Chapter Four
~THE GLOW~
The rain crushed against the tall, arched windows of Wellenberg Manor, filling the air with a relentless symphony of nature's fury.
Thunder growled in the distance, shaking the walls as the storm intensified. Lilac hurried down the dimly lit hallway, clutching a tray laden with tea and biscuits.
Her fingers trembled, not just from the chill in the air but from the weight of her new life pressing down on her.
The days since her arrival had been grueling. Lord Ashalt's orders came swiftly and without explanation, his sharp tone leaving no room for error.
"Fetch this," "Clean that," "Don't dawdle." The list never ended, and though the servants tried to keep their whispers from her ears, Lilac could still hear them.
"She won't last a week," one maid had muttered.
"His Lordship's patience isn't what it used to be," another added with a knowing sigh.
Lilac gritted her teeth as she neared Ashalt's study. The room overlooked the end of the hall, its heavy oak doors standing like silent guardians.
She knocked twice, the sound barely audible in the storm, and waited.
"Enter," came the clipped reply.
Lilac pushed the door open with her shoulder, careful not to spill the tea.
The room was bathed in warm light from a roaring fireplace, but the warmth did little to dispel the cold emanating from Asphalt himself.
He sat behind his desk, papers scattered before him, his sharp features illuminated by the flickering flames.
"You're late," he said without looking up.
"The kitchen was out of sugar," Lilac explained, setting the tray down with deliberate care. "I had to—"
"Excuses waste time," Ashalt interrupted, finally raising his eyes to meet hers.
Lilac bit back a reply, her fingers tightening around the edge of the tray. His gaze was as piercing as ever, but there was something about the storm outside that made his presence feel even more imposing.
"Leave," he said, dismissing her with a flick of his hand.
She turned to go, but a sudden crack of thunder made her jump, the tray rattling in her hands. She steadied herself quickly, casting a glance back at Ashalt.
For a brief moment, his stern expression softened, but it was gone before she could be certain.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of tasks and terse commands. By the time Lilac finished her chores, her arms ached, and her feet throbbed from hours of standing.
She longed for sleep, but the storm outside had other plans.
The wind howled through the halls, rattling windows and making the candles flicker dangerously.
As she made her way toward the servant's quarters, a sudden gust blew open one of the tall windows, sending rain and trash scattering across the floor.
"Damn it," she muttered under her breath, rushing to close it.
The window fought against her, the wind whipping her hair into her face as she struggled to push it shut.
She was so focused on the task that she didn't notice the loose shaft hanging precariously above her.
The storm's relentless assault had weakened its hold, and with a loud groan, it began to give way.
A flash of lightning brightened the scene just as the shaft snapped, descending toward her. Lilac froze, her heart leaping into her throat.
Before she could react, a strong hand grabbed her arm, yanking her out of the way with a force that sent them both tumbling to the ground.
The shaft crashed to the floor where she had stood moments before, splintering into jagged pieces.
Lilac blinked, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. She turned her head to find Ashalt beside her, his usually composed face twisted in a mix of anger and… was that fear?
"What were you thinking?" he snapped, his voice harsher than usual.
"I—I didn't see it," Lilac stammered, her voice trembling as much as her hands.
"You could have been killed," he said, his grip on her arm tightening.
For a moment, she couldn't speak. The intensity in his eyes was unlike anything she'd seen before. It wasn't just anger; it was something deeper, something raw.
"I'm sorry," she managed to whisper, though she wasn't sure why she was apologizing.
Ashalt exhaled sharply, releasing her arms and standing up. He offered her a hand, and she hesitated before taking it.
His skin was surprisingly warm, and as he pulled her to her feet, a strange sensation coursed through her.
It started as a faint tingle where their hands met, but it quickly grew into something more—something burning.
Ashalt's eyes widened as he released her hand abruptly, staring at his palm as though it had betrayed him. A faint red mark was etched into his skin, glowing softly before fading away.
"What… was that?" Lilac asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ashalt didn't answer. He turned away from her, his jaw clenched and his posture rigid.
"Go to your quarters," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
"But—"
"Now," he barked, his voice echoing through the hall.
Lilac flinched but obeyed, hurrying down the corridor with her heart beating in her chest. As she reached the servant's quarters, she glanced back, half-expecting to see Ashalt following her.
But he wasn't there.
Instead, she was left alone with the memory of his touch and the unshakable feeling that something far bigger than either of them had just been set into motion.
The storm had passed, leaving Wellenberg Manor bathed in an eerie stillness. Lilac's dreams had been restless, haunted by the strange glow on Ashalt's palm and the look in his eyes when he had pulled away from her.
Morning came, but the sunlight filtering through the gray clouds did little to lighten her mood.
After finishing her assigned tasks for the day—a grueling series of chores that Ashalt had dictated with his usual sharpness—she found herself with a rare moment of free time.
The other servants were preoccupied, and the silence in the manor twitched at her curiosity.
Lilac had spent enough time in the grand, foreboding house to notice its peculiarities. Some hallways twisted in unnatural ways, ending abruptly at blank walls.
Certain doors, seemingly normal, would not budge no matter how much force was applied. And then there were the whispers—the rumors of secrets buried within the walls of Wellenberg Manor.
She hesitated at first, but a nagging instinct urged her forward. Today felt different.
Lilac roamed through the manor's labyrinthine halls, her footsteps light against the polished floors.
The grand staircase stretched before her like a yawning chasm, but it wasn't the familiar steps that called to her.
Instead, her attention was drawn to a smaller, more unassuming stairwell tucked away behind an ornate tapestry depicting a hunting scene.
The tapestry had shifted slightly, perhaps from the storm's gusts, revealing the edge of a wooden door.
Lilac bit her lip, debating with herself before curiosity won out. She pulled the tapestry aside and pushed on the door.
It creaked open, revealing a narrow staircase spiraling upward. Dust crumbs danced in the thin ray of light that managed to filter through a small, circular window at the top.
The air was heavy, filled with the scent of old wood and forgotten spaces.
Gripping the banister, she ascended slowly, her heart thudding with each step. At the top, she was greeted by a corridor that seemed untouched by time.
The wallpaper, once rich and vibrant, had faded into muted shades of gold and burgundy. A chill hung in the air, and Lilac wrapped her arms around herself as she ventured deeper.
The forgotten wing of the manor was hauntingly beautiful. Heavy curtains hung over tall windows, their fabric fraying at the edges.
Dust coated the furniture, yet the space felt frozen in time rather than abandoned.
As she moved through the wing, Lilac's gaze fell on a door slightly ajar. It was the only one not entirely sealed by disuse. Pushing it open cautiously, she stepped inside.
The room was a study, smaller and less imposing than Ashalt's but just as meticulously designed. Bookshelves lined the walls, their contents gathering dust.
A fireplace sat cold and empty, its mantel adorned with trinkets that looked decades old.
And then she saw it—the portrait.
It hung above the fireplace, its ornate frame tarnished but still elegant. The painting depicts two young men, both with the same piercing eyes and sharp features.
The resemblance to Ashalt was unmistakable, but it was the second figure that gave Lilac pause.
The man standing beside Ashalt was identical in every way, down to the faint scar above his left eyebrow.
And yet, there was a softness in his expression that Ashalt lacked—a warmth that radiated even through the strokes of paint.
Lilac approached the portrait, her fingers brushing against the frame. She couldn't explain why, but something about the image tugged at her.
A pang of sorrow, deep and unshakable, settled in her chest as she gazed at the twin brothers.
"What happened to you?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
The longer Lilac stared, the stranger the sensation became. It was as though the portrait was alive, its energy wrapping around her and pulling her in.
Her vision blurred, and for a moment, she thought she heard whispers—soft and indistinct, like voices carried on the wind.
A flash of memory, or perhaps imagination, flared in her mind. Two boys running through a sunlit field, their laughter echoing as they chased one another.
The scene was vivid, but it vanished as quickly as it came, leaving Lilac breathless.
She stumbled back, clutching the edge of a nearby desk for support. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she tried to steady herself.
"This—this doesn't make sense," she murmured.
But even as she tried to shake off the feeling, her gaze was drawn back to the painting. This time, her attention settled on the background—a sprawling garden with a single, gnarled tree at its center.
The tree's branches twisted unnaturally, their shadows forming shapes that seemed almost human.
Lilac turned her attention to the desk, hoping to distract herself. Its surface was cluttered with old papers, many of them faded beyond recognition.
One document, however, stood out. It was a letter, the ink still legible despite the years that had passed.
Dearest Ashalt,
There are truths we must face, no matter how painful. The choices we make today will echo through generations. Please, reconsider.
Always, Adrian.
Lilac's hands trembled as she read the name. Adrian. The twin brother.
Before she could delve deeper, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hall. Her heart leaped into her throat as she hastily folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket.
She turned just as the door creaked open, revealing Ashalt standing in the doorway.
"What are you doing here?" he demanded, his voice colder than the air in the room.
Lilac's mind raced for an excuse, but the intensity of his gaze left her speechless.
"This wing is off-limits," Ashalt continued, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. His eyes flicked at the portrait, and for the first time since she'd met him, Lilac saw a crack in his armor.
The stern mask he always wore faltered, replaced by something raw and unguarded. He stared at the painting, his jaw tightening as if the sight of it physically pained him.
"I'm sorry," Lilac said softly. "I didn't mean to—"
"Leave," Ashalt interrupted, his tone low but firm.
Lilac hesitated, the weight of the letter in her pocket grounding her. She wanted to ask him about Adrian, about the sorrow etched into his features, but the words wouldn't come.
"Now," he barked, and Lilac flinched.
She nodded, slipping past him and out of the room. But as she hurried back to her quarters, the image of the portrait lingered in her mind, along with the unshakable feeling that it was somehow tied to her own story.
She didn't know how, or why, but she was certain of one thing: the secrets of Wellenberg Manor were far from finished with her.