Episode 2

The grand hall was swallowed by shadows the moment the unseen piano’s haunting melody began to swell. Each note drifted through the air, thick and cold, curling into the corners like a slow fog creeping across the floorboards. Seraphina stood motionless, her gaze flickering between Valerian’s impassive face and Casper’s amused yet slightly nervous smile.

“Dinner bell, huh?” she murmured, swallowing a lump of unease.

Casper grinned, revealing just the barest hint of sharpness beneath his otherwise boyish grin. “An old tradition here at Blackmoor. No one ever really misses a meal.”

Valerian’s eyes narrowed slightly, though the faintest trace of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Come,” he said softly, “before the music fades, and the manor remembers.”

⸻

They moved as one toward a long corridor flanked by towering bookshelves laden with dusty tomes. Seraphina’s boots clicked softly on the polished floor as Casper floated beside her, hands tucked behind his back like a curious schoolboy.

“Tell me again,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder, “why exactly did you invite me here?”

Casper’s eyes twinkled with a secret he wasn’t quite ready to share. “Because you’re not like the others, Seraphina. You hear the whispers too.”

Her heart caught. “Whispers?”

“Voices carried by the wind,” he explained. “Echoes of what was, what could have been. The manor listens… and it speaks. It’s why I had to come back.”

They reached the end of the corridor, where an ornately carved door stood slightly ajar, revealing the flickering glow of candlelight inside.

Valerian pushed the door open fully and stepped aside, allowing Seraphina to enter first.

⸻

The dining room was vast and suffused with a dim, golden haze. A long oak table stretched from one end to the other, set with silverware that gleamed despite the dust. Heavy curtains framed stained-glass windows that depicted strange, twisting vines and shadowed figures. The scent of old roses mixed with something faintly metallic lingered in the air.

At the table’s head sat a slender woman, her hair a cascade of midnight silk. Her eyes were deep pools of violet, watching Seraphina with an inscrutable expression.

“Welcome, Seraphina,” the woman said, her voice smooth like silk over stone. “I am Lady Elowen. You honor Blackmoor with your presence.”

Seraphina bowed her head slightly. “Thank you, Lady Elowen.”

“Please, sit,” Valerian said, gesturing toward a chair beside him. “Dinner awaits.”

As she lowered herself into the chair, Seraphina’s eyes drifted to the far end of the table, where shadow pooled like liquid. Something stirred there—a whisper of movement, a figure half-seen. She blinked, and it was gone.

⸻

The meal was a silent affair, punctuated only by the soft clink of cutlery and the piano’s distant lament. The food was unlike anything Seraphina had tasted—rich, unfamiliar, and laced with subtle spices that danced on her tongue.

Lady Elowen spoke rarely, but when she did, her words carried weight. “Blackmoor holds many secrets,” she said, eyes flickering toward Valerian. “Secrets some would kill to keep hidden.”

Valerian’s gaze darkened. “And others to uncover.”

Casper leaned toward Seraphina, whispering, “Don’t trust the silence here. It’s as loud as a scream.”

Seraphina swallowed hard, the weight of their words settling on her like a shroud. Something in this house pulsed beneath the surface—a living memory that breathed and watched and waited.

⸻

After dinner, the guests dispersed into the manor’s labyrinthine halls, leaving Seraphina alone with Valerian and Casper.

“Tell me,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, “what is this place really?”

Valerian’s silver eyes bore into hers. “Blackmoor is a refuge for those lost between worlds. A haven for the forgotten, the damned, and the forgotten.”

“And Casper?” she asked. “What happened to him?”

He smiled faintly, his eyes flickering with a sad light. “I belong here now, tethered by a bond I cannot break.”

Seraphina’s pulse quickened. The pieces were falling into place, but the picture they formed was darker than she had imagined.

“Why me?” she asked again, voice barely more than a whisper.

“Because you remember,” Valerian replied. “And only those who remember can change the story.”

⸻

The night deepened as shadows lengthened and the manor’s whispers grew louder. Seraphina wandered through corridors that seemed to shift and change, each step echoing with the weight of unseen eyes.

She found herself before a door she hadn’t noticed before, carved with the same thorned “V” as the seal on Casper’s invitation.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the handle.

Inside was a small room, bare except for a single chair and an ancient mirror framed in blackened silver.

Seraphina’s reflection stared back at her, but it was not alone. Behind her, shadows twisted into a figure with gleaming eyes and a whisper of a smile.

She spun around—but the room was empty.

The mirror’s surface rippled like water.

And then, in a voice not her own, it whispered:

“Welcome home, Seraphina.”

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