The carriage rattled over the cobbled path, its wheels groaning under the weight of the past it carried. Serena Harper sat inside, fingers curled around the delicate lace of her gloves as she peered out the rain-slicked window.
Mist curled over the fields like grasping fingers, swallowing the last traces of the village she had left behind. Before her, perched atop the hill like a forgotten king, stood Ashthrone Manor.
A relic of time, wrapped in ivy.
The looming estate stretched against the bruised sky, its towers spearing through the mist like bones clawing their way free from the grave. The windows—dark, unblinking—watched her approach.
The manor was abandoned in all but name, yet it breathed, an entity unto itself.
"Is this the past that was burned so the future could be at peace?"
The thought curled in her mind as she stepped from the carriage, boots sinking into the damp earth. The driver barely spared her a glance before turning the horses back the way they came.
She was alone now, standing before the great doors of a house that had swallowed generations whole.
Ashthrone Manor had called her here.
The Duke of Secrets
Before Serena could lift the iron knocker, the doors groaned open. A man stood within the shadows, tall, poised—his presence shifting the very air.
Lucian Blackmoor.
The infamous Duke of Ashthrone.
His dark hair was neatly swept back, revealing the chiseled sharpness of his face, the cold cut of his jawline. Dressed in an ink-black suit, every fiber of his being spoke of control.
Yet, it was his eyes—gray, storm-lit, unreadable—that unnerved her the most.
He was looking at her as if he knew her.
"Serena Harper."
His voice was smooth, a ripple across still water.
She straightened, meeting his gaze.
"Your Grace."
"Welcome to Ashthrone Manor."
His voice held neither warmth nor hostility, merely acknowledgment, as though she had always been fated to stand at his doorstep. Without another word, he stepped aside, allowing her passage into the darkened halls of his kingdom.
The Haunting Hallways
The air inside was colder than the mist outside. The corridors stretched long and endless, lined with portraits whose painted eyes tracked her every step.
Candles flickered within glass lanterns, their glow barely scratching the shadows that clung to the walls.
"You shouldn't have come."
The words weren't spoken aloud, but Serena could feel them pressing into her spine, thick as the dust that coated the banisters.
As she followed Lucian deeper inside, she became acutely aware of how silent the manor was. No servants bustled about. No laughter, no footsteps, no signs of life. Only the sound of her own breathing, shallow and uncertain.
"This place is abandoned."
Except for the Duke. And now, her.
Lucian led her to a grand sitting room where the fire cast long shadows against velvet curtains. He gestured toward a chair, and she sat, swallowing the unease curling in her stomach.
"You were expecting me," she said at last, studying him.
Lucian's lips barely tilted—a whisper of amusement. "I was expecting someone."
"Someone?"
"The past always sends someone, eventually."
His words sent a shiver down her spine. She had come here to uncover the truth about Ashthrone Manor—the place where an entire noble bloodline had supposedly been massacred overnight. Yet, the man before her, the last Blackmoor, was very much alive.
And the house did not feel like a grave.
It felt like a secret waiting to be unraveled.
The Librarian's Warning
A soft knock interrupted them. A woman with lavender hair stepped in, her green eyes sharp despite the warmth of candlelight. Blair, the librarian.
She met Serena's gaze with something that almost resembled pity.
"You're the journalist," she stated, more than questioned.
"I am."
Blair exhaled. "I assume you're here to dig up the past?"
"That is my intent."
The librarian's fingers curled around the spine of the book she carried.
"Then consider this your first warning—the past here is not buried. It watches. And if you stare too long into it… it stares back."
A gust of wind rattled the windows, and for the briefest moment, Serena thought she heard something whisper her name.
Lucian stood, his voice slicing through the moment.
"Enough." His gaze, unreadable once more, settled on Serena.
"The hour is late. You must be exhausted, get some rest."
But Serena wasn't so sure.
Because as she followed the servant to her chambers, she felt it—a presence.
Something lingering at the edge of the hallway.
Something that had been waiting for her.
And when she finally closed the door behind her, she realized that Ashthrone Manor was not merely a house.
It was a memory.
A breathing, pulsing memory.
Ah, I see what you mean—you want the eerie, gothic mystery but not full-on horror. Let me refine the tone to keep it haunting yet captivating, with a more romantic and suspenseful feel rather than pure dread.
The Restless Night
Serena let out a slow breath, leaning against the heavy wooden door of her chamber. The candlelight cast a golden glow across the vast room, its flames dancing against the dark wooden walls. The scent of aged parchment and faint lavender lingered in the air, an odd contrast to the storm outside.
The bed, adorned with deep sapphire velvet, stood at the center—grand and untouched, as though waiting for its rightful occupant. A vanity sat by the far wall, its mirror slightly clouded, as if time had kissed its surface but never truly claimed it.
She approached it slowly, trailing her fingers over the carved edges. When she raised her gaze, her reflection met her own—pale, thoughtful, lost in the same curiosity that had led her here. But something felt off.
It was the way the air shifted, how the silence carried weight. As if the very walls of Ashthrone Manor were listening.
A quiet knock pulled her from her thoughts.
Serena turned, and when she opened the door, Blair stood there, a lantern in hand.
"You'll find the nights here are… different," Blair said, her voice laced with something between amusement and warning.
Serena tilted her head. "Different how?"
Blair gave a soft, knowing smile. "The past is a patient thing, but it always lingers. If you listen closely, it just might speak."
Serena's fingers tightened around the doorframe. "And what if I don't want to listen?"
"Then it will find other ways to make itself known."
Before she could question her further, Blair stepped back into the dimly lit corridor.
"Sleep well, Miss Harper," she murmured before vanishing into the darkness.
Serena stood there for a moment longer, the distant hum of thunder filling the silence. Then, with a quiet exhale, she closed the door, turning back to the room that now felt a touch less empty.
Perhaps it was simply the weight of her own thoughts.
Or perhaps Ashthrone Manor was not so abandoned after all.