The Ghost of Winterlove Castle

Chapter Three

Rain poured as Orphelia sat in the carriage and stared out into the English countryside. Autumn struck England with a vengeance so cruel. Orphelia loved this time of year because the natural beauty of the world was pure. It was like the rain added a bit of magic into the mundane atmosphere of everyday life. Orphelia adored it because she felt at peace and able to think lovely deep thoughts. Orphelia was shaken out of her daydream when mud splashed onto the carriage's windows. The dirt was quickly washed away by the falling rain, and Orphelia was gifted the beautiful view of the countryside and enchanting forests yet again.

The countryside was covered in a layer of fog, a mystic curtain hiding the unknown from the known. Patches of grass varying from tones of green to shades of brown carpeted the expanse of the countryside. It's the one aspect of nature that Orphelia saw no matter where she deigned to look. That's what Autumn does. Living things die and dead things grow. Bare trees lined Orphelia's horizon line like grand iron gates protecting a forest full of the darkest secrets. But Orphelia was full of light, passion, and the most magnificent ideas, so the trees granted her passage into the upcoming forest like clouds parting for a single ray of sunshine to bless the Earth below.

The forest felt like another realm to Orphelia, like a fairy realm from the stories her mother told her as a little girl before bed. She would stay awake into the darkest hours of the night daydreaming about fairies being born from laughter and mischievous fae tricking innocent souls into committing unforgivable deeds. Orphelia was always pulled to the dark stories of the fae. They filled her with intrigue and made her lost in her mind for hours on end. Orphelia would sit on the chaise in one of her mother's luxury dress shops and ponder all the ways she could outsmart a Fae Lord if she was ever bestowed the experience. Orphelia's childhood was full of moments like those, and the forest around her allowed her to relive them. She was grateful, but how could one thank a forest. Her child-like mind was already thinking of ways. By the end of the carriage ride, she would have at least five ideas waiting inside her mind.

The forest was split into three layers. The first layer was the ground, and it was composed of dirt, dank moss, dead leaves, and several assortments of flowers and sticks. All the perfect materials to build fantastical fairy houses if one desired. The second layer was the trees, emerging from the ground into the sky, creating black cracks in the universe. If one looked closely enough, they could see the stars. The third layer, while closer to the light and sky, was the darkest. It was the foggy hills and villages, and one massive stone structure that Orphelia didn't recognize. Some hills contained villages with large families and children running around, building stone structures that were prosperous kingdoms in their eyes. Other hills were cemeteries. Gravestones lined up in an orderly fashion like the Queen's guards outside of Buckingham Palace. Orphelia, from her velvet seat inside a carriage, could see both sides of the coin of life. It was a morbid sight, but Orphelia thought it a Romantic notion. Life and Death hold hands, one guides you through rough waters of trouble, the other frees you. Orphelia smiled to herself.

The carriage drove over a large rock, and Orphelia lurched into the seat in front of her. This happened again twice more until everything seemed to settle. Orphelia knocked on the wood panel separating her and the driver. "Are you okay? What seems to be the issue?"

The driver quickly answered. "Nothing's the matter, Miss. Just a few rocks on the road. Probably those village children leaving them."

"Okay, Mr. Thomas, but please be careful. Take your time if you must." Mr. Thomas responded by slowing the horses some. Yes, it would take Orphelia longer to get to her family's country estate, but at least she would get there safely. Orphelia rested her head against the window and started to drift off. The carriage hit another rock, but instead of justling the carriage, it caused the carriage to roll down the nearby hill.

Orphelia was jerked from her seat and forced into every possible direction as the carriage fell down the hill. She heard the driver scream, then his voice was cut off. Orphelia hoped nothing terrible happened, but it was hard to concentrate when she was being thrown around like a ragdoll. Orphelia almost hit her head. At the last second, she saved herself by braced her arms in front of her. After what lasted forever, but only a few minutes, the carriage stopped and moved no more. Orphelia was on the carriage's black floor. She stayed there, breathing in slowly, processing that she wasn't injured and still among the living. She hesitantly moved both her hands onto the seats and pushed herself into a standing position. She moved her right hand and slowly opened the carriage door. At first, it wouldn't open, but with some force, the door gave way and opened. Orphelia stepped out into the countryside and took in her surroundings. Thankfully, the pouring rain turned into a mist. That was one blessing Orphelia was grateful for.

The carriage did not flip during its fall, so Orphelia's luggage was still attached to the roof of the carriage. The rein that was holding the horses broke and the horses ran free across the countryside. And the driver, Mr. Thomas, was nowhere to be seen. Orphelia spun in a circle and saw no evidence leading to what happened to him. She saw no place where he could have run off to. In fact, Orphelia saw no place where she could run to and hopefully stay for shelter. The carriage had already passed several villages. Orphelia was in what people called the "Dead Place" because no flora or fauna could be found, no villages resided there, and help was miles away. Orphelia continued spinning in a circle, her breathing picked up, and her limbs began to shake. Both from the cold and nerves and anxiety of having nowhere to go.

The fog surrounded Orphelia, a misty hug from nature. Orphelia felt something, the urge to look up. Maybe it was the fog telling her, or a ghost, or her rattling nerves, but Orphelia looked up and saw a castle on a hill. It was a castle she only heard stories about. From girls at tea, from clients at her mother's shop, from her father's fellow banking friends. This castle was once grand and respected. Everyone across Europe knew its name, but few knew how it lost it. It was a mystery that haunted everyone for weeks, but as things do, it left their minds and became a distant memory.

This castle was named Winterlove— Winterlove Castle. This castle has many stories, a recent one arose in Orphelia's mind. This castle was inhabited by a prince and rumored to be haunted by a ghost.