The Arrival at Hawthorne Hall
Seraphina
The carriage rattled along the cliff road, its wheels groaning under the weight of the storm. Each bolt of lightning revealed a glimpse of the sea — black and heaving, like a living thing breathing rage against the rocks. I clutched the silver locket at my throat, the one my mother had pressed into my palm before death claimed her. I missed her ,I haven't been able to recover from her death.
I remembered what she said in her last breaths
> “Seek the Hawthornes,” my mother had whispered. “They will keep you safe. They owe us that much.”
Now, as thunder rolled across the moors, i wondered what kind of family my mother had truly meant. The letter from Lord Nathaniel Hawthorne had been brief, almost reluctant — an invitation written in elegant ink, sealed with a crest of thorns.
And yet, she had come. What other choice did an orphaned girl have?
The first sight of Hawthorne Hall stole my breath. The manor loomed against the storm like a living shadow — a vast, ancient structure of black stone, with turrets that pierced the clouds and windows that burned faintly with light, as though the house itself were awake.
When i stepped down from the carriage, wind tore at my cloak and hair, tangling it into wild, dark ribbons. The door opened before i could knock. A tall butler — pale, expressionless — bowed.
“Miss Vale. His Lordship awaits.”
Inside, the air smelled of candle wax, rain, and something older — something metallic, faintly sweet, like wilted roses.
My footsteps echoed through a corridor lined with portraits whose eyes seemed to follow her. A grand staircase coiled upward like a serpent. And at the landing stood Lord Nathaniel Hawthorne.
He was not what i had expected.
He was far too young — perhaps thirty, perhaps older only by the gravity in his gaze. Tall, lean, dressed in black velvet that caught the candlelight like spilled ink. There was something unsettling about his stillness, as if the world itself hesitated in his presence.
Our eyes met. I would have sworn I saw a dark flicker in his grey eyes that looked as if it could see my soul.And for a heartbeat, the world fell silent.
A flicker — warmth, recognition, a pulse of something i could not name — stirred in my chest. The air thickened. The candles flared and then steadied.
“Miss Vale,” he said softly, voice low as thunder after rain. “Welcome to Hawthorne Hall.”
My throat tightened. “Thank you, my lord. I—I am grateful for your kindness.”
Why am I unable to pick my words,
His lips curved, almost in pity, almost in fear. “Kindness,” he murmured, more to himself than to her. “Yes. Let us call it that.”
---
Nathaniel Pov
I had known this moment would come.
For nights, the manor had whispered to me through dreams — the scent of lilacs, the echo of a voice, i thought ,i had buried a lifetime ago. When i saw her standing small and rain-drenched beneath the carved archway, my heart stuttered in its grave.
Seraphina Vale.
The name alone was enough to wake old curses.
She looked like her mother. Too much like her. The same eyes could unmake me . The same fragile warmth that my darkness had once devoured. I forced a smile, brittle as glass. “You must be cold. The housekeeper will see to your room.”As i spoke, a candle behind her flared and burst, spilling wax down the tablecloth. She gasped and stepped back.
I closed my eyes briefly, not wanting to relive the past... The curse had stirred. Already.
So it begins again, the manor whispered in my mind. Light returns to the thorn.
