Whispers in the Halls

The morning sun was an uninvited guest at Blackthorn Manor, barely piercing through the heavy storm clouds. Lila woke to the sharp rap of knuckles on her door. Arthur’s voice was as crisp as the cold air that crept through her window.

“Miss Calder, it is six o’clock. You’re expected in the kitchens.”

Groggy and unsettled from restless dreams, Lila hurried to dress. The plain uniform she’d been given felt stifling, the collar tight around her neck. She smoothed her hair and descended the narrow servant's staircase into the heart of the manor.

The kitchen was vast, with gleaming counters and a towering hearth that radiated warmth. Two other servants worked in silence, barely sparing Lila a glance as she entered. A stern-faced woman, her hair pulled into a severe bun, approached her.

“I’m Mrs. Lark, the housekeeper,” she said, handing Lila a clipboard. “Here are your tasks. Stick to the east wing for now, and under no circumstances are you to disturb Mr. Blackthorn unless summoned. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lila felt the weight of their stares as she left the kitchen, her footsteps echoing in the empty halls.

The east wing was an exercise in restrained opulence. Each room was adorned with antique furniture, heavy drapes, and ornate chandeliers. Yet beneath the grandeur was a suffocating stillness, as though the house itself held its breath.

While dusting a mantelpiece, Lila noticed a portrait hanging above the fireplace. It depicted a woman with striking features: raven-black hair, pale skin, and eyes that seemed to pierce through the canvas. Her beauty was undeniable, but her expression was cold, almost haunting.

“That’s Eleanor Blackthorn,” came a voice behind her.

Lila spun around to see Arthur standing in the doorway, his face as unreadable as ever.

“Mr. Blackthorn’s late wife,” he added, stepping closer. “A word of advice, Miss Calder. Do not pry into things that don’t concern you. The last girl who did... didn’t last long.”

Before Lila could respond, he turned and disappeared down the hall, his warning hanging in the air like a noose.

As the day wore on, Lila couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. While polishing the grand staircase, she glanced up to see Adrian Blackthorn standing at the top, his expression impassive.

“Miss Calder,” he said, his voice cutting through the silence.

“Yes, sir?”

“You’ve been staring at that portrait,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the east wing. “Do you find my wife’s image so fascinating?”

Lila hesitated, unsure how to answer. “She’s… striking, sir.”

His lips twitched in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Yes, she was.”

He descended the stairs slowly, his presence as imposing as the house itself. “Do your work, Miss Calder. And remember, curiosity can be a dangerous thing.”

That evening, as Lila prepared to retire to her quarters, a soft sound caught her attention—a faint melody drifting through the halls. It was a piano, the notes haunting and sorrowful.

Drawn to the sound, Lila followed it to a room she hadn’t yet entered. The door was slightly ajar, and inside, she saw Adrian seated at a grand piano, his fingers moving effortlessly over the keys.

For a moment, he seemed almost human, his face softened by the melancholy of the music. But when he noticed her, the spell was broken. His hands stilled, and his gaze snapped to hers, sharp and unforgiving.

“Who gave you permission to intrude?” he demanded, rising to his full height.

“I… I’m sorry,” Lila stammered, stepping back. “I heard the music and—”

“Leave,” he said coldly, his voice like the crack of a whip.

Humiliated and shaken, Lila fled back to her room, her heart pounding. She couldn’t deny the pull she felt toward Adrian, but beneath it was a growing sense of fear.

Something was very wrong with this house—and its master.

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