Lanterns at Dusk {ongoing}

Chapter 1: Draemont Manor

The autumn air was sharp with decay, golden leaves tumbling like dying embers across the damp grass. Their rustle mingled with the faint sigh of the breeze, whispering of endings yet to come. I tilted my head back, watching one leaf loosen, spiral, and surrender itself to the earth below. A small smile curved my lips despite the damp chill that had already crept through the hem of my gown.

The horses behind me shifted, their breath fogging white in the cooling dusk. My fingers tightened around the folds of my skirt, lifting it from the wet earth in a futile attempt, though the fabric had long since drunk the moisture of the walk from the carriage. I drew my shawl closer—Father's gift, lined with fur he claimed was brought from France. I knew better than to question his boasts aloud, though in truth, no animal could claim this fur of its own species.

"Lady Aracelli."

My name, spoken in Gertie's clipped voice, called me back to earth. I turned, finding her small figure standing beneath the towering trees, her face stern though her eyes betrayed the softness beneath. For six years she had been both my keeper and confidante, her strict hand tempered only by the glimmer of fondness towards me.

"The path is this way," she said with an eyebrow raised, gesturing to the graveled walkway that cut towards the iron gates of the manor to the left.

"No shortcuts?" I asked with false innocence, glancing into the shadows where branches arched like cathedral spires. I could not deny - the sight of these trees held a mystery I would like to unravel.

"Certainly not," she returned, narrowing her eyes disapprovingly.

"Perhaps there should be," I murmured, unable to resist teasing her, though a shiver crept along my arms, prickling beneath my sleeves. It was not entirely from the cold.

At the gates, Alexi - the man Father had paid to escort me - spoke with a servant, whose skeptical eyes flicked over me. I stood patiently with Gertie, hands folded at my waist, my mind too restless to care when the wind tore a dark strand of hair loose from its pins. When at last the gates opened, I inclined my head in gratitude, a courtesy the servant did not expect. His surprise lingered as though my small bow had unsettled the natural order.

"Behave yourself," Gertie whispered to me as we approached the great doors. "Your father needs this relationship to succeed, remember?" I tried to summon a smile, but it faltered, leaving only a forced expression that coaxed a true one from her instead, "Do not fear, my lady."

"I do not fear," I answered more firmly than I felt, my words echoing hollow in my chest as the doors creaked open.

The manor swallowed us whole. Its vast entrance hall spread before me like a cathedral to wealth and sorrow. The ceiling soared, painted in faded blues and gilt that caught the dim glow of a tarnished chandelier. Marble floors gleamed black and white, their polished surface cold as a crypt. Oak-paneled walls bore the portraits of stern-faced Draemont ancestors, their painted eyes seemingly following us with judgment. A sweeping staircase rose to the left, the banister gleaming seemingly polished daily by unseen hands.

The dining room lay beyond, a chamber where a long mahogany table stretched along the length of the room. Silver candelabras stood tall, their candles half-melted and dripping red wax like tears. Porcelain plates, rimmed with delicate florals blue, seemed almost too fragile for use.

I was seated at the far end, Gertie beside me, her discomfort palpable. She should have been dismissed to the servants' quarters, but I had begged her before to remain. Alone, I feared the silence of this place might devour me, pulling me into the dark shadows.

"Relax, Gertie," I whispered, though my own nerves betrayed me.

Then the air shifted.

"Sir Caius Draemont," a servant's voice announced loudly.