Chapter 3: The Midnight Castle
953 Words
Vivienne woke to silence.
No screaming wind. No burning runes. Only the gentle flicker of candlelight and the weight of velvet sheets draped over her body. Her pulse thudded dully in her ears.
She blinked at the high ceiling above—vaulted arches of silver and black. Somewhere in the corner, a harp played by unseen hands sang a mournful lullaby.
But the ache was still there. Deep in her bones. Her blood.
She sat up, gasping. Her palm still bore the cut, though now healed to a thin red scar.
The door creaked open. Not the maid. This time, it was a man with ink-dark robes and a circlet of bone resting on his brow.
“You’re awake,” he said. “That is... fortunate.”
“Who are you?” Vivienne asked.
“Malric. High Scholar of the Keep. The Duke sent me to assess your... condition.”
“I’m not a patient.”
“No,” he said, adjusting his spectacles, “you’re far more dangerous.”
Vivienne swung her legs off the bed. Her feet touched the cold obsidian floor, but she stood tall. “What happened last night?”
“You were bound,” Malric said. “The Contract is sealed. The curse has acknowledged you.”
She frowned. “Curse?”
Malric hesitated. Then nodded.
“Every Duchess who came before you died within a month.”
The room tilted.
“I see,” Vivienne whispered. “So I’m disposable.”
“No,” Malric said quietly. “You’re different. The Mark didn’t reject you. It burned into your soul. That has never happened before.”
Before she could respond, the mirrors lining the walls shimmered. One of them twisted, forming a doorway.
Lucien stepped through.
His presence filled the room like thunderclouds. Today he wore a black shirt, collar open, revealing the tips of the glowing rune scars on his chest.
“Leave us, Malric.”
The scholar bowed and disappeared through the wall.
Lucien studied her. “How do you feel?”
“Violated.”
He arched a brow. “You said yes.”
“I said yes to surviving,” she snapped. “Not to... this.”
Lucien’s eyes glinted. “This is survival, Vivienne. In this world, we make bargains. Blood for blood. Soul for soul.”
“And what do you get from binding me?” she asked.
He walked closer, his gaze sharp. “Hope.”
Vivienne was taken aback.
“My curse is ancient,” he said. “I was betrayed, murdered, sealed. Only the soul of the betrayer could unbind me.”
“Then why am I still alive?”
“Because you are not her,” he said. “Not exactly. You are... something more.”
Later that day, Vivienne wandered the halls alone.
The castle was vast—rooms that bent time, gardens that bloomed under starlight, staircases that led to dreams. She passed through a library where books whispered to each other. A hall where shadows danced without light. A door she dared not open—one etched in screaming faces.
And then she found it.
A painting. Of a woman.
Her face was Vivienne’s. Her hair longer, her smile cruel. Draped in red silk, wearing a crown of bone and thorns. The plaque below read:
“The First Duchess – Seraphine of Aegros.”
A cold shiver crept down Vivienne’s spine.
She heard a voice behind her. “She was beautiful.”
Vivienne turned to see a young man leaning against the wall, arms crossed, with white-gold hair and stormy gray eyes. Not Lucien.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Caius. The Duke’s half-brother.”
“There are others?”
He smirked. “This castle is full of ghosts. Some walk. Some speak. Some, like me, have nowhere else to go.”
Vivienne looked back at the painting. “Is it true? That she betrayed him?”
Caius nodded slowly. “She tried to destroy him. And failed. But her soul scattered. Pieces reborn. Until one day, the Keep whispered your name.”
She touched the Mark on her shoulder. “And what if I don’t want to be her?”
He looked at her then—not mocking, but sad. “Then be the one who breaks the cycle.”
Vivienne turned away from the portrait.
“I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“You’re the one who lived,” Caius said softly. “That’s more than any of them can say.”
That night, thunder rolled above the towers.
Vivienne stood at the balcony, staring down at the forest where her old life ended.
A raven landed beside her. It dropped something at her feet.
A ring.
She picked it up. Gold. Etched with the same sigil from the Contract.
Lucien stood behind her.
“That was mine,” he said. “Centuries ago.”
“It’s warm,” she whispered.
“It always finds its way back to the one who bears the curse.”
She slipped it on.
For a moment, nothing.
Then the world shifted.
She saw a battlefield. A throne. A burning heart. A woman—Seraphine—screaming in rage as she plunged a dagger into Lucien’s chest.
Vivienne gasped and collapsed.
Lucien caught her.
“You’re remembering,” he murmured.
Tears streaked down her face. “I’m not her.”
“No,” he said. “But you carry her pain. And mine.”
Vivienne gripped his arm. “Then help me break this curse.”
His expression changed. For the first time, it wasn’t cold.
“I will,” he said. “But the price... will be everything.”
To be continued...
- Writer
