The path was overgrown, the forest thick and unwelcoming, but I moved through it without hesitation. Memories of how Eliot had once walked this same path filled my mind, leading me forward with a strange sense of familiarity. Every step felt as if I had already taken it before, each bend in the road a reminder of where I was heading.
Ahead, hidden amongst the trees, stood the woodland mansion—a relic of wealth and influence that had somehow retained its grandeur even in the middle of this untamed wilderness. The mansion loomed large, its dark wood walls blending into the forest yet still distinct, like an ancient beast slumbering among the trees. Ivy curled around its pillars, thick and unruly, while tall windows reflected the overcast sky like dull, unblinking eyes.
The mansion's doors were imposing, a heavy dark oak with intricate carvings that hinted at a time when the Blackthorn family commanded both fear and respect. The air around it seemed still, as if the building itself was holding its breath, waiting for something—or someone.
I didn't stop to admire the view. My footsteps carried me straight to the entrance, the memories guiding me, though my arm trembled slightly as I raised it to knock. It wasn't out of fear or nerves, but a subtle reaction from Eliot's body. Perhaps this body's residual emotions were more potent than I had expected, but I pushed them down as always.
Three knocks echoed in the stillness of the forest, the sound dull and almost lifeless. A moment passed, then another, before I heard the unmistakable clink and clatter of locks being undone. It sounded like a fortress being unsealed, each lock giving way to the next until finally, the door creaked open.
Before me stood a servant—tall, broad, with muscular arms that seemed to bulge even through his neat, well-fitted uniform. His face was square-jawed, his brown hair neatly combed to the side, giving him an air of professionalism that contrasted with his physical bulk. His name came to me through Eliot's memories: Mayer.
Mayer was about the same age as Eliot—eighteen—but where Eliot had been lean and slight, Mayer was built like a warrior. He had always been one of the few in the mansion who treated Eliot kindly, and as soon as his eyes landed on me, I could see the shock flash across his face.
"Master Eliot?" His voice trembled with disbelief. His blue eyes widened as if he were seeing a ghost. Without waiting for a response, he rushed forward, his strong arms pulling me into an embrace, nearly crushing my weakened body in the process.
"Where have you been?" Mayer's voice cracked, and I could feel the genuine concern radiating from him. He pulled back slightly, looking me over with eyes filled with both joy and worry. "I thought… we all thought… you were gone."
His concern wasn't surprising. Mayer had always been loyal to Eliot, treating him with a kindness that the rest of the household lacked. For him, Eliot was more than just a neglected member of the Blackthorn family. Mayer had been the only one to truly care about Eliot's well-being, often tending to his needs when the rest of the household ignored him.
"I'm... I'm fine now," I managed, my voice still hoarse from days of dehydration and disuse. It came out weaker than I intended, but it didn't matter. Mayer's joy at seeing me outweighed any concern over how I sounded.
"Fine? You look like you've been through hell." Mayer's brow furrowed as he looked over me more carefully. "Come inside, please. You need to rest."
I nodded, allowing Mayer to guide me inside. The warmth of the mansion hit me immediately, a stark contrast to the damp chill of the forest. As we crossed the threshold, I could feel the familiar tension of Eliot's memories tugging at me—the weight of past fears, anxieties, and unspoken grudges. Yet I kept them at bay, knowing I had a purpose here.
Mayer led me through the grand entryway, its high ceilings and ornate decorations speaking of the wealth and power the Blackthorn family once commanded. The floor beneath my feet was cold marble, polished to a gleam, though it felt more like walking through a mausoleum than a home. Despite its beauty, the mansion held an emptiness—a hollow grandeur that had long since faded with the loss of its true masters.
"I never stopped hoping you'd come back," Mayer said as we walked deeper into the house. His voice was soft, almost to himself. "I knew you wouldn't just disappear like that. But no one else believed me. Not after... everything that happened."
He didn't need to say it. I knew what he meant. After Margot had thrown Eliot into that ditch, the family had likely assumed he was gone for good. No one had bothered to look for him. No one except Mayer.
"I'm here now," I replied, keeping my voice measured.
Mayer glanced at me, his expression filled with questions he didn't dare ask. For now, he was just relieved to see Eliot alive, even if I wasn't truly him anymore. I allowed him that small comfort. Soon enough, he would learn the truth—just not yet.
As we approached the heart of the mansion, I couldn't help but think of what lay ahead. Margot Blackthorn—the woman responsible for leaving Eliot to die—was still somewhere in this house. And while Eliot's body may have been filled with hate for her, I had no such emotions. For me, it was simply a matter of eliminating an obstacle.
But I would deal with that in time. First, I needed to regain my strength.
Mayer had no idea what was coming. None of them did.
And for now, that was just how I wanted it.