Chapter 19
1541words
I slowly opened my heavy eyelids, and what came into view was the familiar ceiling of my bedroom, with its plaster patterns unchanged as always. Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the curtains, casting several rays of golden dust into the room, everything unbelievably quiet. I tried to move my fingers, and that life-draining, heart-wrenching weakness had subsided, replaced by a soothing fatigue that follows a deep sleep.
I turned my head and saw Silas sitting in a chair beside my bed. He wasn't wearing his impeccably formal black noble attire, but instead had changed into a simple white silk shirt with sleeves casually rolled up, revealing his elegantly sculpted, pale wrists. He wasn't looking at me, but was gazing out the window, his crimson eyes reflecting the sunlight, displaying an unprecedented rich wine-like hue. There was no longer any mad possessiveness in them, no painful struggle, only something deep and almost serene.
Seemingly sensing my movement, he turned his head, his gaze meeting mine.
"You're awake," he said softly, his voice lacking its usual oppressiveness, instead carrying a hint of... uncertain gentleness. Like someone accustomed to roaring who was trying to speak quietly for the first time, appearing somewhat awkward.
I nodded and tried to prop myself up. At that moment, a cup of water was brought to my lips. I followed that hand with my gaze and found it was Finn. He stood tall on the other side of the bed, with that wild, aggressive aura of his now much subdued. His amber eyes had shed most of their vigilance and hostility, leaving only a complex mixture of concern and awkwardness.
"Drink some water," he said concisely, his gaze somewhat evasive, as if he wasn't accustomed to being in the same room with me and Silas in such a peaceful atmosphere.
I obediently took a few sips, the warm liquid sliding down my parched throat, bringing me fully back to awareness. Looking around, Julian was standing in front of the bookshelf. He was no longer the semi-transparent, ethereal spirit that could dissipate at any moment; his form was solid, even casting a faint shadow in the sunlight. He was reaching out with an almost reverent, incredulous gesture, gently and tangibly touching the spine of a hardcover book. This was the first time in hundreds of years that he could truly "touch" the stories he had been guarding.
"It seems... I succeeded," I said, looking at them, my voice somewhat hoarse.
"What you did goes far beyond 'success,'" Julian turned around, his handsome face bearing a relieved, genuine smile. "You rewrote the rules, Nora. You overturned everything."
Just then, a grand and cold voice unexpectedly resonated in all of our minds simultaneously.
"You all seem quite satisfied with this new 'reality.'"
It was the Head of the House.
The appearance of this voice instantly made the atmosphere in the room tense. Silas and Finn almost simultaneously assumed defensive postures, standing in front of me. But this time, there was no rage or intimidation in that voice as before. Instead, there was a profound, undisguised confusion and dissatisfaction.
"I am still here, guarding every corner of this mansion," the voice continued, as if stating a fact, yet also as if reassuring itself, "But my permissions have been modified. I can no longer define any being as my 'extension,' I can no longer forcibly 'merge' with any soul. From a 'monarch,' I have become... a 'butler.' This is an unprecedented, absurd balance."
I could hear in his words the humiliation of a lofty will being forced to accept new parameters. He wasn't moved by my sacrifice or love; he was simply bound by a deeper rule that he couldn't disobey. I hadn't destroyed him, but I had stripped away his most fundamental power.
"Isn't that much better?" I leaned against the headboard, calmly responding to the voice in my mind. "A home needs guardians and family members, not monarchs and collectibles."
"'Home'?" That will seemed to be chewing on this unfamiliar word, its tone full of confusion and a hint of contempt. "A fragile, emotion-based, completely illogical structure. But it doesn't matter anymore. The new rules have been written, and I cannot disobey. But you'd better remember, I am still the source of power for this manor, and the peace here could be shattered at any moment due to your foolishness."
As the words faded, that vast consciousness receded like a tide, as if it had never appeared.
I know this is not the end. He has merely gone dormant temporarily, like a wild beast confined to a new cage, observing every crack, seeking a new breakthrough. The inherent danger of the manor has not changed; it has merely transformed from an absolute, devastating threat into a Damocles sword hanging over our heads—one that we must collectively maintain and balance.
But at least, we now have the right to breathe and choose.
Silas looked at me, emotions surging in those deep eyes. He opened his mouth as if wanting to say something, but finally it only became a whisper: "Thank you, Nora. For all of us." The "us" he spoke of, for the first time, included Finn and Julian.
Finn seemed somewhat uncomfortable, scratching his head and mumbling: "So what are we now? Roommates?"
This question stunned everyone for a moment, then Julian couldn't help but chuckle softly, his laughter warm and bright, dispelling the last trace of gloom in the room. "I think we can call ourselves 'family,' Finn. A somewhat... special family."
In the days that followed, we all worked to adapt to this entirely new relationship and way of existence. Silas no longer tried to mark me with a blood contract, but his protective stance was more evident than ever. He would sit silently in the corner of my study while I wrote, like an elegant and powerful guardian deity. Finn began to mend the rifts between the manor and the forest, no longer using the power of nature as a weapon, but instead guiding gentle vines and flowers to redecorate this ancient building, bringing it a touch of vitality. Julian became the best mediator and historian among us, using his wisdom and gentleness to resolve the occasional friction between Silas and Finn that arose out of habit.
They all gained the right to choose, able to leave this mansion at any time and return to their own worlds. But no one left. Because with my will, I created a new "belonging" for them. Their new lives have become inseparable from this mansion, and from me.
As for me, I returned to my desk. I looked at the manuscript that was already half written—"My Date with Ghosts and Monsters." I once thought this was just an artistic processing of my real experiences, a fictional story. But now I understand that its significance goes far beyond that.
I picked up my pen again, but this time, what I wrote was no longer about confrontation and escape, but about symbiosis and understanding. I defined Silas as the "Watcher of the Night," wrote Finn as the "Bridge of Nature," shaped Julian into the "Inheritor of Stories," and established the master of the house as the "Confused Guardian." I depicted our complex relationship, filled with thrills and romance, word by word.
With each paragraph I wrote, I could feel the reality of the estate stabilizing a bit more. Those spaces twisted by the master's furious will regained their order under my pen; those tense relationships between characters also found new balance points in my narrative.
This is a terrifying yet powerful force. It doesn't create from nothing, but rather builds upon existing reality, changing reality itself by "understanding" and "defining" it, giving it new logic and meaning. When I truly understand an existence and "narrate" it through a story acceptable to both parties, this story gains the power to become reality.
This power, in my mind, I solemnly named—"the truth of stories."
Finally, on another morning, I wrote the final period for my novel. I leaned back in my chair, let out a long sigh, and felt an unprecedented fatigue and satisfaction simultaneously washing over me.
I closed the manuscript, on the cover was the title I had written with my own hand—"My Date with Ghosts."
I raised my head and looked out the window. In the faint dawn light, I saw Silas standing in the shadow of the terrace, quietly gazing into the distance; Finn was in the garden, clumsily attempting to coax a morning bird perched on a branch; and Julian's figure appeared at the library window, absorbed in a book he was holding.
My story has reached its conclusion.
But all of our stories are just beginning.
