Louise Rosswain dabbed at his runny nose again, silently cursing the sickness that refused to let loose of him. The damned thing was but one of many discomforts plaguing him on this journey. The real bane of this damned carriage ride was his pupil: Lilia Pinkletine -- whose mouth ran faster than the horses that pulled the damned transport.


    During their travel, he could only barely find the time to consider the sealed letter tucked safely inside his coat. The letter that spurred this damned journey. He''d been quite shocked to receive such a summons from his old travelling companion. The dreaded Alice Yune, Mistress of the Bellgrave -- his last living friend from that time. After all that had transpired, he''d never expected to hear from her again. Especially a request.


    "Sir, sir!" Lilia barked like a small dog locked behind a door. He wished he could muzzle the brat. Though, after the fiasco with his last student, such an action would surely lead to disbarment.


    And so he had to force civility. "What is it, dear?"


    She pointed a gloved finger out the ordained window. "Look - there!" She whispered. "A scarecrow! It moves too!"


    Louise repressed a groan, but his eyes rolled on their own. "How profound." He drawled. He glanced out the window to look at what had enthralled her so much. It was no simple scarecrow. Its head followed their carriage as it rode up the Manor''s hill. It was a strange thing, a faceless thing, dressed from shoulder to toe in black. If Louise were a worried man, or a weak man, he''d fear the blasted thing was real enough to run him down. It stood in the middle of a vast crop of wheat, and did little but stare.


    The fields gave way to a winding, cobblestone road overgrown with moss and wreathed in low-lying fog. Eventually, the carriage ground to a halt at the crest of a hill, where the sprawling Manor of Bellgrave loomed over the countryside.


    Louise stepped outside and pulled his coat tighter against the biting wind. A grand fountain—taller than a man—roared in the courtyard, its noise having been audible even within the carriage. He caught sight of two imposing men standing nearby, likely Alice’s henchmen, both watching him with blank eyes. But Louise’s gaze was inexorably drawn to the manor itself: a monumental structure of four towering pillars, steep roofs shingled in black stone, and silver-rimmed windows that seemed designed to keep out every last ray of light.


    Lilia, wagging with excitement, nearly bowled him over in her hurry to escape the cramped interior. “Sir, look at that fountain! Isn’t it gorgeous? Sir, sir—”


    Louise weighed his eyes upon her own, and her excitement waned, "Lilia." He said sternly. With that, she stilled, took a deep breath, and stood up straight to face the men who stood before them. They were at the threshold of a domain of which Louise could barely believe they were welcomed. And it appeared to not be welcoming at all.


    Louise lifted his cane and stepped forward, nodding curtly at the two waiting men. The taller, bald one regarded him with unblinking eyes beneath a sparse canopy of crooked hairs. He looked strong, built more for blunt force than for subtlety, and Louise couldn’t help a grimace—never had he enjoyed dealing with the dumb and bulky. The second man was his opposite: lean, graying, and spectacled, with a sharp gaze that suggested an appetizing mind. Louise resisted licking his lip.


    *Tap, Tap, Tap* went Louise''s cane upon the cobblestone.


    "Mr. Rosswain?" the older man inquired, an oddly placed hint of amusement dancing around his thin lips.


    Louise offered a polite, albeit stiff, smile. "Indeed," he said. Then, with a tinge of reluctance, gestured towards his student. “This is Ms. Pinkletine, my… apprentice.”


    Both men looked at Lilia in a swift, synchronized motion. She forced a jittery smile, likely trying to mask her nerves. After a beat of silence, the pair gave a formal bow.


    “This way, Mr. Rosswain. Ms. Pinkletine,” said the taller man, his voice low and measured.


    They turned and led the way toward the manor’s towering doors, thick wood reinforced by wrought iron. The door creaked open, and the innards of the beast were revealed to them.


    Inside, black-and-white tiles stretched across the foyer. A vast rug lay sprawled over part of the floor—its hide so dark it seemed to recoil at the faint light. Louise squinted, unable to guess which creature had once worn that fur. He''d studied every known beast in this region, but it looked like nothing he recognized, nor appeared in any of the thousands of memories he''d skimmed - and that, perhaps, was the most unsettling thing of all.


    Dust lurked in the corners, coating the half-veiled statues and candelabras with a fine layer. Spiders had claimed entire sections for themselves, each gossamer thread glinting like ghostly blades in the subtle light. Louise could almost taste the sense of desertion here, the absence of real, living warmth. How long had Alice had the place like this? Louise wondered.


    Then came the echo of heels against the cold tiles. Slow, deliberate footsteps, each clack reverberating as if the house itself was holding its breath. Louise turned his head, and Lilia’s tremulous voice sounded beside him.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    “Sir… is th-.” Lilia’s whisper barely carried, and it died in the air.


    He followed her gaze up the grand staircase—and there, in the glow of an ornate chandelier, stood the woman he had once called his companion, and now barely dared to face again. The Mistress of the Bellgrave, had arrived to greet her guests.


    “Alice,” Louise confirmed, voice low.


    Alice Yune descended the stairs with deliberate steps, each clank of her red-soled heels echoing through the foyer like snapping bones. The richest black silk enveloped her figure, flowing behind her in a wave that resembled a mourning veil. Her hair—crimson as spilled blood—cascaded from beneath a pointed hat, pooling over her shoulders. There were dark circles underneath her sharp eyes.


    Louise’s pulse quickened with each step she took. It was impossible not to see her as a predator in her domain. Even the air around her seemed to waver, as though the house itself recoiled from her passage. For an instant, Louise thought he heard a distant howl threading through the night, but whether it was real or only in his mind, he couldn’t say. This mistress was no meagre being. She was the highest threat Louise could fathom running into.


    At last, she reached the lobby floor, her eyes – glittering of disdain – locked onto him. “Louise Rosswain.” The name fell from her lips like a chill wind blowing down a deserted graveyard.


    He removed his hat and pressed it to his chest, forcing a polite bow. “My condolences, Lady Yune,” he murmured, voice tight. “For the loss of your son.”


    Her expression froze over. A sudden hush swallowed the air. Something dark rippled across the floor, as though cast by a flame. Louise realized that no matter how he chose his words, condolences would never come out right for a grief like Alice’s.


    From the top of the stairs, a faint scrape of wheels intruded on the tense silence. Louise glanced up to see a bald man seated in a wheelchair, partially hidden in the shadows. He didn’t recognize this stranger, yet the annoyance flickering across Alice’s face told him that the old man’s presence was unwelcome – though her rage was not aimed at Louise for once, and for that Louise was grateful.


    “This way,” Alice said at last, her voice cutting across the stillness. She lifted a black-gloved hand, gesturing toward a corridor on the far side of the foyer. The hallway loomed like a portal to some deeper terror, scarcely lit by a single wall sconce.


    Louise swallowed against the knot in his throat, motioning for Lilia to follow. Whatever awaited them in the darkness, it was best they not stray far from one another.


    The portraits lining the corridor captured the stern faces of generations, each pair of eyes circled with the same haunted rings. Louise noticed empty patches on the wallpaper where paintings had clearly been ripped down, leaving behind rectangular silhouettes. He resisted the urge to ask why.


    One portrait in particular caught his eye – a stern-faced man with a distinctive scar across his jaw. Louise''s temple throbbed with a familiar ache as unbidden memories surfaced: the same scar, viewed through another''s eyes, the man''s cruel smile as he – Louise forced the foreign memory away. Not his to dwell on. Not anymore.


    They stopped at a dark door. Deep marks surrounded a battered brass handle, and the wood itself appeared older than any other part of the manor. From some hidden pocket of her gown, Alice produced a strange key.


    “What we discuss beyond this door,” Alice said, voice nearly a whisper, “must never leave these walls.” Her gaze swiveled to Lilia, ice in her tone. “The girl stays out.”


    Louise''s jaw tightened. He was not happy to have to argue. But it was necessary for the job. "No. She comes with me."


    “I said she stays-” Alice began, her words snapping like a whip.


    “She will come,” Louise repeated, calm. “Trust me.” Louise knew she would rather die than trust him again. But he had little recourse but to ask.


    A tense silence stretched on, broken only by Lilia’s nervous gulp. Then Alice, mouth set in a near-sneer, turned the key in the lock. The door groaned open, exhaling a stale breath.


    Inside, the chamber was circular and windowless, its high, domed ceiling receded. Shelves lined the walls, each jammed with glass containers holding liquids in discoloured hues – some with vague shapes drifting inside. Louise chose not to examine them too closely. Instead, he focused on the wide oak table in the center, lit by a single oil lamp.


    There, he saw it: a silver music box perched on a black marble stand. When Alice approached, Louise felt the hair on his neck rise.


    “My son,” Alice murmured, placing her hand on the box. The final word caught in her throat. She opened the lid to reveal a glass vessel bathed in murky fluid – and within it, a small wedge of human brain.


    Louise felt that old hunger stirring, his stomach grumbled. He found his voice, just barely. “You want me to consume this little bit? Where is the rest? How could you possibly expect one to unravel the nature of his fate from a few scraps?”


    “Exactly why I called you,” Alice bit out, voice dripping with disdain. “I decided against hiring any other of your kind, despite how badly I wished I could. Only you can decipher what remains.”


    She brushed a gloved finger across the vessel. “Three-quarters of his brain, destroyed. He made sure this part was preserved in his music box – left it behind as though he wanted someone to find it.”


    Louise’s fingers trembled around his cane. The hunger still gnawed, but it was weaker than it once had been. That was why he needed…


    Alice noticed his weakness, she was good at that.


    “Is this the real reason you keep that undead pet?” Alice’s cold eyes pinned Lilia in place. “To help you?"


    Lilia stepped forward, her usual timidity replaced by a peculiar stillness. “No need to fear me, Lady Yune. I’m here to assist Sir Louise in any and all his duties.”


    The lamp’s flame flickered, casting a shadow over Alice’s face. “Then understand this,” she said. “Whatever my son discovered was enough to make him rip out his own memories. He took his life rather than speak of it. Now, you two must devour what’s left… and I assume what you will see won’t be a pretty painting.”


    Louise traced the box’s ornate lid. “Then he wasn’t murdered?”


    Alice shook her head once, curtly. “No. But he might as well have been…


    “I never thought it to be true, but there are some things far worse than death.”