Monise woke to the scent of damp wood and candle wax. Morning light streamed through the cracked shutters of the servant's quarters, catching the dust motes dancing lazily in the air. The voice that had called her name still lingered faintly in her ears—half a memory, half a warning.
She sat up slowly, brushing tangled hair from her face. Her heart was still fluttering, not from the nightmare she had just awoken from, but from the memory of what happened the night before. That fall—so sudden—and the hands. Those warm, strong hands that caught her mid-air like she weighed nothing.
But there had been no one there.
The thought chilled her more than the cold stone floor under her bare feet. No one had seen anything. No one ever did in this house.
She stood and dressed in the rough cotton uniform laid out for her. It smelled of soap and lavender—too gentle a scent for such a dark place. The mansion, known as Eldergrove Manor, was old—older than most of the villages surrounding it. The estate sat on a hill, wreathed in fog more often than not, and was whispered about by the locals. They said the night never fully left Eldergrove, that the shadows had a life of their own.
Monise now believed it.
As she stepped into the hallway, she could feel the weight of eyes on her. Portraits of long-dead aristocrats lined the corridor walls, their painted gazes following her every movement. She walked briskly, keeping her head down, clutching her cleaning tray like it was a shield.
"Monise," a soft voice called again, but this time it was real.
She turned and saw Ana, a fellow servant and the only one who dared speak kindly to her. Ana's face was pale and tired, her eyes shadowed by sleepless nights.
"Come to the east wing," Ana whispered. "Lady Virelle wants the curtains opened."
Monise nodded, her throat tight. The east wing.
That was where the whispers were the loudest.
Lady Virelle was not like the others. She was beautiful, ageless, with raven-black hair that never dulled and skin that never wrinkled. Her voice was like silk over steel. She ruled the house not as mistress, but as something more ancient.
When Monise arrived at the east wing, the hall was empty. The air felt different here—colder, charged with something unseen. The thick curtains blocked out nearly all the light. As she pulled the heavy fabric aside, golden morning rays flooded the room—and something shimmered in the air.
A shadow darted behind one of the columns.
Monise froze, her breath catching.
"You're not afraid of the light, are you?" a male voice spoke, deep and smooth, but not unkind.
She spun around. A man stood behind her. Tall, striking, with hair dark as coal and eyes a glowing crimson that held secrets she couldn't begin to guess.
He stepped forward slowly. "You fell last night."
Monise stared at him. "Was it... you? Who caught me?"
He smiled faintly, revealing just the edges of fangs.
"Perhaps. Or perhaps you imagined it."
Monise took a step back. Her mind screamed for her to run, but her legs wouldn't obey.
"Why would you save me?" she asked.
"Because you're not like the others," he replied. "You're curious. And curious things either become prey... or become powerful."
He turned and disappeared into the shadows before she could ask more.
Ana found her standing frozen in the middle of the room moments later.
"You saw him, didn't you?" Ana asked.
Monise nodded. "Who is he?"
Ana glanced around before whispering, "That is Lord Kaelen. He hasn't spoken to anyone in years. No servant. No guest. Only to Lady Virelle. And now you."
"He's one of them, isn't he?" Monise asked, voice barely audible.
Ana's silence was all the answer she needed.
That evening, Monise sat by the window in the servant's kitchen. The other staff were too busy whispering among themselves about the upcoming blood moon, an event the household was preparing for in secrecy. It was said that the creatures of Eldergrove became restless under the red moon.
She scribbled in a notebook she'd hidden beneath a loose floorboard, the only thing she'd brought from her old life. Pages filled with questions and theories—about the house, the people, and the things that moved when no one looked.
She paused. A cold breeze swept the room.
There, standing by the doorway again, was Lord Kaelen.
"You're not safe here," he said. "You should leave before the blood moon."
"Why tell me this?" she asked, heart pounding.
"Because I remember what it's like... to be human."
His eyes held something tragic. Something old.
And then he vanished, like mist.
That night, Monise lay awake, listening. The house creaked and groaned like a living beast. She thought of Kaelen. Of the warm hands that caught her. Of the fear in Ana's voice. Of the way the portraits seemed to blink when she wasn't looking.
And for the first time since arriving, she realized something:
She didn't want to run.
She wanted to know.
What were they?
Why her?
And most of all...
What would happen under the blood moon?
Outside, clouds drifted away from the sky, revealing the pale glow of the almost-full moon.
It wouldn't be long now.
And neither would she.
Monise staggered back, breath shallow, gaze flicking from Elias's intense expression to the closed door he'd pointed at. The sudden shift in his demeanor, the quiet urgency in his voice, unsettled her even more than the fall from the third floor. She blinked rapidly, her lips parted slightly as if to ask a question, but no words came.
Instead, Elias stepped forward and gently closed the distance between them. "I shouldn't have said anything," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "Forget it. Just stay away from that wing. For your own good."
"But why—" she started, her voice thin and almost inaudible.
He didn't answer. He turned and walked away quickly, his footsteps swallowed by the silence of the corridor. Monise remained there, caught in the echo of her own thoughts, before she finally turned and headed toward the kitchen. Her morning duties couldn't wait, and she needed something to ground her spinning mind.
The kitchen was already bustling with low murmurs, the clinking of utensils, and the rich aroma of spices. The head cook, Madam Enid, barked orders while flicking her wooden spoon at inattentive workers.
"There you are," she said as Monise entered, eyebrows drawn. "We thought you vanished like the last girl."
Monise's brow furrowed. "The last girl?"
Madam Enid scoffed. "Never mind. Grab those onions. The master has guests arriving tonight. No time for daydreaming."
Despite her tired body, Monise's mind refused to quiet. She kept glancing out the kitchen window, toward the dense woods where mist curled between the trees like whispering spirits. Lord Desmond's presence still haunted her skin, and Elias's warning echoed louder each time she tried to push it aside.
When the sun dipped behind the hills, painting the sky in fire and blood, Monise carried a tray of wine goblets into the dining hall. The chandeliers flickered, casting elongated shadows against the marbled floor. The guests were odd—too pale, too still. Their eyes followed her as she moved, silent and observant, as though weighing her every breath.
Lord Desmond sat at the head of the table, dressed in a deep maroon velvet suit that hugged his form like a second skin. His eyes found hers instantly, and a sly smile ghosted across his lips. Her heart faltered.
She bowed slightly and began to serve the wine. As she bent near Lord Desmond, he murmured, "You have a very curious spirit, Monise."
She froze. "My lord?"
He looked up at her, his gaze sharp but calm. "Curiosity is a fire. It keeps you warm… but it also burns."
Monise didn't respond. She finished her task and retreated quickly, her nerves sparking with renewed fear.
That night, unable to sleep, she walked to the library. The corridors were strangely cold, and her breath formed foggy puffs. The moment she stepped into the library, a chill wrapped around her. Books lined the towering shelves, but the room was eerily silent. A candle flickered on one of the tables. Someone had been there recently.
She reached for an old tome bound in dark leather. The spine read Nocte et Sanguinem—Night and Blood. Flipping through the pages, she saw sketches of winged figures with bloodied mouths, rituals, symbols, and even a sketch of a mansion eerily similar to this one.
A loud thud startled her. She spun around. The door had shut on its own.
She ran to it, tried the handle. Locked. Her breathing quickened.
Suddenly, a whisper slithered through the room. "He sees you."
Monise's heart leapt into her throat. "Who's there?"
No answer. Just the rustle of pages. The candle dimmed, shadows stretched along the wall, and then she saw it—across the room, by the tall window—a silhouette. A man, impossibly tall, his face half in shadow.
"You shouldn't have come here," the voice said. Not Lord Desmond's. Not Elias's. A third.
She backed away, but the figure didn't move.
"Your blood remembers," he continued, stepping forward. His face came into view—young, handsome, yet timeless. Eyes like molten silver. "You were here before. Long before."
Monise was trembling. "I don't know what you mean."
He smiled. "You will."
Then darkness.
She woke with a gasp in her bed. Sweat soaked her linen dress. The library's chill still clung to her skin. Was it a dream? A vision? Or another warning?
She looked to the window. Dawn was just beginning to break. The forest outside remained wrapped in fog, but the mansion whispered anew. Every creak of the wood, every howl of the wind, seemed to be calling her name.
Monise swung her legs over the edge of her bed and stood, heart pounding.
This house was alive.
And it wanted something from her.
Later that day, while assisting the gardener with herbs from the greenhouse, Monise approached Elias in the garden courtyard. He seemed distracted, plucking dead leaves with unusual care.
"You said I should stay away from that door," she began softly.
He sighed and didn't look at her. "I did."
"Who was the man in the library?"
Elias paused, then turned. "You saw him?"
She nodded. "He said I'd been here before."
Elias frowned deeply, then gestured for her to follow. They walked toward the edge of the mansion, where a broken stone path led toward the lake.
"I shouldn't tell you this," he said quietly, "but you deserve to know."
They stopped before a cracked statue of a woman, her face broken, her arms outstretched. Moss covered most of her body. Elias brushed some away to reveal an inscription:
Moniselle of Evernight – The Lady of Blood and Light
Monise staggered back. "That's… my name."
"No," Elias said. "It was your name. Once. A long time ago."
She looked at him in horror.
"You were once part of this house. You disappeared, and with you, peace. Lord Desmond changed after you vanished. Some say he went mad. Others… that he made a pact with the night itself to bring you back."
"I don't believe you," she whispered.
"You don't have to," Elias said. "But the house does. It remembers you. And so does he."
Monise turned away, her thoughts spiraling.
Behind them, in the mansion, Lord Desmond stood at the highest tower, watching her.
Smiling.
To be continued...