Caimed by Midnight

Chapter Two

The morning light in Ravenshade struggled to pierce through the heavy curtains, casting a grayish hue that seemed to hesitate in illuminating Blackthorn Manor. Ivy awoke in the grand canopy bed, remnants of dreams mingling with her thoughts, echoing footsteps from the night, portraits that felt as if they tracked her every breath. Exhaustion had claimed her unexpectedly, yet now she found herself waking to a lingering unease, as though the manor itself awaited her arrival.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

“Miss Sinclair,” came Mrs. Halloway’s voice, firm and clear. Breakfast is served. The master requests your company.

The term "the master" felt outdated, as if it belonged to a bygone era. Ivy quickly donned a simple gown she’d packed, feeling slightly out of place in the grandeur of the manor. As she stepped into the hall, Mrs. Halloway awaited her, a neutral expression on her face.

“This way, child.”

They descended a magnificent staircase lined with a banister intricately carved to resemble twisting vines and blackthorn branches. The walls were adorned with portraits of robust figures, each one bearing the same proud features and piercing gazes, blackthorns, no doubt.

At the bottom of the stairs stood Damian, already dressed in a tailored dark suit. Though he seemed less composed in the daylight, the shadows of the previous night seemed to linger in his demeanor, hinting at an inner turmoil. He met Ivy’s gaze with his striking blue eyes, and she felt an urge to retreat beneath his stare.

“You came,” he remarked, as if surprised by her arrival.

“I received a letter,” she replied, striving to maintain her composure. “It stated that this manor is mine by right.”

His expression tightened at her words. “A letter can convey many things.” Rights can be misleading.”

Before she could respond, he turned and walked toward the dining hall, and she followed, the echo of her footsteps resonating in the expansive corridor.

Inside the dining hall, the atmosphere was both imposing and elegant. A long oak table occupied the room, although only one end was set with silver cutlery gleaming, fine china poised perfectly, and a vase of white roses providing a soft touch amidst the looming shadows. A fire crackled in the massive hearth, its warmth somewhat undermined by the chill lingering in the air.

Damian took his seat at the head of the table, gesturing for Ivy to sit opposite him. The deliberate distance between them felt significant, as if they each recognized the weight of unspoken words.

Ethan Cole was already at the table, relaxed in his chair, coffee in hand. His easy smile lit up when he saw Ivy.

“Good morning, Miss Sinclair. "I trust your night was free from ghostly interruptions?”

Ivy couldn’t help but smile slightly despite her nerves. “Barely.”

Ethan chuckled, but Damian’s demeanor remained serious.

“There are matters we need to address,” he said, cutting through the pleasantries. “Your inheritance is not what you believe.”

Ivy felt a jolt of apprehension. “Then what is it?”

His eyes held hers with unwavering intensity. It is a curse, a binding to both blood and stone, intertwining the Sinclair and Blackthorn legacies. You should not be here.

Mrs. Halloway, who had been pouring tea, hesitated for a moment. “Master,” she began cautiously, but Damian interrupted.

“No. She needs to know.

Ivy’s throat tightened. “A curse?" That sounds far-fetched.

“Is it?” He leaned closer, firelight accentuating his features. “Did you not sense it last night?” The oppressive air, the portraits’ watchful eyes? This manor is infused with it.

Ethan cleared his throat. “Perhaps you could soften your approach, Damian." She’s not here to be terrified.”

But Ivy straightened her posture. “I’m not frightened,” she asserted, even if that wasn’t entirely true. “If there’s something I must know, please share it clearly.”

Damian regarded her with contemplation, as if assessing her capacity for truth. Finally, he spoke.

“Blackthorn Manor" is tied to a prophecy. It foretells of a Sinclair who will either break the curse or perpetuate it. Your presence here is no mere coincidence—it is destiny.

His words hung heavily in the air, creating an unsettling chill.

Ivy shook her head. “I don’t believe in destiny, prophecies, or curses.”

“Believe what you wish,” Damian replied. “But this manor has its beliefs about you.”

A silence enveloped them, broken only by the crackle of the fire and the soft clink of Ethan setting down his cup.

“Why me?” Ivy whispered, curiosity edged with trepidation.

“Because you are your mother’s daughter,” Damian answered, his voice softening, tinged with an undercurrent of regret. “And because midnight approaches.”

The remainder of breakfast passed in tense silence. Ivy barely touched her meal, her mind spiraling with thoughts of her mother, who had never mentioned Ravenshade, the curse Damian spoke of, and the prophecy that seemingly bound her to this place.

As breakfast concluded, Ethan offered to guide her through the manor. “It’s best to familiarize yourself with its halls before it becomes acquainted with you,” he quipped playfully.

Damian abruptly rose from the table. “I have business in the city.” Stay out of the east wing, Miss Sinclair. Do not enter it under any circumstances.

Before Ivy could inquire further, he left, his footsteps echoing into the stillness. Ethan glanced at her, his expression encouraging yet cautious, as they prepared to explore the depths of Blackthorn Manor together.

The manor tour only intensified Ivy's curiosity about its mysteries. With corridors that twisted back on themselves and staircases that seemed to shift, the place had an intriguing, almost surreal quality. Ethan pointed out the locked doors, explaining that some rooms had been sealed for decades, adding to the sense of intrigue.

As they passed a gallery of statues, Ivy felt a shiver creep up her spine, as if the stone eyes were watching her every move. “Doesn’t it bother you?” she asked Ethan, her curiosity piqued.

“What do you mean?” he replied, glancing her way.

“The way this place feels so… alive,” she said, searching his expression for insight.

Ethan offered a faint smile. “Bother me?" No, I grew up here. Damian rescued me from the streets when I was young. The manor sheltered me. It may be unusual, but it feels like home to me.

Ivy couldn't help but ask, “Then what about the curse?”

His demeanor shifted, growing serious. That’s not a story I can share. It’s not my place to discuss.

Later, Ivy found herself wandering alone through the vastness of the manor, both impressed and unsettled by its scale. She paused before a set of imposing double doors adorned with intricate black iron vines, the entrance to the east wing. Damian’s warning echoed in her mind: Stay out.

As her hand hovered over the handle, an inexplicable pull seemed to call to her, urging her closer. Just as she was about to push the door open, she pulled back with a gasp, her heart racing.

“I wouldn’t linger there if I were you,” came a voice from behind her.

Ivy turned to see a young maid, no older than nineteen, balancing a tray of linens. The maid's dark eyes darted nervously toward the ominous doors.

“Why not?” Ivy asked, intrigued.

The maid shook her head, urgency in her tone. “Bad things happen in the east wing. It’s best to keep to the safer areas of the manor.

“What’s your name?” Ivy inquired.

“Clara,” the girl replied quickly before hastily moving away.

As Ivy turned back to the doors, a sense of unease prickled her skin. In the distance, a clock began to chime, the sound resonating through the manor like distant thunder.

At that moment, Ivy realized she had no idea what midnight might bring or if she truly wanted to uncover the secrets hidden within.