Chapter 1: The Invitation
It arrived on a fog-choked morning, the heavy parchment of the letter sealed with dark wax. There was something ancient about it—the seal itself seemed to pulse with an energy that hinted at secrets long buried, whispers carried on winds that had not breathed in a century. Cassandra Evans held it in her hands as though it might crumble at the slightest touch, as though the very air around it might collapse into the past, into a time when things far older and far darker still clung to the earth like cobwebs in forgotten corners.
She stood in the narrow hallway of her modest apartment, the dim light of a single candle flickering as she turned the letter over. No return address. No name. Just her own.
Cassandra Evans. 28 years old. Only child of parents who had vanished from her life in a flurry of unanswered questions, leaving behind little more than a house full of memories—memories that had slowly begun to dissolve into the shadows of her youth. They had been strangers to her long before they disappeared, and she had grown used to the empty spaces they left behind. But this letter—this summons from the past—felt like a tether pulling her toward something she could not yet understand.
With trembling fingers, she broke the seal.
“Dear Miss Evans,
It is with great sorrow that I must inform you of your inheritance. You are the sole heir to Blackthorn Manor, a house that has belonged to your family for generations. The manor, though uninhabited for many years, still stands as a monument to your ancestors. It is my duty to inform you that it is now yours.
You are requested to come to Blackthorn Manor as soon as possible to claim what is rightfully yours. Please be advised that the house has remained unchanged in all these years, and some things within may be… unsettling.
With respect,
Gareth Alden, Executor of the Blackthorn Estate.”
The letter was signed, the ink bleeding ever so slightly, as if it, too, had been waiting for this moment to arrive.
The words struck her in a strange way, not with the sharp edge of fear but with the dull ache of something forgotten, something half-remembered. The name of Blackthorn Manor had slipped from her mind, hidden beneath layers of time and disinterest. It was the place of her inheritance, yes, but beyond that, it was nothing—just a name.
But now, as she stared at the letter in the growing dimness of the hallway, it seemed to throb with life, as though the house itself were calling to her, beckoning her toward it. Her heart thudded a little louder in her chest, its rhythm steady, but beneath the surface, something else stirred. A tremor she couldn’t name, a weight pressing against her ribs.
Cassandra knew, deep down, that she couldn’t ignore it. Her life, her quiet existence, would never be the same. She had no choice but to answer the summons.
The drive to Blackthorn Manor was one of eerie silence, the road winding through a landscape swallowed by mist, the trees pressing close as though they too wished to keep their secrets. Cassandra sat in the back of the carriage, watching the scenery slip by like a forgotten dream, the wheels creaking beneath her as they carried her toward her destiny.
The manor was a looming silhouette against the darkening sky when they arrived. It was everything the letter had promised and more—a sprawling, gothic structure that seemed to stretch into infinity, its dark stones covered in ivy, its windows like hollow eyes watching her every movement. The house seemed to be alive, breathing in the chill of the night air, welcoming her, or perhaps, warning her.
The front door creaked open as if it had been waiting for her return. The butler, a tall figure with a stern face, stood in the threshold, his eyes hidden beneath the shadow of his brow.
“Miss Evans,” he said, his voice a low murmur that matched the somber tone of the house. “Welcome home.”
The words sent a cold ripple through her, though she could not explain why. This was a house, she reminded herself—a house that belonged to her now. But there was something more, something beneath the surface that stirred her thoughts like the still waters of an old, forgotten lake.
He led her through the grand hall, the air thick with dust and age. The heavy tapestries hung like ghostly shrouds, the furniture draped in white cloths as though waiting for a return that would never come. Everything in the manor felt suspended, frozen in time, as though the house itself were holding its breath.
Her footsteps echoed in the silence, a sound that seemed too loud, too invasive for the stillness that surrounded her. Every corner of the room felt like it was holding something just out of reach, something she could not see but could feel with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
The butler stopped before a set of grand double doors. His gaze lingered on her, as though he were seeing something far beyond the woman standing before him, as if he were looking at a shadow instead of a person.
“You will stay in the east wing, Miss Evans. It is… familiar, I trust,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a weight of unspoken history.
The doors opened with a low groan, revealing a hallway lined with portraits—portraits of people long gone, their eyes seeming to follow her every movement. The walls were adorned with faded wallpaper, the colors muted by the passage of time. It was as though this place had forgotten the world outside, locked in a moment of eternal dusk.
Cassandra stepped inside, feeling the chill of the air settle around her. Her breath came out in soft clouds, the warmth of the carriage ride slowly melting away. As she moved deeper into the manor, a sense of dread began to settle in the pit of her stomach.
The butler left her standing in the hallway, his footsteps fading into the distance. Cassandra was alone now, the oppressive silence wrapping itself around her like a cloak.
She knew then that the invitation had not simply been for her to claim an inheritance. It was a summons—an awakening to something much darker. The house had chosen her. And now, it would never let her go.
