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Finding Anya turned out to be easier than he'd expected.
Partly because Malachi materialized out of the shadows as Cornelius was making his way through the castle's labyrinthine corridors, causing him to jump and nearly shout in surprise.
"My Lord," the ancient butler said in his dry, papery...
Having finally gotten several hours of desperate, fitful sleep, Cornelius now stood before a shimmering portal.
His hand was still raised, the golden light casting strange, dancing shadows across the Baron's private suite. The oval of luminescence hung in the air like a tear in the fabric of...
AN: Remember. Patreon exists.
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They climbed back up from the depths of the dungeon to the main levels of the Castle. The transition from the pristine horrors below to the decaying grandeur above felt dreamlike, surreal, as if they were moving between...
AN. Holiday Schedule: I'm off the Week of Thanksgiving and the Weeks of Christmas and New Year.
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The contrast was immediate and jarring.
Where the rest of the castle had been a study...
They began to walk, their footsteps echoing in the vast throne room — Cornelius's expensive Italian leather shoes making wet, squelching sounds against the black marble (the mud and dew from the meadow and forest still hadn't completely dried), while Malachi's feet made no sound whatsoever, as...
Cornelius stood alone in the vast throne room, the silence pressing against his eardrums like deep water. The torches guttered in their sconces, their flames dancing and flickering in response to air currents he couldn't feel. What he could feel — still — was the ghostly warmth of Vionica's...
Vionica watched Cornelius with predatory delight, her full lips curving into a pout that was equal parts invitation and mockery. "Oh, sweetie," she cooed, her voice a silken caress that echoed softly off the vaulted ceiling, "don't just stand there looking like a deer in the headlights. I know...
After another hour’s walk, he emerged back from the woods onto a low hill overlooking what appeared to be a small village huddled in the castle's shadow. From a distance, it looked quaint: a perfect storybook hamlet. But as he drew closer, that illusion shattered. The cottages were crumbling...
His hands, which a moment ago had been clean, were now smeared with dark, cool soil. He stared at them, at the dirt caked under his fingernails, as if they belonged to someone else. He looked around wildly.
Ash was gone.
The office was gone.
The city was gone.
Now, there was only the meadow...
He stepped through, and the world changed.
The cold, ozonic air of the lobby was instantly replaced by a comforting warmth of the small, private space paneled in rich, warm cherry wood that glowed under a soft, indirect light. The air smelled faintly of cedar and old books.
Cozy, he noted...
The first thing he was aware of was the cold. Not the biting, aggressive cold of the blizzard that raged against the windows of his empty apartment, but a deeper, more profound cold that seemed to emanate from the hollow space in his own chest. It was a cold of absolute emptiness, a vacuum where...
The air in the suite was a thick, stagnant soup of scent and silence. It smelled of things that were old and expensive: the peat-bog musk of single-malt scotch, the buttery perfume of worn leather from the Chesterfield sofas, the sweet, spicy ghost of a recently extinguished Cuban cigar. It was...