Chapter 8
2000words
Just then, a "person" I never expected intervened.
Without any warning, a loud "BANG!" echoed as the heavy oak door of the manor behind me slammed shut on its own. Immediately after, all the windows around us, whether open or slightly ajar, seemed to be grabbed by an invisible hand, closing and locking in unison with a series of crisp "clicks." The bright morning sunlight was instantly shut out, and we were plunged into a sudden, almost complete darkness. The only light source came from sparse patches of light filtering through the gaps in the leaves at the edge of the forest.
This sudden turn of events momentarily stunned both confronting men. Finn's amber eyes flickered with vigilant light in the darkness, as if he had sensed some new, unknown power intervening, and he no longer focused his attention entirely on Silas. He gave me a deep look, with an expression too complex to describe, then his body leaned slightly backward, and silently, like a melting shadow, he retreated into the dense forest behind him, disappearing instantly as if he had never been there.
"A cheap trick," Silas's voice rang out in the darkness, with undisguised sneering contempt, his crimson eyes turning to the empty air behind me, "Just a coward hiding in corners playing with doors and windows, did you think this would frighten anyone away?"
I suddenly came back to my senses, my heart beating wildly. It was Julian. It couldn't be anyone else. This was the first time he had displayed such powerful, such controlling force. This went far beyond "friendly welcomes" and "accidentally falling books"; this was an angry, unequivocal declaration. He was using this method to expel the "intruder," while also demonstrating his presence to Silas.
Silas clearly held this spiritual level of intimidation in contempt. He turned around, his ice-cold fingers gently pinching my chin, forcing me to lift my head and face him. His red eyes were startlingly bright in the dimness, churning with displeasure at being disturbed and provoked. "It seems your 'property' is hiding a jealous earth-bound spirit. Tell him, Nora, who's in charge here now."
I opened my mouth, but couldn't say a single word. I could feel that unique cold, sorrowful aura belonging to Julian growing increasingly thick in the air. It was like an invisible veil filling the entire space, violently clashing with the dark, blood-tinged aura emanating from Silas. I even suspected that if I spoke up for either side at this moment, the other would tear me apart on the spot.
"Enough," I finally gathered my courage, breaking free from Silas's grip and stepping back to distance myself from him. "Both of you, enough! This is my house, not your gladiatorial arena!"
My outburst seemed to quiet both "non-humans." Silas raised an eyebrow, apparently finding it somewhat novel that his "pet" would dare to defy him. Meanwhile, that cold, oppressive feeling in the air seemed to diminish slightly because of my words, revealing a hint of wronged feelings.
That confrontation ultimately ended in a strange, unresolved manner. Silas let out a cold snort and disappeared into the shadows leading to the underground cellar. As for Julian, he returned to silence following the other's exit, as if that thunderous display had exhausted all his strength.
But I knew everything had changed. Julian was no longer content with silent protection. The appearance of Silas and Finn's intrusion were like massive stones thrown into a lake, completely shattering the tranquility he had maintained for centuries. He began to infuse his presence into me in a clearer and more possessive way.
That night, I sat in the study organizing my notes from the day, trying to transform that chaotic confrontation into clear and orderly words. Mental exhaustion caused me to unwittingly fall asleep hunched over my desk. When I was awakened by the cold of the deep night, I discovered that somehow a soft cashmere blanket had been placed over me. I clearly remembered that the blanket had been stored on the top shelf of the master bedroom closet, yet now it wrapped me warmly, carrying a faint scent of dried roses.
The next morning, when I drew back the curtains, I was startled to find a perfect, budding rose lying quietly on my windowsill. It was a deep red variety, almost black, with crystal dew still clinging to its petals, clearly freshly picked from the garden. There were no footprints, nor any signs that someone had climbed up.
I picked up the rose, the cold petals touching my fingertips. A warm current rose from deep within my heart, mixed with emotions, sweetness, and an indescribable unease. Julian, he was like a clumsy yet obsessive suitor, expressing his concern and... love for me in his unique way that transcended life and death. It was romantically heart-stopping, yet so heavy it left me breathless.
To clarify the source of all this, I decided to seek answers from history. I buried myself in the library, trying to find more clues about the manor and the Vince family from those ancient texts and local chronicles.
The library was completely silent, with only the rustling sound of pages as I turned them. I searched for an entire afternoon, my eyes sore and blurry, yet still found nothing. Just as I was about to give up in despair, the air temperature around me suddenly dropped without warning.
I jerked my head up, seeing a semi-transparent, slightly luminous outline gradually taking shape on the chair beside me.
It was Julian.
He was more ethereal than in my dream, like a watercolor sketch painted on the air. I could make out his vintage formal attire, could see his sorrowful brow and eyes, yet couldn't focus on his specific facial features. He wasn't looking at me, but was gazing at the open book in front of me, those gray eyes seemingly containing endless sorrow, revealing an expression of encouragement and guidance.
I was so excited that I forgot to breathe. This was the first time he had manifested his form to me so clearly in reality.
"Julian?" I probed, calling softly in a whisper.
He could not speak, just shook his head slightly, and then, he raised his equally translucent hand, pointing toward a row of tall bookshelves nearby. An invisible, gentle force softly enveloped my fingers, guiding me to stand up and walk toward that bookshelf. Under the pull of that force, my fingertips slowly brushed across the spines of the heavy books, and finally, came to rest on an unremarkable book with a dark brown cover.
It was an old book about local folklore and legends, which I had previously overlooked due to its absurd and far-fetched content.
I followed that guidance and pulled the book out. The moment my fingers touched the spine, the book seemed to take on a life of its own, "rustle rustle," the pages turned automatically, finally stopping at a page with an illustration.
The illustration depicted a woman whose blood was dripping into a stone coffin, awakening a sleeping monster; at the same time, she extended her hand, soothing a beast-like man kneeling at her feet. Below the illustration, in an ancient font, a short ballad was recorded:
With blood as covenant, awaken the sleeper;
With heart as guide, soothe the beast of the forest.
My heart skipped a beat. With blood as covenant, awaken the sleeper—isn't this exactly what happened between Silas and me? Then what does "With heart as guide, soothe the beast of the forest" refer to? The beast of the forest, could that be Finn Grimm? And what could my "heart" do?
I looked up at Julian in shock; his semi-transparent figure had become even dimmer, as if the guidance he had just provided had consumed an enormous amount of his energy. He gazed at me deeply, his eyes filled with sadness and warning, as if telling me that what the folk song revealed was a dangerous fate that I could not escape. Then, his figure completely disappeared like smoke scattered by the wind.
That night, I had an incredibly vivid dream.
I was no longer an observer, but a participant. I wore an elaborate Victorian-era dress that was so tight I could barely breathe, and found myself in the midst of a grand and magnificent ball. The great hall of Thornhill Manor was brilliantly lit, filled with perfumed and elegantly coiffed guests, while the orchestra played melodious waltzes. I could feel the gazes from those around me—some admiring, some envious, some adoring.
However, the "me" in the dream remained blind to all of this. My gaze was fixed outside the window. The forest bathed in moonlight, contrasted against the illumination from the ball, appeared increasingly dark and profound, as if concealing some terrifying secret. My face revealed uncontrollable fear and resistance.
Then, Julian appeared by my side. He wore formal attire identical to what he wore in reality, with a gentle yet sorrowful smile on his face. He didn't speak, but simply took my hand and led me through the crowded gathering to the quiet library.
The library in the dream was exactly the same as in reality. He released my hand and pointed toward the floor in the farthest corner, near the window.
I suddenly woke from the dream, my heart pounding violently. Every detail of the dream felt so real—the lady's fear, the guidance in Julian's eyes—all clearly imprinted in my mind.
Without the slightest hesitation, I immediately jumped out of bed, not even taking time to change out of my pajamas, grabbed my "Field Notes" and a crowbar, and rushed into the library. I went straight to the corner Julian had pointed to in my dream, knelt down, and carefully knocked on each floorboard with my hand.
"Knock, knock, knock..."
When my knuckles tapped one of the floorboards, the sound that came back was no longer a solid thud, but a slightly hollow echo.
This is it!
I inserted the flat end of the crowbar into the gap between the floorboards and pried hard. After a teeth-grinding "creak," I lifted the entire floorboard, revealing a square, pitch-black compartment underneath.
In the compartment lay a diary, resting quietly.
Its cover was a faded light blue velvet, with corners so worn that the inner cardboard was exposed. I reached out with trembling hands and picked it up. The diary was not locked. I opened the first page, and a line of delicate yet somewhat neurotic handwriting, slightly faded in ink, caught my eye.
"August 3rd, Rain. He came again. That monster from the forest, he was watching me outside the window again. Julian doesn't allow me to go near the window; he says it's an unclean beast. But I... why do I feel that in his eyes, there is only loneliness?"
On the title page of the diary, besides this text, there was a signature. That name made my blood freeze instantly, and my breathing stopped.
Nora Vince.
The exact same name as mine.
Shock, confusion, and a fateful chill climbed up my spine all the way to the top of my head. Who am I really? What kind of inseparable, profound connection exists between me and this "Nora" from a century ago, with Julian, and with this manor?
Just then, an extremely gentle, cool breeze unexpectedly brushed across my cheek, as soft as a silent kiss, carrying comfort and tenderness.
