The first light of dawn was just beginning to filter through the heavy curtains when I finally surfaced from the depths of the manuscript. My eyes ached from hours of squinting at the delicate, faded ink, and my fingers were tingling with the unfamiliar sensation of the ancient parchment. The fire in the hearth had long since burned down to embers, and the once-warm room now held a lingering chill that clung to my skin.
But none of that mattered. I had lost myself completely in the manuscript, each page revealing a little more of the mystery, each note drawing me deeper into a world I had never imagined. The symbols and notations, though still foreign, were beginning to make a kind of sense, as if the more I studied them, the more my mind began to attune itself to their hidden meanings.
I rubbed my eyes and leaned back in the chair, letting out a slow breath as I tried to process what I had uncovered. The manuscript was far more than just a collection of musical notations—it was a guide, a record of rituals and spells, all centered around the power of music. The melody that had haunted me was just the beginning, the first step in a complex series of incantations that, if performed correctly, could manipulate the very fabric of reality.
But there was something else, something that made my skin prickle with unease. Interwoven with the notes and symbols were warnings, written in a language I could barely comprehend. The script was elegant but jagged, as if the writer's hand had trembled with fear or urgency. Though I couldn't translate the words directly, the intent behind them was clear enough: danger, caution, restraint.
Selene's name appeared again and again, her influence threaded through every page like a dark thread. She had been the one to compose the melody, to weave the music into magic. But there were hints—fleeting, fragmented—that even she had struggled to control the power she had unleashed. The warnings seemed to speak directly to her, or perhaps to anyone who might follow in her footsteps.
I shivered, suddenly aware of how alone I was in this vast, dimly lit room. The fire's last embers cast long shadows that danced across the walls, and the silence felt heavy, almost oppressive. The more I learned about Selene and her music, the more I understood why Lord Ravenscroft had been so cautious in showing me this manuscript. It was not just a relic of a bygone era—it was a dangerous tool, one that had the potential to reshape reality itself.
The thought both thrilled and terrified me.
I rose from the chair, stretching to relieve the stiffness that had settled into my muscles. The room seemed larger in the dim light of dawn, the tall bookshelves towering over me like silent sentinels. I walked over to the window, pulling back the heavy curtains just enough to peer outside. The mist had thickened overnight, wrapping the grounds of the manor in a blanket of gray, obscuring the landscape beyond.
For a moment, I considered leaving the manuscript and returning to my apartment, to the relative safety of the familiar. But even as the thought crossed my mind, I knew it was impossible. I was too deeply entwined in this now, too drawn to the mysteries of the manuscript and the legacy of Selene. And then there was the melody itself, still echoing in the recesses of my mind, urging me onward.
With a sigh, I turned away from the window and walked back to the table. The manuscript lay open where I had left it, the symbols on the page seeming to pulse with a life of their own. I hesitated for a moment before reaching out and closing the book gently, the pages rustling softly as they settled back into place.
There was no point in exhausting myself further without rest. I needed a clear mind to continue deciphering the manuscript, and I wouldn't get that by staying up all night, no matter how compelling the work was. Besides, I had agreed to meet Lord Ravenscroft later in the morning to discuss my findings, and I wanted to be prepared.
I picked up the manuscript carefully, its weight solid in my hands, and carried it over to the large desk that occupied one corner of the room. There, I placed it in the center, aligning it precisely with the edges of the desk—a habit I'd developed over years of study, as if keeping my workspace orderly could somehow keep my thoughts in line as well.
Before I could turn away, a faint knock sounded at the door. I froze, my heart leaping into my throat. Who could be calling at this early hour? For a moment, I considered not answering, pretending I hadn't heard it. But then the knock came again, more insistent this time.
"Miss Sinclair?" The voice was soft, feminine, and unfamiliar. "I've brought you some tea and breakfast. May I come in?"
I exhaled slowly, the tension easing from my shoulders. It was only a servant, nothing more. I crossed the room and opened the door to find a young woman standing there, a tray balanced on her hands. She couldn't have been much older than twenty, with auburn hair neatly tied back and a plain black dress that marked her as one of the manor's staff. Her eyes, however, were a striking shade of hazel, bright and curious as they met mine.
"Good morning, Miss Sinclair," she said with a polite smile. "Lord Ravenscroft asked that I bring this to you. He thought you might need some sustenance after your long night."
I blinked, momentarily taken aback by her perceptiveness. How had she known I'd been up all night? Then again, perhaps it wasn't unusual for scholars to lose themselves in their work, especially in a place like this.
"Thank you," I replied, stepping aside to let her in. "That's very kind of him."
She walked into the room with a practiced grace, setting the tray down on the small table near the fireplace. The scent of freshly brewed tea filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of warm toast and jam. The sight of it made my stomach growl, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since the previous afternoon.
The young woman arranged the items on the tray with care, then straightened and looked at me with that same curious expression. "If there's anything else you need, Miss Sinclair, please don't hesitate to ask."
I nodded, still feeling slightly off-balance. "What's your name?" I asked, suddenly realizing that I hadn't introduced myself properly.
She smiled again, this time with a hint of amusement. "My name is Elara, Miss. I'm one of the housemaids here at the manor."
"Elara," I repeated, the name rolling off my tongue easily. "Thank you, Elara. I appreciate your help."
She inclined her head in acknowledgment, then hesitated, as if there was something more she wanted to say. "If I may, Miss Sinclair..."
"Yes?"
Her hazel eyes flickered toward the manuscript on the desk, then back to me. "Be careful with that book. It's... well, it's not like the others."
A shiver ran down my spine at her words, but I kept my expression neutral. "What do you mean?"
She bit her lip, as if unsure whether she should continue. But then she seemed to make a decision, and her gaze met mine with a seriousness that belied her age. "There are stories about that manuscript, Miss. The servants talk, as they do. They say it's cursed, that those who study it too closely... change."
The room seemed to grow colder, the fire's warmth no longer reaching me. I wanted to dismiss her words as superstition, the kind of rumors that inevitably grew around anything mysterious or unknown. But there was something in Elara's eyes, a sincerity that made it hard to ignore.
"I'll be careful," I said finally, trying to keep my voice steady. "Thank you for the warning."
Elara nodded, though she didn't look entirely reassured. "I'll leave you to your breakfast, Miss Sinclair. Please, if you need anything, just ring the bell."
She turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. I stood there for a moment, staring at the spot where she had been, her words echoing in my mind.
Cursed. Those who study it too closely... change.
I shook my head, trying to dispel the lingering unease. Superstitions, that's all they were. Ravenscroft Manor was an old place, steeped in history and mystery—of course there would be stories, especially among the servants. But that didn't mean there was any truth to them.
I forced myself to turn away from the door and walked back to the desk, my gaze falling on the manuscript once more. It sat there, innocuous and unassuming, yet somehow radiating a quiet power that I couldn't ignore. The pages within it held knowledge—knowledge that I was determined to uncover, no matter what the cost.
But Elara's warning stayed with me, a nagging doubt at the back of my mind. I would need to be careful, more careful than I had ever been before. The manuscript was powerful, that much was clear, and power had a way of corrupting even the best intentions.
I sat down at the table where Elara had left the tray and poured myself a cup of tea. The warmth of the liquid and the simple act of eating brought a measure of clarity, calming the storm of thoughts that had been swirling in my mind. I needed to approach this methodically, as I would any other academic challenge. Emotion and superstition had no place in this.
As I sipped my tea, I let my mind wander back to the manuscript, to the music that seemed to pulse just beneath its surface. There was so much more to discover, and I was only just beginning to scratch the surface. But I knew one thing for certain: I couldn't do this alone. If I was to unlock the secrets of Selene's melody, I would need guidance—perhaps even from those who had walked this path before me.
The thought of Lord Ravenscroft waiting to discuss my findings later this morning made me both eager and apprehensive. He clearly knew more than he had let on, and I would need to tread carefully. But for now, I would continue my work, slowly unraveling the mysteries of the manuscript, one note at a time.