Chapter 2: The Black Fortress
"Where am I?" The boy screamed, his voice hoarse, as if he just awoke from a haunting nightmare. His heart slammed against his chest, and the sound was an unending thump drumming in his ears. He took a few deep breaths, trying to piece together everything that had brought him here.
Dim light danced from a lone candle placed precariously on a high shelf. He lay on a simple bed—a straw mattress barely offering comfort. His left arm was shackled to the cold, cobblestone wall; the rusty chain was heavy and solid. The ceiling above him, made from haphazardly placed blocks of cobblestone, seemed quite a contrast from the magnificent cathedral he had just been able to see. The only way out was a single arched door made of what looked like Blackwood; the rounded handle stood out in harsh contrast to the dark of the wood. A small crystal window at the top of the door showed the outside; darkness enveloped the world beyond.
He looked around the room and saw a plate lying on the floor, the remnants of some food strewn across the dish—cold—but an obvious reminder he had not been in this dreadful place for some time. His lips were parched, and he felt like screaming, but he held down his laughter as incredulous, pushing aside this'shocking' situation. "My luck," he thought wryly, "wake up in a world full of monsters and chained-up.".
Then he heard the light, reverberating sound of footsteps: click, clack. The door flung open, and in strode a tall man, who took command over the space in the room. Pale skin—he almost glimmered in an otherworldly light—heightened the feeling of dread running through the boy. Sharp cheekbones and a regal jawline emphasized his lean, athletic frame. Thin, deep-red eyes watched the boy with a somehow unnerving intensity, long black hair slinking around him like a shadow. There was something both compelling and terrifying about him.
Human Slave N.56," the man said in such a commanding voice that it sent chills down the boy's spine. "I am Thaddeus Evernight, and by the power vested in me by the Great Patriarch Dorian Voss Evernight, I hereby raise the status of slave N.56 to that of being a servant unto my niece.
From behind him emerged a little girl no taller than the man's knee. "Yayyyyy! I love you, uncle!" She squealed; her voice brightened up the oppressing atmosphere.
Thaddeus leaned down, his hands smoothing out the girl's snow-white hair. "I would do anything for you, Morgana. Enjoy your new toy."
The boy's heart was racing. "Toy?" His mind a whirl, he stared at this odd-looking girl. None over ten years of age, her hair was as white as snow during winter, while her eyes were as black as night, sharp and piercing. Her pale skin set off the blood-red silk dress that wrapped around her like a shroud, and she looked both cute and inhumanly unsettling.
Her eyes finally came to rest on him, and she asked, "What is your name?"
The nameless boy responded with, "I am no one."
She scrunched up her face in determination. "Ah, but that's no good! I need you to have a name, but since you have no name, I, Morgana Bloodrose Evernight, name you Victor!"
The exclamation came out shrill in the dank atmosphere. The boy was shocked. His mind boggled with the thought, "What kind of psycho is this little girl? Did I just become a pet?"
His inner thoughts were now interrupted by Thaddeus, who laughed. "Oh, my little girl, you are going to be a powerful matriarch; you will order every vampire in the realm!" He spun Morgana around, still playful, her delighted squeals ringing across the room.
Victor was caught up in a vortex of confusion. It came to his mind that he had been dragged into this dark world, literally filled with the creatures of nightmares. Vampires? He remembered all those stories his old grandmother used to tell him and shivered as chills ran down his back. The next instant, Thaddeus was inches from his face; the gap was gone in a fraction of a moment. They locked eyes, and time seemed to stop, each second elongating into an eternity.
With the snap of his fingers, the chain binding Victor shattered into rusty fragments; the sudden clatter was startling in the stillness. Thaddeus leaned in closer, his breath cold against Victor's ear. "Try anything foolish with my niece, and death will be merciful.
Then, in the blink of an eye, Thaddeus retreated, leaving Victor to his new condition.
Minutes ticked by as the young boy sat in dumbfounded silence, his heart racing with the erratic rhythm of a wild animal. Well, at least he was free now, he thought, stretching his arms over his head until Morgana chattered, "Victor, come play with me! But first, a bath and clean clothes. You're now the servant of the mighty Morgana Bloodrose Evernight!"
She finished with such glee that it startled a jump out of him: "Meet me outside after your bath. If you go left after exiting your room, you'll find the bathroom after about fifty steps. Sebastian will bring you the clothes. Just remember: sometimes, as you wander the mansion, you'll hear voices telling you to turn back. If you hear them, don't listen—no matter how tempting. DO NOT LISTEN! Now, enjoy your bath!
And with that, Morgana vanished into the night as silently as she had appeared.
Victor stood, lingering in the doorway, his eyes following her until the darkness had swallowed her whole. With a deep breath, he stepped into the long, forbidding hallway that yawned before him like a river of smooth obsidian, its face reflecting a history of tales told in ancient times. The walls lined with mysterious carvings told of lost epochs, while flickering torches cast shadows that danced to an eerie melody.
"Only the tatty slave room, eh?" He muttered to himself as any number of emotions rolled through him: fears and marvelings both. He wandered on through spacious halls, lighted only by a few flickering torches.
Rich hues of crimson and midnight blue enveloped him, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and that faint metallic tang that lingered, roaming remnants of a long-forgotten existence. The cobblestones echoed with an eerie sound of his footsteps—a haunting soundtrack to his descent into the dark heart of the fortress.
He was halfway across when a voice broke the silence. "Victor, you have arrived," it said, and he turned to see an elderly man with shockingly white hair and an air of gravity about him.
"Are you Sir Sebastian?" Victor tried, remembering what Morgana had told him.
"Yes," the old man said, extending a packet of fresh clothes. He nodded toward a thick door. "The bathroom is through here.
He stepped inside the huge bathroom to be wrapped by its warmth, as if in a warm embrace. Dimly lit by a multitude of green stones in the room, in the center was a pool invitingly filled with rose petals floating on it—aromatic, enchanting. He plunged into the water, feeling filth from his life being washed away, because this was a luxury he could never have dreamed of.
Perhaps this isn't the death sentence I expected, he chuckled to himself as he stared into his reflection on the crystalline stone. Once he cleaned himself, he donned new clothes, and a sense of resolve flowered in his chest.
Sebastian led him outside and opened wide gates to the fortress with surprising strength. Stepping out into the open, the brilliant sun cast its warmth upon them, so contrasting against the oppressive shadows of the mansion.
It came into view as Victor's eyes widened: the sprawling estate—a fortress looming behind Morgana, who sat sipping tea beneath a vibrant velvet-colored umbrella. The air hummed with the mix of unease and bizarre fortune. "What a strange twist of fate," he reflected, his new life in this dark domain of vampires and shadows—a situation so hauntingly thrilling he'd have to be very watchful in its dynamics. The odd dance of his new reality had begun.