Description
They warned her about the manor long before she set eyes upon it. They spoke of its master in hushed tones, a man whose name carried the weight of old sins-Vladis. Some said he had bargained with the devil himself; others swore he was no man at all, but a demon wearing human skin. Mothers warned their daughters not to wander near his gates, for those who entered were never the same again. But warnings had never stopped Ophelia. Long before her carriage brought her to the blackened iron gates, she had dreamt of him. Nights filled with fire and shadows, a voice like smoke coiling around her heart, whispering her name as though he had always known it. She would wake trembling, her lips aching as if they had been kissed in her sleep. And though terror followed her into daylight, a secret part of her longed for night to fall again. On the evening she arrived, a storm raged across the hills. The path was choked with mist, branches clawing at the windows like desperate hands trying to pull her back. Yet the gates opened for her without a touch. Beyond them stood the manor, vast and broken, its windows black except for a single light burning high in the tower, like a watchful, unblinking eye. When Ophelia crossed the threshold, the air turned colder than the rain outside. Shadows clung to the walls, stretching too far, bending too wrong. The silence was alive, pulsing with something unseen. And though she had not yet met him, she felt him. Vladis. Not waiting as a man waits for a guest- but as a demon waits for a soul. ---
DEDICATION
