The Count of Caudebec

Oh merciful God... Have mercy on this wretched soul... This sinner, who now entreats you... Please... Grant me peace... The house was dark, not a candle or lamp to cast away the shadows. Only the solitary creaking and moaning of the ancient wood and stone. Moonlight curled its bony fingers through the cracks and crevices, giving an eerie glow. It was in times like these, that she'd never questioned, never puzzled at the lord of the manor's odd behavior. How he seemed to vanish as mysteriously as he would appear.  Had she known the horror of his true nature – nay, of this whole blasted house – she would never have answered the advertisement. No, she realized as she carefully tread up those ever foreboding stairs that led to the fragile security of her bedchamber, she had needed the money. Desperately. And like all young, unmarried women devoid of wealth, she'd answered the siren's call. One lily-white hand held the banister as she lifted the hem of her skirts to climb. Up, up, up the grand staircase that had at one time been a marvel to her. Careful of splinters from the well-aged wood, she noticed now how faded and worn the cherry stain was, as if no one had bothered with it in ages.  Inwardly she laughed; yet another clue she had failed to observe during those first few intriguing months. Her lips, slightly upturned at the memory of her first arrival here, she felt a stray tear escape, unbidden. How had she not seen it? As she thought back all those months ago, as she trudged up the last few steps, her heart couldn't help but stutter at the thought of when she first saw him...