Chapter 9
2080words
I sat down, as if about to perform a sacred ritual, took a deep breath, and then opened the first page of the diary. The graceful yet somewhat neurotic handwriting, like vines coming to life, instantly pulled me into the world of another "Nora."
This diary is not a chronological record, but a private epic filled with contradictions and struggles. Between the lines, it is saturated with her complex emotions toward Thornhill Manor—both love and fear. She depicts the fragrant roses covered with dew in the garden at dawn, while also recording the crying sounds that come from the end of the corridor at night, keeping her awake. She praises the comfort brought by the vast collection of books in the study, yet fears the stone coffin in the basement that always makes her feel cold and uneasy.
And appearing most frequently in the diary is a vague reference—my "untouchable lover."
"Today, he left another perfect white rose outside my window," she wrote, "I can feel his gaze, tender and sorrowful, enveloping me like moonlight. Yet I cannot even say thank you to him. This pane of glass is the farthest distance in the world."
Another page reads: "Father forbids me from approaching the forest, saying that bloodthirsty beasts dwell there. But I know, he is not a beast. Last night, I dreamed of him again, in an endless sea of flowers, he held my hand. Only in dreams can I feel the warmth of his palm. Oh, my eternal, unreachable lover, this longing is about to burn me to ashes."
I almost immediately connected this image with Julian. That gentle gaze, that guardianship that transcended life and death, that Platonic love that could only meet in dreams... everything aligned perfectly with my own experiences. So, that white sea of flowers in my dreams belonged to her memories, it was a never-withering haven that Julian had woven for her. A strange emotion mixed with jealousy and sympathy arose in my heart. I was jealous that she had once truly had Julian's companionship, yet sympathetic that throughout her life she could never truly embrace her beloved.
I became completely immersed in this diary, reading it page by page, obsessively. The concept of time became blurred; outside the window, daylight turned to darkness, and darkness back to light. Like a greedy gold digger, I pieced together the fragmented life puzzle belonging to another Nora. Until I was stuck on a passage I couldn't understand at all.
For several consecutive pages, the diary's recording interrupted the flowing English, switching to a cursive language that I couldn't recognize at all. After researching, I finally identified it as an obsolete variant of ancient Latin, specifically used for internal communication within certain secretive medieval cults. I tried using online translation software, but the result was just a pile of illogical gibberish.
In the following days, I was as if bewitched, digging out all books on classical linguistics from the library, attempting to decipher these writings. But those complex meters and obscure word roots were nothing short of hieroglyphics to an outsider like me. Frustration engulfed me like a tide, and I finally gave up the struggle, burying my exhausted face in the yellowed pages with a discouraged groan. The smell of old paper, ink, and a faint hint of dried roses from the pages seemed to silently mock my incompetence.
"Is just a few sentences of Church Latin variants enough to completely crash that self-proclaimed clever brain of yours, my dear landlady?"
A lazy yet elegant voice unexpectedly sounded behind me.
I jerked my head up, my heart instantly gripped by an invisible hand, almost leaping out of my throat. Silas had somehow appeared behind me, like a weightless shadow, materializing without a sound, not even causing the floorboards to creak. He leaned forward, his enormous shadow completely enveloping me and the desk.
"You..." I opened my mouth, but couldn't utter a single word.
He ignored my astonishment and simply extended his pale, slender hand, with ice-cold elegant fingertips, gently touching the ancient Latin text that had puzzled me endlessly. "Let me see... 'Anima mea desideravit te in nocte'... oh, what a clichéd opening." His tone carried a hint of undisguised mockery, as if critiquing a mediocre love poem written by a third-rate author.
His breath brushed against my ear, carrying a cold air that was uniquely his—a mixture of ancient dust and faint bloodiness—instantly giving me goosebumps all over. That breath, like the most precise probe, pried open my sensory defenses and directly invaded my central nervous system. My heartbeat, for the first time, completely lost control because of another person's proximity. The drumming sound was so loud it made my eardrums buzz, and the blood in my cheeks rushed upward uncontrollably.
Silas seemed extremely satisfied with my reaction. His deep red eyes glanced slightly, clearly capturing my ears that had already turned burning red. An almost invisible smile full of possessiveness flashed across his thin lips. He enjoyed this feeling—the feeling of possessing a secret unknown to others while simultaneously possessing me.
"'My soul yearns for you in the darkness,'" he began to translate word by word for me, his voice kept extremely low, like whispers between lovers, each syllable carrying a deadly magnetism, "'My heart is a cage that beats only for you.' Hmph, the man who wrote these words clearly knew nothing about the actual function of the heart."
I couldn't think at all, only passively listening as he transformed those abstruse texts into burning verses filled with desperate love. My hand unconsciously clutched the hem of my clothes, trying to find an anchor in this suffocating atmosphere of ambiguity.
"'They bound me here, with stone walls and time. But my love shall become eternal protection, piercing through life and death, until the stars fall and the seas run dry.'" Silas finished reading the last line and let out a contemptuous sneer, "What pathetic self-indulgence. A soul that cannot even break free from physical constraints, yet dares to speak of eternity. Nora, you should write something more valuable, rather than being moved by such vague wordplay."
He straightened up, creating some distance between us, and only then did that suffocating pressure slightly diminish. I breathed deeply, yet could still smell that cold aura lingering on him.
"How could you... understand this?" I finally found my voice again, though it was somewhat hoarse and unsteady.
"When I was still accustomed to breathing, this language was a required course for the nobility." He answered casually, as if mentioning something utterly ordinary, "You humans forget at a rate that is always much faster than us 'immortals'." He turned around, melting back into the shadows of the study, leaving only a lingering sentence, "If there's anything else you don't understand, you can always come to the basement to find your 'personal dictionary.' Of course, my consultation fee... isn't cheap."
I slumped in my chair, unable to calm down for a long time. My cheeks were still burning hot, and my heartbeat had yet to settle. I looked down at the translated text in the diary; they were no longer cold symbols but filled with Julian's sorrowful yet passionate soul. But at this moment, above these words, there lay the shadow of another person—Silas. His cold presence, his mocking tone, his red eyes filled with possessiveness, had all become an indelible brand etched onto this page.
The latter part of the diary mentioned that "Nora's" attitude toward the forest outside the manor, which was a mixture of reverence and a hint of curiosity. "A 'guardian' lives in the forest," she wrote, "Julian says he is wild and dangerous. But I have secretly seen him from the window, his running posture in the moonlight, full of power and freedom. I'm not afraid of him; I even feel that in his silent silhouette, there hides a kind of unknown gentleness."
This passage, like a lightning bolt, shattered my preconceived impression of Finn Grimm. "Rude intruder," "savage beast"... these labels were instantly torn to pieces. It turns out, he wasn't an intruder, but a guardian. He protected this forest, and indirectly, this manor as well. His previous warnings and hostility weren't directed at me, but at Silas whom I had "brought" along.
The next afternoon, I heard the faint sound of breaking twigs from the edge of the forest again. I walked to the window and saw Finn Grimm's tall figure standing there, holding a thoroughly cleaned pheasant in his hand, just like last time. He simply placed the game on the boundary stone carved with thorns, then prepared to turn and leave.
This time, I didn't hide away. I turned and walked into the kitchen, brewed a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea in my finest white porcelain tea set, then carried it out of the manor on my own initiative.
Finn heard my approaching footsteps and jerked his head around, his amber eyes filled with vigilance, every muscle in his body tensed, like a wild wolf ready for battle at any moment.
I stopped at a safe distance a few steps away from him, raised the teacup in my hand toward him, and tried my best to show a friendly smile. "I thought you might need this."
He looked at me, then at the delicate white porcelain teacup in my hand that seemed so out of place in this primitive forest. The expression on his face shifted from vigilance to confusion, and then to a kind of... unprecedented awkwardness. He looked down at his hands covered in dirt and fresh blood, suddenly at a loss, as if not knowing where to place them.
I stepped forward and placed the teacup on the clean boundary stone, right next to the pheasant. "The diary said you are the guardian of this place. Thank you for your... gentleness," I said softly.
Finn's tall figure visibly trembled. He suddenly raised his head, his amber eyes staring at me intently, filled with utter disbelief. He seemed completely shocked that I knew these things, and even more surprised that I would use the word "gentle" to describe him. He opened his mouth, his Adam's apple bobbing, yet not a single word came out. Meanwhile, his tense, aggressive posture had, without notice, completely relaxed.
Our relationship seemed to be quietly softening in this steaming cup of red tea, beginning to warm in an unknown direction.
However, this gentle scene was being observed completely by another pair of eyes.
By the floor-to-ceiling window of the study, Silas was elegantly holding his own "teacup"—a crystal wine glass filled with warm animal blood. From a great distance, he coldly gazed at the harmonious scene on the lawn, then let out an extremely soft, contemptuous snort at my back.
When I returned to the manor with my empty teacup, Silas was leaning against the stair railing waiting for me. He swirled the crimson liquid in his glass and remarked with feigned casualness: "It seems your taste has begun to regress to the primitive age. Actually sharing afternoon tea with an upright walking carpet, truly eye-opening."
His voice wasn't loud, yet it was filled with penetrating power, clearly reaching beyond the door. At the edge of the forest, Finn's expression, which had just softened, instantly darkened. Although he couldn't make out every word Silas said, he felt, without the slightest error, that undisguised hostility and provocation from a natural enemy.
He directed a suppressed, low, warning growl toward the manor, which echoed in the quiet afternoon.
Two vastly different powerful auras, originating from ancient times, clashed violently inside and outside the manor. And I, at the center of the storm, simply returned the beautiful white porcelain teacup to the kitchen, then quickly walked back to the study and sat down again before that diary.
Rather than dealing with this childish territorial dispute between male creatures, obviously, transforming the burning material from the diary into inspiration for my next bestselling novel was far more important.
