°After the fireworks, the ball commenced in the magnificent rooms. It was a dazzling sight, filled with aristocrats and elegance. My daughter, radiant as ever, caught the eye of a masked young lady who seemed particularly interested in her. I had spotted this same lady earlier, watching my daughter with keen interest,¡± he recounted, his expression reflecting a mix of puzzlement and concern.


    ¡°If only she hadn¡¯t worn a mask, I could have been certain of her intentions,¡± the General lamented. ¡°But I¡¯m now convinced she was indeed watching my dear child.¡±


    ¡°We were in one of the elegant salons. My daughter, having danced, was taking a moment¡¯s respite in a nearby chair, and I stood close by. The two ladies I mentioned earlier had joined us¡ªthe younger sitting beside my daughter, while her companion engaged me in conversation. She spoke in a familiar tone, mentioning encounters we¡¯d had at Court and in esteemed circles. Her references to past incidents, long forgotten, sparked my curiosity, bringing forgotten memories to life.


    ¡°As she skillfully evaded my attempts to unveil her identity, I grew increasingly intrigued. Her knowledge of my life¡¯s moments was uncanny, and she seemed to relish teasing my curiosity. Meanwhile, the young lady, referred to as Maribelle by her mother, effortlessly conversed with my daughter. She mentioned her mother¡¯s acquaintance with me, praised my daughter¡¯s attire and beauty, and entertained her with witty observations about the ball¡¯s attendees.


    ¡°Gradually, they became fast friends, and Maribelle lowered her mask, revealing a strikingly beautiful face unknown to us. Yet, her charm was undeniable, captivating both my daughter and me. My daughter, in particular, seemed enchanted, and the stranger appeared equally taken with her.


    ¡°Seizing the mask¡¯s anonymity, I playfully pressed the elder lady, ¡®You¡¯ve completely mystified me. Isn¡¯t that enough? Will you now reveal yourself and grant me the courtesy of removing your mask?¡¯¡±


    ¡°Surely, you can¡¯t be that unreasonable,¡± I countered, feigning offense. ¡°Ask a lady to give up her advantage? Besides, how do you know you¡¯d recognize me? Time brings changes.¡±


    ¡°As philosophers say,¡± she remarked coyly, ¡°and who¡¯s to say seeing my face would be of any help?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d take my chances,¡± I replied with a smile. ¡°You can¡¯t hide the truth forever; your figure gives you away.¡±


    ¡°Years have passed since we last met, or rather, since you last saw me,¡± she mused. ¡°Maribelle there is my daughter; that alone tells you I¡¯m not as young as you remember. Comparisons to the past may not be to my liking.¡±


    ¡°My plea is to your compassion, to reveal yourself,¡± I urged.


    ¡°And mine is to yours, to let it remain a mystery,¡± she countered.


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    ¡°At the very least, can you tell me if you¡¯re French or German? You speak both languages so fluently,¡± I pressed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think I¡¯ll divulge that,¡± she teased. ¡°You¡¯re plotting a surprise, and I wouldn¡¯t want to ruin your fun.¡±


    ¡°Nevertheless, you can¡¯t deny that since you¡¯ve allowed me to converse with you, I should know how to address you. Shall I say Madame la Comtesse?¡± I inquired.


    She chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter. ¡°As to that,¡± she began, but was interrupted by a gentleman dressed elegantly in black. His complexion, however, was unnaturally pale, almost like death.


    ¡°May I have a moment of Madame la Comtesse¡¯s time?¡± he asked, bowing deeply.


    She signaled for silence and turned to me, ¡°Keep my seat, General; I¡¯ll be back shortly.¡±


    As they conversed earnestly, I pondered the mystery of her identity. Just as I was about to join my daughter and Maribelle, the lady returned with the pale gentleman.


    ¡°I¡¯ll inform Madame la Comtesse when her carriage is ready,¡± he announced before bowing and departing.


    ¡°We¡¯ll miss Madame la Comtesse, but I hope it¡¯s just for a short while,¡± I remarked, offering a polite bow.


    ¡°It might be only that, or it might stretch to a few weeks. Unfortunately, his interruption has complicated matters. Do you recognize me now?¡± she inquired.


    I shook my head, indicating that her identity remained a mystery.


    ¡°You will, in time,¡± she assured me, ¡°but not yet. We¡¯re closer friends than you may realize. I cannot reveal myself at this moment. In three weeks, I¡¯ll be passing your splendid schloss, which I¡¯ve been inquiring about. I¡¯ll pay you a brief visit and renew a friendship filled with fond memories. But right now, urgent news compels me to travel nearly a hundred miles via a circuitous route. I must move swiftly on a mission of utmost importance¡ªa mission I¡¯ll explain in detail when we meet, without any need for secrecy.¡±


    She proceeded to make her request, doing so in a manner that almost made it seem like a favor she was granting rather than seeking.


    ¡°This is a peculiar request,¡± I admitted, considering her proposal. ¡°But your candidness and reliance on my chivalry are persuasive. At the same time, my daughter is eager for your friend Maribelle to visit. If her mother consents, she¡¯d be delighted.¡±


    Under normal circumstances, I might have delayed such an invitation until we knew more about them. However, the combined allure of the elegant young lady Maribelle and the compelling argument from her mother swayed me too easily.


    The Countess beckoned Maribelle over and explained the sudden summons and the arrangement for her stay under my care, emphasizing my long-standing friendship with the family.


    After making appropriate assurances and pleasantries, I found myself in a position I hadn¡¯t entirely anticipated or embraced.


    The gentleman in black returned and escorted the Countess from the room with great ceremony, leaving an air of significance lingering in the wake of her departure.


    Her final words emphasized the need for secrecy and trust until her return, revealing a level of importance beyond what her title suggested.


    Maribelle expressed a desire to bid farewell to her mother from a window overlooking the hall door, eager to see the last of her and offer a parting gesture of affection.


    We agreed and joined her at the window. We watched as a splendid old-fashioned carriage pulled up, attended by a retinue of couriers and footmen. The pale gentleman in black draped a thick velvet cloak around her shoulders and hooded her head. She exchanged nods and a brief touch of hands with him as the carriage began to roll away.


    ¡°She¡¯s gone,¡± Maribelle sighed.


    ¡°She¡¯s gone,¡± I echoed, suddenly reflecting on the hasty decision I¡¯d made. ¡°She didn¡¯t look up,¡± Maribelle lamented.


    ¡°She might have taken off her mask and preferred not to reveal her face,¡± I speculated, trying to ease the disappointment.


    Maribelle¡¯s beauty softened my resolve. Regretting my momentary hesitation in hospitality, I resolved to make amends for any perceived rudeness.


    Mask back in place, Maribelle and my ward convinced me to return to the festivities. As we strolled on the terrace under the castle¡¯s glow, Maribelle regaled us with tales and witty observations about the guests, injecting life into our evening.


    The ball extended into the early hours, orchestrated by the Grand Duke¡¯s whims. We navigated the crowded halls until my ward realized Maribelle was missing. Our search proved futile, and I began to grasp the folly of accepting responsibility for someone whose identity remained a mystery.


    Dawn broke before we gave up our search. It wasn¡¯t until the following afternoon that news of Maribelle¡¯s whereabouts reached us.


    A servant informed us of a distressed young lady seeking me and my ward, entrusted to her care by her mother. Though slightly inaccurate, it was evident our lost charge had reappeared. If only we hadn¡¯t found her!


    Maribelle explained her prolonged absence with a story of getting lost and finally resting in the housekeeper¡¯s room, exhausted from the ball.


    That day, Maribelle returned with us, and despite the initial confusion and worry, I couldn¡¯t have been happier to have such a delightful companion for my dear girl.

 Chapter 15 - The Woodman

    <hr>


    "As time went on, we encountered some unexpected issues. Maribelle complained of extreme fatigue, a lingering weakness from her recent illness. She seldom left her room until well into the afternoon. Oddly, despite always locking her door from the inside, it was discovered that she occasionally ventured out in the early morning and at other times during the day without alerting anyone. From the castle¡¯s windows, she was spotted wandering in a trance-like state, heading eastward through the trees at dawn. It became evident that she was sleepwalking, but this revelation didn¡¯t explain how she managed to leave her locked room without unlocking the door or window." The General continued his story.


    "Amidst these mysteries, a more urgent concern arose. My dear child began to decline in appearance and health in a manner that deeply troubled me. She started having disturbing dreams and believed she was visited by a specter, sometimes resembling Maribelle and other times taking on an indistinct, beastly form, pacing around her bed. Then came strange sensations¡ªan icy flow against her chest, followed by sharp, needle-like pains beneath her throat, leading to episodes of convulsive strangulation and subsequent unconsciousness."


    The General¡¯s words resonated clearly with me as we drove closer to the roofless village, where no chimney smoke had risen for decades. It was surreal to hear my own symptoms mirrored in those experienced by the unfortunate girl who would have been a guest at my father¡¯s chateau if not for the tragic turn of events. The General¡¯s description of habits and peculiarities perfectly matched those of our beautiful guest, Victoria.


    As we arrived at the abandoned village, with the castle¡¯s towers looming overhead, a sense of unease settled over me. We disembarked in silence, each lost in our thoughts, and began to explore the castle¡¯s vast chambers, winding stairs, and shadowy corridors.


    ¡°And here we stand, in what was once the grand domain of the Rosewoods!¡± exclaimed the old General, his gaze sweeping across the village from a towering window. ¡°A cursed lineage, their dark history etched in blood,¡± he continued somberly. ¡°It¡¯s a cruel fate that their wicked deeds linger even beyond the grave. That chapel down there, it¡¯s the Rosewoods¡¯ legacy,¡± he pointed towards the grey walls peeking through the trees. ¡°And listen, the woodman¡¯s axe echoes nearby; perhaps he holds the key to my quest, the grave of Sienna, Countess of Rosewood. These locals keep alive the tales of noble families, long forgotten by the rich and titled once their lines fade.¡±


    ¡°We have a portrait of Sienna, the Countess Rosewood, at home. Would you like to see it?¡± my father offered.


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    ¡°Another time, my friend,¡± replied the General. ¡°I believe I¡¯ve encountered the real Sienna; one reason I came earlier than planned was to explore this very chapel we¡¯re approaching.¡±


    ¡°Sienna, the Countess Rosewood? She¡¯s been gone for over a century!¡± exclaimed my father in disbelief.


    ¡°Not as gone as you think,¡± the General retorted cryptically.


    ¡°You¡¯re quite the enigma, General,¡± my father remarked, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face again. Despite the General¡¯s occasional outbursts of anger and detestation, his demeanor remained resolute.


    ¡°Only one thing drives me now in my remaining years,¡± the General spoke as we entered the grand Gothic church, its imposing architecture signaling its significance. ¡°To avenge the monstrous deeds of that woman,¡± he declared, his voice echoing through the ancient ruin.


    ¡°Avenge? How?¡± my father inquired, growing more bewildered.


    ¡°To sever her head from her wretched body,¡± the General¡¯s tone turned fierce, his hand mimicking the grip of an axe as he spoke of decapitation.


    ¡°Behead her?¡± my father gasped, utterly taken aback.


    ¡°Yes, with any tool that can cleave through her murderous throat!¡± the General¡¯s rage was palpable. ¡°You shall hear,¡± he continued, motioning for us to sit on a nearby bench. ¡°Let me recount this chilling tale.¡±


    As we settled on the wooden bench within the chapel¡¯s solemn embrace, the General called out to the woodman, who had been clearing branches from the old walls. With axe in hand, the rugged man joined us, ready to share his part in the haunting narrative.


    The woodman couldn¡¯t offer much insight into the monuments, but he mentioned an old ranger, currently staying with the priest about two miles away, who knew every detail about the old Rosewood family¡¯s monuments. He offered to fetch him back within half an hour if given a horse.


    ¡°Have you spent a lot of time in this forest?¡± my father inquired.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been a woodman here under the forester all my life, just like my father and his father before him,¡± the old man replied in his local dialect. ¡°I could show you the house where my ancestors lived in this village.¡±


    The General, intrigued, asked about the village¡¯s abandonment.


    ¡°It was plagued by revenants, sir,¡± the woodman explained. ¡°Several were hunted to their graves and dealt with by decapitation, stakes, and burning, but not before many villagers lost their lives.¡±


    Despite these efforts, the village remained troubled until a Moravian nobleman arrived. The woodman recounted a chilling tale of how the nobleman, using a strategic plan involving the vampire¡¯s linen clothes, lured and defeated the creature atop the chapel tower.


    ¡°The nobleman had permission to relocate Sienna, Countess Rosewood¡¯s tomb, which he did so effectively that its exact location was forgotten over time,¡± the woodman concluded.


    ¡°Can you at least show us where it used to be?¡± the General asked eagerly.


    The forester shrugged. ¡°No one alive could say for sure now,¡± he replied. ¡°And rumors suggest her body might have been moved as well, but that¡¯s uncertain.¡±


    With that, he left to attend to his duties, leaving us eager to hear more from the General¡¯s eerie narrative.

 Chapter 16 - The Meeting

    <hr>


    ¡°My dear child,¡± he began again, ¡°was deteriorating rapidly. Despite the efforts of her attending physician, her condition worsened without any improvement. Seeing my concern, the doctor suggested consulting a more experienced colleague from Shultz. It took several days for this new physician to arrive, during which time my anxiety grew.


    When the two doctors finally met my daughter, they retreated to my library for a discussion. From where I waited anxiously in the adjacent room, I could hear their voices escalating into a heated debate. Curious and worried, I knocked and entered to find them at odds, one defending his theory passionately while the other resorted to mockery and laughter. Their disagreement simmered down as I intervened.


    ¡°My esteemed colleague here,¡± the first physician said, ¡°seems to believe we need a magician, not a doctor.¡±


    ¡°My apologies,¡± the Shultz physician replied with a hint of displeasure, ¡°I will present my findings in a more appropriate manner later. Unfortunately, Monsieur le General, my expertise offers no solution in this case. However, before I depart, I have a suggestion to offer.¡±


    He then sat down to write, leaving me deeply disappointed and confused. As I prepared to leave, the other doctor gestured towards his colleague, implying doubt about his mental state.


    This consultation left me no wiser. I wandered outside, overwhelmed by despair. Soon after, the doctor from Shultz caught up with me, expressing his reluctance to leave without sharing further insights. He painted a grim picture, explaining that my daughter¡¯s condition, resembling no known illness, was nearing its fatal end. There might be a slim chance of recovery if we acted swiftly and skillfully, but time was slipping away.


    ¡°What kind of illness are you referring to?¡± I implored.


    ¡°I¡¯ve detailed everything in this note,¡± he replied, handing me a sealed letter. ¡°But before you read it, promise me to summon a clergyman and open it only in his presence. It¡¯s a matter of life and death. If the clergyman is unavailable, then you may read it.¡±


    Before departing, he also recommended inviting an expert on the subject mentioned in his letter. With a heavy heart, I waited for the clergyman, but he was delayed. Left with no choice, I opened the letter alone. Under different circumstances, I might have dismissed its contents as absurd, but desperate times call for desperate measures, especially when a loved one¡¯s life hangs in the balance.¡±


    It was beyond belief to think of confining him to a psychiatric facility over such claims. He insisted that the patient was tormented by a vampire! According to him, the marks near her throat were the result of fangs unique to vampires, and the distinct livid spot left by the creature¡¯s lips was unmistakable. Every symptom matched the recorded accounts of similar supernatural encounters.


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    Personally, I was highly skeptical about vampires or any such supernatural beings. The doctor¡¯s supernatural diagnosis seemed like an educated mind tainted by a singular obsession. Despite my doubts, I felt so desperate that I decided to follow the instructions in the letter.


    I hid in the dimly lit dressing room adjacent to the patient¡¯s room, armed with my sword as instructed. Peering through a crack in the door, I waited until she fell asleep. Around one in the morning, I witnessed a dark shape creeping over the foot of her bed, swiftly enveloping her throat. Without hesitation, I lunged forward with my sword, only to see the dark mass retract and morph into Maribelle standing near the door, unharmed.


    Shocked and bewildered, I swung my sword again, but she vanished, leaving me with shattered disbelief and a ruined blade against the door.


    The night was a nightmare I struggle to put into words. Chaos gripped the house as we realized Maribelle had vanished into thin air, leaving behind a fading victim whose life ebbed away before the break of day.


    The old General, clearly shaken, found solace in a quiet corner. My father, seeking distraction, wandered amidst the tombstones, absorbed in deciphering the faded inscriptions. His curiosity led him to a side chapel, delving deeper into his exploration.


    Meanwhile, I stood near the General, watching his silent sorrow, when the comforting sounds of Victoria and Madame reached us. Their approach eased the tense atmosphere momentarily before fading into the distant background noise.


    Alone in that eerie setting, with the weight of the chilling tale still fresh in my mind, surrounded by ancient monuments and nature¡¯s imposing silence, a sense of dread crept over me. The shadows seemed to deepen, amplifying the ominous aura that enveloped us.


    The General¡¯s gaze remained fixed on the ground, lost in his thoughts, while my eyes caught sight of Victoria¡¯s graceful entrance through a narrow, arching doorway adorned with grotesque carvings typical of Gothic art. Relief washed over me at the sight of her familiar face.


    As I prepared to greet her, a sudden cry shattered the moment. The old man beside me seized a woodman¡¯s hatchet and lunged forward. Victoria¡¯s expression twisted into something monstrous at the sight of him. In a flash, she evaded his strike, effortlessly overpowering him with a swift and unexpected move. The hatchet fell to the ground as she vanished into the shadows, leaving us stunned and bewildered by the surreal turn of events.


    The old General¡¯s world seemed to crumble around him. His once-steady demeanor shattered as he leaned heavily against the wall, his hair disheveled, and a sheen of sweat betraying his inner turmoil.


    The shock of the moment lingered as Madame, visibly distressed, pressed for answers. Her repeated question echoed in the tense air, demanding to know the whereabouts of Mademoiselle Victoria.


    Struggling to collect my thoughts amidst the chaos, I finally managed to reply, ¡°I don¡¯t know. She was here just a moment ago, but now... she¡¯s gone.¡± My gesture towards the door she had entered through conveyed my uncertainty.


    Madame¡¯s confusion only deepened as she explained, ¡°I¡¯ve been right here, watching the passage. She never returned.¡±


    Frantic calls for Victoria echoed through the halls, but silence greeted us in return, amplifying the sense of unease that gripped us all.


    ¡°That was her name? Victoria?¡± the General¡¯s voice quivered with a mix of fear and realization.


    ¡°Yes, Victoria,¡± I confirmed.


    The General¡¯s next words carried a weight of dread, ¡°Maribelle. That¡¯s who you saw. She was once known as Sienna, Countess Rosewood. Leave this place immediately. Go to the clergyman¡¯s house and stay there until we arrive. Hurry! Victoria is no more here; you won¡¯t find her.¡±

 Chapter 17 - Ordeal and Execution

    <hr>


    As the General spoke, one of the strangest men I¡¯d ever seen entered the chapel through the same door Victoria had used. He was tall and stooped, with high shoulders and a narrow chest. Dressed entirely in black, his face was weathered and deeply furrowed. His oddly-shaped hat had a broad brim, and his grizzled hair hung long over his shoulders. Gold spectacles perched on his nose, and he walked with a peculiar, shambling gait, sometimes looking up at the sky, sometimes down at the ground. A perpetual smile played on his lips as his long, thin arms swung, his gloved hands gesticulating absently.


    ¡°The very man!¡± the General exclaimed with obvious delight, advancing towards him. ¡°My dear Byron, I didn¡¯t expect to see you so soon!¡± He signaled my father, who had just returned, and led the eccentric old gentleman, whom he called Byron, to meet him. After a formal introduction, they immediately engaged in earnest conversation.


    Byron took a roll of paper from his pocket and spread it on the worn surface of a tomb nearby. He traced imaginary lines on the paper with a pencil, often glancing up at specific points in the chapel. It was clear he was explaining a plan of the chapel. He frequently read from a small, dirty book filled with closely written, yellowed pages.


    They strolled down the side aisle, opposite where I stood, measuring distances by pacing and examining the walls. Finally, they stopped in front of a section of the sidewall, pulling away the ivy and tapping the plaster with their sticks. With the woodman¡¯s help, they uncovered a broad marble tablet with letters carved in relief.


    The inscription and carved escutcheon revealed it to be the long-lost monument of Sienna, Countess Rosewood. The old General, though not typically given to prayer, raised his hands and eyes to heaven in silent thanksgiving.


    ¡°Tomorrow,¡± I heard him say, ¡°the commissioner will be here, and the Inquisition will be held according to law.¡±


    He then turned to Byron, shaking his hands warmly. ¡°Byron, how can I thank you? How can we all thank you? You¡¯ve delivered this region from a plague that has tormented its inhabitants for over a century. The horrible enemy is finally tracked.¡±


    My father led the stranger aside, and the General followed. I noticed them glancing at me frequently as they spoke, clearly discussing my case.


    Afterward, my father came to me, kissing me repeatedly, and said, ¡°It¡¯s time to return home. But first, we must visit the priest nearby and persuade him to accompany us to the schloss.¡±


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    We successfully enlisted the priest, and I felt relieved yet exhausted when we reached home. However, my relief turned to dismay when I discovered there were no tidings of Victoria. No one explained the scene in the ruined chapel to me, and it was evident my father intended to keep it secret for the time being.


    Victoria¡¯s sinister absence made the memory of the chapel incident even more horrifying. That night, unusual arrangements were made for my safety: two servants and Madame were to stay in my room, while the priest and my father kept watch in the adjacent dressing room. The priest performed certain solemn rites, the purpose of which I didn¡¯t understand, nor did I comprehend the need for such extraordinary precautions during my sleep.


    A few days later, everything became clear. Victoria¡¯s disappearance coincided with the end of my nightly torment.


    You¡¯ve probably heard of the appalling superstition that prevails in places like Upper and Lower Styria, Moravia, Silesia, Turkish Serbia, Poland, and even Russia¡ªthe superstition, if we must call it that, of the vampire.


    If human testimony, gathered with utmost care and solemnity, judicially, before countless commissions composed of members chosen for their integrity and intelligence, and resulting in reports more voluminous than any other class of cases, holds any value, then it¡¯s hard to deny, or even doubt, the existence of such a phenomenon as the vampire.


    For my part, I¡¯ve encountered no theory that explains what I¡¯ve witnessed and experienced other than the ancient, well-documented belief of this land.


    The next day, the formal proceedings took place in the Chapel of Rosewood. The grave of Countess Sienna was opened, and both the General and my father recognized the perfidious yet beautiful guest now revealed. Her features, though a hundred and fifty years had passed since her funeral, still bore the tint of life. Her eyes were open; there was no cadaverous smell emanating from the coffin. The two medical men present, one officially and the other representing the inquiry¡¯s promoter, confirmed the astonishing fact that there was a faint but detectable respiration and corresponding heart activity. Her limbs were perfectly flexible, her flesh elastic, and the leaden coffin was filled with blood, in which her body lay submerged up to seven inches deep.


    Here were all the undeniable signs and proofs of vampirism. The body, therefore, following ancient practice, was raised, and a sharp stake was driven through the vampire¡¯s heart. She let out a piercing shriek, akin to that of a living person in their final agony. Then, her head was struck off, releasing a torrent of blood from the severed neck. The body and head were placed on a pile of wood and reduced to ashes, which were then thrown into the river and carried away. Since then, that territory has never been plagued by the visits of a vampire.


    My father has a copy of the report from the Imperial Commission, bearing the signatures of all present at these proceedings, attesting to the statement¡¯s accuracy. It is from this official document that I have summarized my account of this last shocking scene.

 Chapter 18 - Conclusion

    <hr>


    I write all this, and you might think I do so with composure. Far from it. The mere thought of these events still fills me with agitation. Nothing but your persistent requests could have made me take on this task, which has unraveled my nerves for months and reawakened the unspeakable horror that lingered for years after my ordeal, making my days and nights dreadful and solitude unbearable.


    Let me tell you a bit about Byron Vredenburg, the eccentric scholar whose knowledge led us to the discovery of Countess Sienna¡¯s grave. Byron had settled in Shultz, living on a modest income that was all that remained of his family¡¯s once vast estates in Upper Styria. He dedicated himself to the meticulous study of the well-documented tradition of vampirism. He was an expert on all the major and minor works on the subject, from ¡°Magia Posthuma¡± to ¡°Phlegon de Mirabilibus,¡± ¡°Augustinus de cura pro Mortuis,¡± and ¡°Philosophicae et Christianae Cogitationes de Vampiris¡± by John Christofer Herenberg, among countless others. His collection was extensive, and he often lent some of these texts to my father.


    Byron had compiled a vast digest of all the judicial cases related to vampirism, extracting principles that seemed to govern the condition of vampires. Contrary to popular belief, the deadly pallor often attributed to vampires is a melodramatic fiction. When seen in their graves or mingling in human society, they appear healthy and alive. When revealed in their coffins, they exhibit all the symptoms that marked Countess Rosewood as a vampire.


    How they escape from their graves and return without disturbing the soil or leaving any trace in the coffin remains a mystery. Their existence depends on daily slumber in their graves, and their horrific lust for living blood sustains their waking life. Vampires often develop an intense, obsessive fascination with certain individuals. They employ endless patience and cunning to reach their chosen victims, never resting until they have drained the life from them. In these cases, they savor their gruesome pleasure like an epicure, prolonging the torment through an artful, gradual approach. They seem to crave some form of sympathy or consent. In other cases, they attack directly, overpowering their victims with violence and draining their life in a single, brutal feast.


    Vampires also appear to follow certain rules in specific situations. In the case of Sienna, she seemed bound to a name that, if not her real one, had to reproduce, letter for letter, the anagram of her true name. Victoria and Maribelle both fit this pattern.


    Byron¡¯s meticulous research and curious lore were invaluable in uncovering Countess Sienna¡¯s grave and understanding the nature of her vampirism. His insights were instrumental in identifying the signs and symptoms that marked her as a vampire and provided the knowledge necessary to put an end to her terror.


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    So, as unsettling as it is to recount these events, it¡¯s important to share the truth about what we faced and how we ultimately defeated a creature of such malevolent power.


    My father shared the story of the Moravian nobleman and the vampire at Rosewood churchyard with Byron Vredenburg, who stayed with us for a few weeks after Victoria was expelled. He asked Byron how he had discovered the exact location of Countess Sienna¡¯s long-hidden tomb. Byron¡¯s peculiar features twisted into a mysterious smile as he fiddled with his worn spectacle case. Finally, he looked up and said:


    ¡°I have many journals and papers written by that remarkable man. The most intriguing is one about his visit to Rosewood. Tradition, of course, adds some color and distortion. He might have been called a Moravian nobleman since he had moved to that area and held a title. But he was, in fact, a native of Upper Styria. In his youth, he was a passionate and favored lover of the beautiful Sienna, Countess Rosewood. Her early death plunged him into inconsolable grief. Vampires tend to multiply according to a mysterious law.


    ¡°Imagine a territory completely free from vampires. How does it begin, and how does it spread? A person, often wicked, takes their own life. Under certain conditions, a suicide becomes a vampire. That specter visits the living in their sleep, causing their death, and they often become vampires in the grave. This happened to the beautiful Sienna, who was haunted by one of these demons. My ancestor, Vredenburg, whose title I bear, discovered this and, through his studies, learned much more.


    ¡°He feared that suspicion of vampirism would fall upon the dead Countess, who had been his idol in life. He dreaded the idea of her remains being desecrated by a posthumous execution. He left a curious paper arguing that a vampire, once expelled from its amphibious existence, enters a far more horrible state. To save his beloved Sienna from this fate, he devised a ruse: a journey here, a supposed removal of her remains, and the actual erasure of her monument. When he grew older, he regretted his actions and a horror took hold of him. He made the tracings and notes that led me to the exact spot and wrote a confession of his deception. If he intended to take further action, death prevented him, and it was a distant descendant who, too late for many, directed the hunt to the lair of the beast.¡±


    We continued our conversation, and he mentioned something else:


    ¡°One sign of a vampire is the strength of its hand. Sienna¡¯s slender hand closed like a steel vice on the General¡¯s wrist when he raised the hatchet to strike. But its power isn¡¯t limited to its grip; it leaves a numbness in the limb it seizes, which may never fully recover.¡±


    The following spring, my father took me on a tour through Italy. We stayed away for more than a year. It took a long time for the terror of recent events to fade. To this day, the image of Victoria haunts my memory with ambiguous shifts¡ªsometimes she appears as the playful, languid, beautiful girl; other times as the writhing fiend I saw in the ruined church. Often, I startle from a reverie, imagining I hear Victoria¡¯s light step at the drawing room door.


    THE END