Episode 1

I’ve been told that everyone has a breaking point. Some people lose themselves slowly, piece by piece, like the edges of a fraying rope. Others shatter all at once—one moment whole, the next in shards. I suppose I’m a bit of both.

It wasn’t one event that brought me here, standing at the iron gates of Blackwood Manor, staring up at the sprawling, decaying estate that seems to stretch into the grey sky. No, my descent into this strange place was gradual—a lifetime of choices, of missteps, of broken promises. But it was also sudden, the kind of sudden that leaves you gasping for breath, wondering when exactly everything had gone so terribly wrong.

I’m not from this world of crumbling mansions and men with too many secrets. My life used to be simple, even charmed. I was born into luxury, raised in silk sheets and grand ballrooms, where the scent of expensive perfume masked the rot underneath. My parents were society darlings, their fortune built on the backs of people they’d long forgotten how to care about. But none of that mattered to me, not back then. I was the golden child—perfect grades, perfect clothes, the perfect future mapped out for me. We were… happy, I think. Or at least, we pretended to be. That’s the thing about people with money; they hide their cracks better than most.

The fall came swiftly. My father’s business empire collapsed in the span of a month, drowned in scandal and debts we couldn’t pay. People stopped smiling at me. Invitations stopped coming. We were shunned, left to fend for ourselves in a world that had always cushioned us. I remember the look in my father’s eyes the night he died—somewhere between sorrow and shame as he drank his whiskey alone in his office, never to wake again.

That was the first time I felt truly alone. But it wouldn’t be the last.

My mother, frail as she was, didn’t last much longer after him. Grief consumed her like a slow poison, and I found myself burying both of them within the same year. That’s when I began to disappear, too. Not in the literal sense, but in ways that matter more. The person I used to be—the privileged girl who believed love and stability were eternal—faded away, leaving behind a shell. A body that breathed, but a soul that wandered.

And now… I’m here.

It was desperation that brought me to Blackwood Manor. A strange letter, unsigned, offering employment in this place that time had clearly forgotten. “Caretaker,” it had said. “Room and board included.” I’d laughed when I first read it, thinking it was a joke. But then I looked around at the emptiness of my life, the bills piling up, the emptiness of my soul, and realized I had nothing left to lose. What’s the worst that could happen? I’d thought.

Now, standing at these gates, the wind howling through the trees like whispered warnings, I’m beginning to wonder if I should have been more careful with that question.

I step through the gates and hear them creak behind me as they close with an ominous clang, sealing me inside. My suitcase is small, almost pitiful. A handful of clothes, a few books I couldn’t bear to part with. The weight of my entire life reduced to this single, battered bag.

The gravel crunches beneath my feet as I make my way up the long drive, the manor looming larger with every step. It’s like something out of a Gothic novel, dark stone walls covered in ivy, windows that glint like cold, dead eyes. It feels alive, in a way—a living, breathing entity waiting for me to step inside its heart.

And what a dark heart it must have.

I pause at the heavy wooden door, my hand hovering over the ancient brass knocker shaped like a raven, its wings spread wide. For a moment, I hesitate. I could still turn back, I tell myself. I could walk away, find some other way to scrape by. But then I remember the silence of my tiny apartment, the way my skin prickles with the feeling that something’s missing. I don’t want to go back to that. I can’t.

I knock.

The sound echoes through the door, a deep, resonating boom that sends a shiver down my spine. Moments later, it opens, and I find myself face to face with him.

Dorian Blackwood.

I’d heard rumors about him before—everyone in town had. Some said he was mad, others said he was brilliant, a recluse hiding from the world. The truth, I suspect, is somewhere in between.

He stands in the doorway, tall, shadowed by the dim light behind him. His face is sharp, angular, like it was carved from stone. His eyes, though—they’re what hold me in place. Dark and unreadable, like twin abysses that draw you in, whether you want them to or not.

“You must be Evangeline,” he says, his voice low and smooth, but there’s something unsettling in it, like a serpent coiled beneath the surface.

“I prefer Eva,” I say, my own voice betraying none of the fear or curiosity swirling inside me.

“Eva, then.” He steps aside, motioning for me to enter. “Welcome to Blackwood Manor.”

There’s something in his eyes when he says it, a flicker of something too fleeting to name, but it chills me. Welcome. It feels more like a warning than a greeting.

I step inside, crossing the threshold into a world I can’t fully understand yet. But already, I know one thing for certain:

Whatever darkness lurks in this place, I’m not afraid of it.

I’ve lived in darkness all my life.

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