Ion Dragomir's Journal, September 27th, 1377 A.D
I remember the day when the first strange signs appeared, as clearly as I remember my own mother's face. The animals, that was the beginning. Goats, chickens, even a stray dog, found dead near the edge of the forest. All of them drained of blood, their bodies left twisted and hollow. At first, we thought it might be wolves or some cursed beast from the mountains, but even wolves do not kill like that. There was something… unnatural in the way their bodies lay, almost as if something had taken not just their blood, but their very life.
I've never been a superstitious man. I till the soil, I tend to my family, and I leave the talk of spirits and curses to old women with idle time. But that year, things began to change, and superstition started creeping into my bones like the cold. It wasn't just the animals. The land felt different, as if something dark had settled into the soil, watching, waiting.
My wife, Adela, noticed it too. She kept our son, Stefan, closer to home, her eyes darting to the shadows that gathered by our little home as night fell. Even in the daylight, she seemed haunted, her gaze lingering on the distant castle that loomed over our village like a dark omen.
Count Lucien, the lord of the castle, had ruled these lands for years. We peasants hardly saw him, except for when he descended from his stone fortress to collect his taxes, always under the watchful eye of his men. But something about him had changed recently. His visits became more frequent, his eyes sharper, colder. And there was a strange hunger in his gaze, a hollow, almost desperate look that unsettled even the bravest men.
It was on one of those days, a cold morning in late autumn, that the Count came to our home. Adela and I were preparing the fields for winter, gathering what little we had left after a poor harvest. I saw him approaching from a distance, his tall, dark figure casting an ominous shadow over the brown, lifeless earth. He wore his usual black cloak, the kind that seemed to swallow light, his face pale against the harsh landscape.
Behind him, his servants followed in silence, their faces obscured by the hoods of their cloaks. I could feel Adela's grip tighten on my arm as he approached, her fear as palpable as my own.
"Good day, Count Lucien," I said, forcing a polite tone, though I could feel my heart beating hard in my chest.
The Count did not reply at first. He simply stared at us, his dark eyes fixed on Stefan, who was playing nearby with a makeshift toy. It was as if the Count were seeing something beyond the boy, something only he could understand.
Finally, he spoke, his voice soft yet carrying an unnatural weight. "Your son is a fine boy, Ion. Strong and… full of life."
A chill ran down my spine at those words, and I instinctively stepped between Stefan and the Count. "Yes, he is," I replied, trying to mask the tension in my voice.
The Count's gaze lingered on Stefan a moment longer before he looked at me, a faint, unsettling smile on his lips. "It is important for strong sons to remain close to their family, wouldn't you agree?"
"Yes, my lord," I said, nodding, though I barely understood his meaning. My thoughts were scattered, my mind filled with a creeping sense of dread.
Without another word, he turned and walked back toward the castle, his servants following in silence. I watched until his dark figure disappeared into the distance, my heart still racing. When he was gone, Adela rushed to Stefan, clutching him tightly, her face pale.
That night, we didn't sleep. We kept Stefan close, our ears straining for any sound outside. The wind howled around our house, rattling the shutters and filling the air with whispers that felt like words, words in a language I couldn't understand. I tried to tell myself it was just the wind, but deep down, I knew better.
The next day, the rumors started. Whispers among the villagers about strange lights seen around the castle, of shadows moving within its high walls long after midnight. People began to talk, their voices hushed and fearful. They spoke of curses, of ancient sins, and of the dark deeds of the castle's lord.
The elders in the village remembered stories, old tales passed down through generations. They spoke of a pact made long ago, of promises traded for power and youth. But those were just stories, weren't they?
Each night, the village grew more restless. People avoided the castle grounds, even in daylight. And every morning, another animal would be found, drained of life, its body left as a grim offering to whatever haunted these lands.
Adela tried to convince me to visit the village witch, an old woman who lived at the edge of town, surrounded by herbs and strange talismans. I refused. I wanted nothing to do with superstition, with charms and spells. But after days of sleepless nights, of watching my son's innocent face and fearing for his life, I finally relented.
The witch was a frail woman, her skin like parchment, her eyes dark and knowing. She listened as I told her of the Count, of the dead animals, of the chill that seemed to settle over our home. She said little, simply nodded and muttered to herself, her fingers tracing symbols in the air.
When I finished, she looked at me, her eyes piercing through the dim light of her hovel.
"You have drawn the Count's gaze, Ion Dragomir. And that is a dangerous thing."
I felt a chill at her words, a cold that seemed to seep into my bones. "What can I do?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
She handed me a small vial, filled with a dark, thick liquid. "This is a ward. Spread it around your home each night before sunset. It will keep his servants at bay… for a time. But it will not keep him away forever."
"And what about my son?" I asked, desperation clawing at my throat. "What does he want with Stefan?"
The witch's gaze softened, and she placed a frail, wrinkled hand on my shoulder. "The Count is bound by dark promises, ancient ones. He needs… youth, innocence, vitality. Your son is strong, full of life, as he said. That life… calls to him."
I left her home that night, my heart heavy with fear and rage. I wanted to protect my family, but I felt powerless against the dark force that held us all in its grasp. I could only pray that the witch's ward would work, that it would buy us enough time to find a way out of this nightmare.
But deep down, I knew there was no escaping the Count's gaze.