The silence inside the master bedroom of Mourning Manor was absolute, broken only by the ragged, uneven rhythm of Gillian’s breathing. He lay stretched across the heavy oak bed, his body bathed in a cold, viscous sweat that soaked through the fine linen sheets. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of the dying embers in the hearth, which cast long, dancing shadows against the velvet curtains. Gillian’s face was pale, his features twisted in a mask of agonizing concentration. Every muscle in his body was locked, fighting a silent war against the corruption that now surged through his veins with relentless, brutal speed.
He had returned to this room hours ago, hoping that the sanctity of his private quarters would provide a buffer against the escalating curse. He had been wrong. The E
