Chapter 3: The Haunting Heart
1498 Words
The days at Blackthorn Manor passed like a strange dream—an eerie, seductive haze that wrapped itself around Mara’s mind. She had never expected a place like this to feel like a trap, but in the quiet corners of the manor, there was something almost alive about the air. Even the shadows had their own pulse, breathing softly, drawing her in, whispering secrets that felt half-formed.
But it wasn’t just the house. It was him—Lucian.
Every night, after the bizarre interactions with Miss Agnes, they would retreat to the grand dining room for dinner, where Lucian’s presence would fill the space like a storm. His gaze was often heavy, assessing, never quite letting her get too comfortable. The heat between them was undeniable, a constant hum, building more and more each time their eyes locked.
And yet, there was a distance—a wall of mystery and darkness that he never let her breach, no matter how close their bodies got. He would flirt, tease her, and draw her in with those eyes of his, but he never revealed anything true, anything real.
One night, as she sat alone in one of the manor’s many sitting rooms, her fingers idly tracing the edge of a dusty book, she heard it again—the faint whisper of a voice.
At first, she thought she had imagined it. But then it came again—so soft, so low, that it was impossible to ignore.
“Mara…”
She froze. The voice was unfamiliar, feminine, yet it seemed to echo in her mind as if it were a part of her own thoughts.
“Mara…” it called again, clearer now.
A cold shiver ran down her spine, and she stood up quickly, scanning the room. The shadows seemed to shift, twitching as if alive. There was nothing in the room, no one except her. But the voice... the voice was unmistakable.
Her heart raced, and she couldn’t help but feel drawn to it, as though something inside of her needed to know what it was.With trembling hands, she reached out and touched the surface of a nearby table, only to feel the cold sensation of something... sliding underneath her fingertips. The air felt thick, weighted, as though something unseen was standing behind her, watching.
She whipped around, but there was nothing. Just the flickering candlelight casting odd shapes against the walls.
The voice, however, continued.
“Come closer... you must hear me.”
Mara swallowed, forcing herself to take a cautious step forward. Her pulse quickened as she walked toward the back door of the room, which was cracked open just slightly.
The voice seemed to come from beyond the door, though there was no one in sight. And yet, the sensation of being watched—followed—was overwhelming. Every inch of her skin prickled with awareness, as if the very air was charged with a force she couldn’t see but could definitely feel.
With a final deep breath, she pushed the door open and stepped into the hallway.
The coldness hit her like a wave, swirling in the dark, giving the space an ethereal, almost otherworldly quality. The hallway was lined with portraits of long-dead ancestors whose eyes seemed to follow her every move.
And then, she heard it again. The voice, louder now. But this time, it sounded... more desperate.
“Mara, please…”
There was no turning back. Her heart hammered in her chest as she walked further down the hallway, toward the grand staircase at the end. The voice guided her, like a magnet drawing her to its source.
At the foot of the stairs, the light from the candles flickered wildly, and then, in a swirl of cold mist, a figure materialized before her—a woman, pale, ethereal, with long, dark hair cascading over her shoulders, her eyes hollow and searching, like a soul lost in time.Mara gasped, stepping back instinctively, but the figure didn’t move toward her. It simply stood there, watching her.
The woman spoke in a whisper, her voice filled with sorrow. “I need your help…”
“Who are you?” Mara asked, her voice a mixture of disbelief and curiosity.
The ghost’s eyes flickered with an emotion that Mara couldn’t place—was it longing? Fear?
“I was once a part of this house,” the woman said, her voice cracking with the weight of memory. “But I was... lost, abandoned, forgotten. And now, only you can hear me.”
Mara swallowed hard. She was no stranger to strange occurrences, but this was different. This was real. This was something alive, something in need of her.
“Why me?” Mara asked, her voice trembling. “Why now?”
The ghost took a step closer, though her feet never seemed to touch the floor. “You... have a connection to this place. To the Blackthorn bloodline. And you must help me before it’s too late.”
Before Mara could ask more, a voice broke through the tense silence.
"Mara?"
She turned, startled, to find Lucian standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. His eyes, dark and intense, locked on the ghost before flicking back to her.
“Lucian...” she whispered, her heart skipping a beat. He looked at her like he always did—with that dangerous edge, like he was measuring her every move, trying to figure out what she would do next.
The ghost, sensing his presence, faded into the air with a quiet sigh, leaving only the faintest trace of coldness in the room.
Mara’s breath came in shallow bursts, her heart racing. She looked at Lucian, her voice soft. “What was that? Who was she?”Lucian stepped into the room, his gaze hardening as he closed the distance between them. His eyes were still locked on the spot where the ghost had vanished, but there was a flicker of something else in his expression—a touch of uncertainty that was quickly masked.
“She’s... someone tied to this house," Lucian said, his tone clipped, as though he was unwilling to say more. “But you don’t need to worry about her. It’s a dangerous path, Mara.”
"She needs my help," Mara insisted, her voice sharp. "You can’t just—"
"You don’t understand," Lucian cut in, his voice low and dangerous. "You don’t know what you're dealing with. That spirit isn’t like the others. She’s... dangerous."
Mara felt her frustration rise. “I can’t just ignore it.”
For a moment, there was silence, the only sound the heavy breathing between them. The tension was palpable, as thick as the air in the room, and it hung between them like an unspoken promise.
Lucian’s gaze softened, and then, before Mara could react, he took a step closer, his hand brushing against her arm, sending a shockwave of heat through her body.
“You’re right,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But be careful, Mara. The house... we are not as innocent as you think.”
His fingers lingered on her skin, sending shivers down her spine. Mara looked up at him, her pulse hammering. She could feel the pull between them, the heat of his touch still radiating against her skin.
“You can’t protect me from everything, Lucian,” she whispered, a challenge in her voice.
His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “We’ll see about that.”
The moment hung between them, charged with electricity, but before either of them could say anything more, the distant sound of footsteps interrupted the heavy silence.
Lucian’s gaze flickered briefly to the door, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Seems like we have company. But don’t think this is over, Mara.”
And with that, he was gone, disappearing down the hallway with the same quiet confidence that had always marked his presence.You can’t protect me from everything, Lucian,” she whispered, a challenge in her voice.
His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. “We’ll see about that.”
The moment hung between them, charged with electricity, but before either of them could say anything more, the distant sound of footsteps interrupted the heavy silence.
Lucian’s gaze flickered briefly to the door, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Seems like we have company. But don’t think this is over, Mara.”
And with that, he was gone, disappearing down the hallway with the same quiet confidence that had always marked his presence.
Mara stood alone in the dimly lit room, her mind swirling with confusion and desire. She hadn’t come here to get caught up in some haunting, but there was something about the mystery of Blackthorn Manor—and its dark, dangerous heir—that kept pulling her deeper into its web.
And now, the spirit of the house had chosen her.
And she couldn’t—wouldn’t—turn away.
- Writer
