Chapter Five
941 Words
Morning broke reluctantly over Ravenshade. The storm clouds still loomed, heavy and gray, as if the night had not fully ended. Ivy lingered by her window, the echo of the dream still burning in her mind. Her mother’s face, so vivid, so impossibly real, had left her shaken.
She could not push it aside. Damian had spoken of curses, of blood and prophecy. If her mother’s image came to her within these walls, was it only a dream? Or was the manor truly speaking to her?
When Mrs. Halloway arrived with breakfast, Ivy asked immediately, “Where is Damian?”
The housekeeper’s brows rose slightly. “The master has returned from the city not an hour ago. You’ll find him in the library.”
Ivy didn’t wait. She pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders and followed the winding corridors until she reached the tall double doors of the library.
Inside, Damian stood near the fire, his coat discarded, and his white shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows. The sight caught her unprepared, the sharp lines of muscle, and the strength beneath his composure. He was a man carved from storms, and yet, for a moment, he seemed weary, the flames painting shadows under his eyes.
He glanced up when she entered. Their gazes locked, and something unreadable flickered across his face.
“You should have knocked,” he said quietly.
“I need answers,” Ivy replied, forcing her voice steady. “Last night I dreamed of my mother. She was standing in the east wing. She said midnight is coming.”
His expression hardened instantly, as though she had spoken a forbidden spell. He crossed the room in a few strides, his presence filling the air.
“You went into the east wing?” His voice was sharp and dangerous.
“No,” she said quickly. “It was only a dream.”
Relief and fury warred in his eyes. He turned away, running a hand through his dark hair. “Dreams are not harmless here. The manor feeds them, twists them. What you saw may be less dream than invocation.”
Ivy stepped closer. “You know something about my mother. Don’t deny it.”
His silence was enough.
“Tell me,” she pressed. “Why did she never speak of Ravenshade? Why am I only now being pulled into this curse you claim exists?”
Damian turned sharply, his jaw clenched. For a heartbeat, he looked like a man on the verge of breaking. Then he spoke, low and rough;
“Because your mother tried to leave it behind. She wanted you far from this place, far from its shadows. She swore you would never set foot in Blackthorn Manor. And yet, His voice faltered. “Here you are.”
Ivy’s breath caught. “So she knew.”
“She knew,” he confirmed. His eyes burned into hers. “And now the manor knows you. It will not let you go easily.”
The fire crackled, throwing sparks into the heavy silence. Ivy’s pulse thundered. She should have been terrified. Instead, she felt caught in something else entirely, the raw pull between them, sharp as a blade, dangerous as fire.
“You speak as though the house itself wants me,” she whispered.
“It does,” Damian said. His voice was almost a growl, low and threaded with something he seemed to fight against. “And that is why I cannot.”
The words stunned her. “Cannot what?”
His jaw tightened. He looked away, as though the fire held the answers he refused to give. “Cannot want you as I do.”
The admission hung in the air, shocking and undeniable. Ivy’s breath caught, her body trembling not with fear, but with something far more dangerous.
Before she could speak, the door opened. Ethan strode in, a book tucked under his arm, but he froze when he saw the two of them too close; the air charged.
“Am I interrupting?” he asked lightly, though his eyes betrayed unease.
Damian stepped back immediately, his expression shuttered. “We were discussing the curse.”
Ethan’s gaze lingered on Ivy, searching her face for truth. Then he set the book down on the table. “Well, perhaps this will help. It’s from the archives. Mentions the prophecy.”
Ivy seized the chance to escape the charged silence. She moved to the table, opening the worn pages. Symbols and faded ink covered them, but one passage stood clear.
When the Sinclair heir returns at midnight, the choice shall be made; salvation or ruin. Blood shall bind, blood shall break.
Her heart raced. “That’s what my mother meant.”
Damian’s expression was grim. “The prophecy isn’t a promise, it’s a warning.”
“And what happens if I fail?” she whispered.
He looked at her then, and for the first time, she saw fear in his eyes.
“Then Ravenshade falls,” he said simply.
That night, Ivy could not rest. The prophecy coiled around her thoughts, her mother’s voice echoing in her dreams. Midnight. A choice. Salvation or ruin.
She wandered again, the manor’s halls pulling her deeper. This time, she found herself in the gallery of statues. Moonlight pooled across cold marble faces.
One statue stood apart: a woman with flowing hair, her features eerily like Ivy’s own. The plaque read; Eveline Sinclair.
Her mother.
Ivy reached out, her fingers brushing the stone. The marble was ice-cold, yet it pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
“Ivy…”
The whisper returned, low and insistent.
This time, she did not run.
- Writer
