The manor was restless, every corner heavy with secrets waiting to be unearthed. Shadows shifted in the dying light, as if the house itself was holding its breath. Outside, the first pale light of dawn, around 5 A.M., struggled to pierce the oppressive mist, casting the old house in a perpetual twilight. Every creak of the ancient timbers seemed to mock them, a reminder of the relentless passage of time.
The team moved through the manor like sleepwalkers, their limbs aching with deep, bone-weary exhaustion, muscles protesting every movement. Their eyes, bloodshot and heavy-lidded, burned with the strain of relentless vigilance. This was it. Today was the last day. Tonight, the new moon.
Elara, slumped slightly in her wheelchair, her back aching from endless sitting, clutched the thin blanket. Her hands, though, were no longer trembling uncontrollably. A grim resolve had settled upon her, born of sheer terror and the desperate need to understand. Enma, sensing her focus, nudged her hand gently.
"We have to find it," Elara whispered, her voice raw. "The living link. The family that kept the curse alive. There has to be a record."
***
Before plunging back into the dark corners of the manor, a different kind of ritual took place. Levy, ever resourceful, had discovered a stash of freshly roasted beans in the Blackwood kitchen—a testament, perhaps, to the former inhabitants' refined tastes, even in isolation. Now, the rich, intoxicating aroma of brewing coffee filled the study, temporarily pushing back the chill and the pervasive scent of lilies.
Cups were passed around, steaming and dark. Elara took hers with trembling hands, savoring the warmth against her chilled skin before taking a slow sip. "Oh, that's... that's good," she murmured, a genuine sigh escaping her. The simple warmth was a small comfort against the gnawing anxiety.
Levy, already on her third cup, nodded vigorously, a faint flush in her cheeks. "Seriously. Whatever horrors the Blackwoods perpetrated, their coffee beans were top-tier. I swear this stuff has magic in it. Actually fighting the exhaustion."
Cana, however, eyed her cup with a mixture of suspicion and growing fascination. "I don't usually do coffee," she grumbled, taking a tentative sniff. Yume had sternly advised her to cut back on alcohol to keep her senses sharp and prevent any old vulnerabilities from resurfacing, so she'd mostly stuck to water. But the sheer fatigue was brutal. She took a hesitant sip, her eyes widening slightly. "Huh. Not bad. It's... earthy. Strong." She took another, larger gulp, feeling a jolt clear some of the fog from her brain. "Okay, maybe just one more cup. For vigilance, you know."
Levy chuckled, a rare, relaxed sound. "Right, 'vigilance.' Just don't let it become your new vice, Cana. Yume would have your hide."
Cana scoffed, but a faint, almost sheepish smile touched her lips as she poured herself another generous amount. "Pfft. It's just coffee. What's the worst it can do? Make me... really awake?" She took a deep, satisfied breath of the rich steam, a tiny moment of normalcy in the heart of dread. The quality was undeniably good.
Yume, his usual stoic calm now a mask over deep fatigue, nodded. "The priest mentioned a lineage that 'maintained' it. That means records. Family ledgers, private correspondence, hidden wills. Something beyond what the public knows." His movements were slower, heavier than usual as he straightened, a muscle ticking beneath his jaw. "Levy, with me. The library holds centuries of Blackwood secrets. Cana, explore the manor's less obvious spaces. There could be hidden compartments, old servant quarters, anything the main family records might omit."
Levy, her analytical mind already racing despite her burning eyes, pushed herself up. "Right. Genealogy, property transfers, anything unusual. We need details that tie a living descendant to this place and the curse." Her head ached, filled with incomplete knowledge, but the urgency was a sharp, cold clarity. Sky paced softly behind her, mirroring her tension.
Cana, her face drawn with exhaustion but a spark of grim determination in her eyes, stretched, wringing the stiffness from her shoulders. "Fine. Leave the dusty books to you two. I'll stick to what I'm good at—finding things where they shouldn't be." She cracked her knuckles, a low growl escaping her lips. "If there's a hidden passageway or a secret chamber in this death trap, I'll find it. And if someone's been actively helping this ghost, they won't like what I'm bringing." Sea remained a massive, silent shadow at her heels. Viperion, outside, seemed to stir, a faint, prolonged hiss carried on the damp air.
***
The Hunt for Secrets and Isolde's Voice
The manor became a labyrinth of their desperate search. Dust motes danced in the sparse light, disturbed by their relentless activity. Yume and Levy descended into the Blackwood library, a vast, oppressive chamber lined with leather-bound tomes that seemed to absorb all light and sound. They worked methodically, pulling down ancient ledgers, deciphering faded script, cross-referencing names against property records. Levy's fingers brushed over brittle pages, her mind frantically searching for anomalies, for the smallest deviation that might betray a hidden truth.
Meanwhile, Cana moved through the grimmer, seldom-used wings of the manor. Her intuitive magic became a divining rod for anomalies. She ran her hands along damp stone walls, felt for drafts from unseen passages, and listened to the creak of settling timbers. Her fear had hardened into a furious, protective energy directed at the elusive accomplice. Finally, in the dilapidated west wing, her keen eye caught a faint discoloration on an old wooden floorboard, almost imperceptible against the grim patina of age. A small, almost invisible notch allowed her to pry it up.
Beneath it, wrapped in faded silk, she found a slim journal and a bundle of letters, their ribbon brittle with age. Cana let out a breathless laugh, a sound of grim triumph that quickly faded. "Found something," she called out, her voice rough with exhaustion and excitement. "Looks like someone's diary entry, or a confession."
***
They gathered again in the study, the mid-afternoon sun now slanting through the grimy windows, painting the dust-filled air in hues of dull gold and deepening shadows. Coffee cups, some still half-full, others drained, sat scattered across the table. Cana, having clearly gone through at least two more cups since their initial brew, practically bounced in her seat. Despite the dark circles under her eyes, her movements were charged with a jittery energy that was almost unsettling.
Yume glanced at her, a hint of something unreadable in his gaze. "If you like this much, Cana, why not try my recipe? It's a treat in cold weather."
Cana's eyes widened, lighting up like a child promised a sweet. "You mean it?" she said excitedly, all her exhaustion momentarily forgotten, replaced by a pure, almost manic glee. If not for the heavy shadows beneath her eyes, Yume might have actually believed Cana was just that naturally happy. Clearly, the coffee overdose was at play.
Levy shook her head, a soft smile touching her lips despite the gravity of the moment. "Looks like we've found Cana's new happy place. Just what we needed, more caffeine-fueled chaos."
Elara let out a weak chuckle, "At least it's not alcohol this time, right, Yume?"
Yume offered a faint, almost imperceptible nod, his attention already shifting back to the grim task at hand. The momentary warmth of their shared exhaustion and caffeine-induced camaraderie faded, replaced by the chilling weight of what they were about to uncover.
***
The Letters: Isolde's Story Unfolds
Levy carefully took the bundle of letters, her fingers surprisingly steady. She unfolded the first letter, its aged paper rustling faintly. Her eyes scanned the elegant, yet frantic script.
Letter 1: Shock and Denial
My dearest,
I do not understand. The bells have rung, the guests have gathered, but you are not here. Perhaps you are delayed—caught by some urgent matter, a message not yet delivered. I refuse to believe you would leave me waiting, not after all our promises.
I will wait for you, as long as it takes.
—Isolde
A silence fell. Levy's voice was tight, filled with a sudden ache. "This is… her wedding day. She was still hoping he'd come."
Cana shook her head, jaw clenched, a low growl escaping her throat. "He never did. The bastard."
Elara reached for the next letter, her breath catching, her heart already heavy with Isolde's sorrow.
Letter 2: Pain
To the one who once held my heart,
The truth has found me, sharper than any blade. You have chosen another, and I am left with only memories and shame. My heart aches with every breath. What did I do wrong? Was I not enough?
I cannot stop the tears. I cannot stop remembering.
—Isolde
Yume's eyes narrowed, his voice low and certain, a grimness settling over his features. "She was abandoned for a richer match. A political marriage, likely. For the Blackwood name."
Levy unfolded the next, the ink blurred by water stains, as if Isolde's own tears had marred the page.
Letter 3: Guilt
To Mother,
I know I have brought disgrace to our name. I see it in your eyes, hear it in your silence. If I had been stronger, better, perhaps he would have stayed. Perhaps you would not look at me with such disappointment.
I am sorry for the pain I have caused. I am sorry for being so weak.
—Isolde
Levy's hands shook, and she swallowed hard, fighting back her own tears. "She blamed herself. She thought she deserved this. Oh, Isolde..."
Cana's voice was sharp, laced with fury. "She didn't. Her family is to blame for this."
Elara unfolded the fourth letter, the script jagged, almost violently scrawled.
Letter 4: Anger
To the empty halls,
Why must I bear this alone? Why am I the sacrifice for others' ambition and pride? You all whisper about duty and honor, but you have locked me away like a secret to be forgotten.
I am not your scapegoat. I am not your shame to bury.
—Isolde
Yume's jaw tightened, his gaze hardening. "She was angry. She knew what they were doing. They isolated her, used her."
The fifth letter was crumpled, as if clenched in a desperate, trembling hand for hours.
Letter 5: Bargaining
To anyone who might listen,
If there is a way out, I will take it. If I must atone, let me serve in some other way. Let me leave this place, start anew—far from these walls and these memories.
I promise to be better, to be worthy. Please, let me go.
—Isolde
Elara's voice was barely a whisper, filled with a deep, sympathetic pain. "She was begging for mercy. She just wanted to be free."
The sixth letter was stained with what truly looked like ancient tears, leaving pale, ghostly rings on the page.
Letter 6: Depression
To the darkness,
The days blur together. I have forgotten the sound of laughter, the warmth of sunlight. My dreams are grey and silent. I am already half a ghost, wandering empty rooms.
If anyone remembers me, let them remember I once loved, and was loved in return—if only for a little while.
—Isolde
Levy blinked back tears, her voice thick with emotion. "She was already fading before she died. Her spirit was broken long before her body gave out."
Finally, Elara opened the last letter, her heart pounding in her chest. The ink was shaky, the page faintly scented with the cloying, oppressive smell of lilies that now permeated the very air around them.
Letter 7: Resignation and Fear
To whoever finds this,
They come for me tonight. The chanting has begun. The lilies are everywhere; their scent is suffocating. I am not angry, only tired. Tired of hoping, tired of being used, tired of being afraid.
If you read this, know that I never wished for vengeance. But the pact was sealed in blood, and I am bound to this sorrow. Forgive me for what I must become.
—Isolde
***
As the full, tragic story of Isolde's life—her hope, her betrayal, her agonizing descent into despair—unfolded from the letters, a sudden, arctic cold swept through the manor, piercing through their layers of fatigue. The candles guttered violently, threatening to plunge them into darkness.
Elara cried out, doubling over, clutching her chest as a phantom pain, cold and sharp as a blade, lanced through her. Her breath hitched, ragged and shallow, her body seizing in the wheelchair, her eyes wide and unfocused. This was no mere chill; it was the curse, intensifying, feeding on their discovery, as if Isolde's tormented spirit was now fully reaching out to her.
Cana was at Elara's side in a heartbeat, her hand steady on Elara's shoulder, her own face pale with fear for her friend. "Elara! Stay with me! What is it?! What are you seeing?!"
Elara was rigid, her eyes wide and vacant, fixed on something only she could see. She struggled to speak, fragmented words tearing from her throat amidst gasps.
"The chapel… empty… he didn't come… so cold… the whispers… in the mirror… a shadow… not a ghost… but… living…"
Her body shuddered violently, then went limp, though her eyes remained wide open, staring at an invisible tableau.
Levy, her analytical mind now running on pure adrenaline, grabbed Elara's hand, her own shaking. "Elara, focus! What are you seeing? Try to describe it!" She looked at Yume, her eyes wild with a mixture of terror and desperate clarity. "A living presence in the vision? It's not just Isolde's memory, it's connected to the accomplice!"
Yume knelt beside Elara, observing her physical reactions, his gaze intense, trying to interpret her fragmented words, piecing them together with the letters. "The mirror, Elara? What did you see in the mirror? Who was living?"
Elara, as if pulled by invisible strings, pointed a trembling finger towards a reflective surface on the table. Her voice was barely a whisper, filled with the Bride's raw anguish.
"She waited… alone… the wedding dress… hopes turned to ash…"
Levy, connecting Elara's fragmented words to the letters and her own knowledge, began to articulate the vision aloud, her voice tight with revelation.
"She saw Isolde, radiant in her simple wedding dress, clutching a faded bouquet. Her eyes shone with hope as she waited in the candlelit chapel, pounding for the man she loved. But the hours dragged on. The guests whispered. The candles guttered."
"He never came," Cana finished, her voice flat, her face grim with intuition.
Levy continued, pulling more details from Elara's agonizing gasps and the understanding building between them.
"Instead, news arrived: her fiancé abandoned her, leaving for the city to marry into a wealthy merchant family. The match was arranged in secret, sealing his family's fortunes while shattering Isolde's heart. Alone and humiliated, Isolde wandered the empty halls, her dreams turned to ash. Her family, desperate to save face, locked her away. When she died—whether by her own hand or by the slow poison of despair—her spirit could not rest."
Elara's eyes, still wide and vacant, suddenly focused on a point beyond them, a shudder running through her.
"But… not free… forced… even after… her mouth… sewn… not by her own hand… a shadow… chanting… binding… blood… lilies… the accomplice… here… in this house…"
Levy's hands shook as she finally pieced it together, her voice urgent, betraying the desperate edge of panic beneath her analytical mind.
"This is it! The vision sharpens! She saw the Bride—Isolde's spirit, wearing her wedding dress and veil, her mouth sewn shut with spectral threads, eyes wide with terror, forced to move by invisible hands! In the mirror behind her, a shadow loomed: not a ghost, but a living figure, chanting words of power, binding Isolde's soul to the mansion with a circle of blood and lilies after her death! That's why she's trapped! That's the real curse! And that's why she's called the 'Bride in Veil'—because of that horrific, eternal bondage!" Levy's gaze darted to the journal and the Blackwood crest they had noted earlier. "Elara, what did you see on that person? A symbol? A crest?"
Elara, with a final, agonizing effort, forced out, "A woman… with the Blackwood crest… altered… a 'V'… in the design… at the mill… the flowers… so many lilies..."
Yume's jaw clenched, his eyes holding a haunted depth. He rose from kneeling beside Elara, his gaze sweeping over the grim faces of his team, the weight of their newfound knowledge heavy in the air. His voice was steady, cutting through the rising tide of raw emotion.
"Isolde's story is tragic, yes. She was betrayed and used by her family," Yume began, his tone resonating with the authority of someone who understood the dark nuances of their world. "But do not feel sorry for the entity we are facing. Spirits, especially vengeful spirits that have been twisted and bound, lose their ability to decide what is right and wrong over time. They move on instinct, with the raw desire of vengeance or the fulfillment of their binding. Lady Isolde, the heartbroken woman, is long gone. What we are facing is not her, but 'the Bride in Veil'—a corrupted instrument of a curse, driven by a force beyond reason. We cannot appeal to her, nor can we reason with her. We can only stop her by severing the source of her power."
His words were a cold dose of reality, tempering their empathy with the hard truth of their enemy.
"The living link. The accomplice isn't just a descendant—they're here, now. They completed the ritual after her death to ensure her rage would power the Blackwood lands, and protect their line. The 'V' branch. That's the family that secretly betrayed her and has maintained the curse through the generations." He looked at Levy. "The old mill. That's where the new moon ritual will take place."
***
A Glimpse into the Past: Isolde's Journal Fragment
As Levy continued to pore over the slim journal, a smaller, loose fragment slipped from between the pages. The handwriting was Isolde's, but the words were more a frustrated ramble than a formal letter.
"...And then she came again today. Vandana. Just as the rain began to fall, as if she simply materialized from the damp air. She has such startlingly wide, intense eyes, and a strange, almost luminous quality to her hair. Yet her mind seems stuck in the perpetual wonder of a five-year-old. 'Oh, Isolde! The flowers outside are wilting, but the ones inside are so lively! Do you feel their joy?' she babbled, clutching a handful of lilies—always lilies with her. She prattles on, oblivious to my tears, my quiet despair, her cheer like a discordant chime in a funeral hall. She spoke of 'secrets the earth holds' and 'gifts the spirits give,' her voice echoing too loudly in the otherwise silent room. She never takes a hint, simply floats through the manor, humming an incessant, tuneless melody, irritating me to no end. There's something about her that is not right, a creeping unease that settles when she is near. Mother always insists she simply 'sees the world differently,' but her eyes hold an uncanny depth that contradicts her childish demeanor. She truly vexes me beyond measure. She spends far too much time by the old mill, I hear, chattering to herself and collecting strange roots and leaves."
Levy shivered, rereading the passage. "Vandana... the original accomplice. The 'V' on the crest, the one Elara saw in the vision... it was her. And she was already unsettling Isolde with her strange fixation on lilies and the mill. This isn't just a lineage; it's a personality type, a predisposition."
"This is it!" Cana exclaimed, her voice husky with triumph, leaning forward as Levy concluded the fragment about Vandana. "The 'V' branch! The one maintaining the curse! We have a name, even from the past, connected directly to this twisted ritual! That means we can trace them now, figure out who the current living accomplice is!" Her eyes gleamed with a fierce, protective joy. "We found them, Elara! We found the bastard who's doing this to you!"
Elara, despite her exhaustion, managed a faint, hopeful nod. A flicker of something akin to relief passed through her eyes, even amidst the fear. "The living person... the puppeteer..."
***
Levy, her fingers still hovering over the brittle pages, looked up, her own face alight with determined enthusiasm. "Exactly! The lineage. We follow the 'V' crest, trace it through the family records. It has to lead to someone still living. We're so close! What do you think, Yume? This is it, isn't it? Our big break!"
Yume said nothing.
The excitement that had surged through the room deflated, leaving a sudden, heavy silence. All eyes turned to him. He was seated, his head bowed, his shoulders beginning to tremble. No words, no nod of confirmation, just a profound, unsettling stillness. The late afternoon light was beginning to fade, painting the dust-filled air in hues of deepening purple, and a faint, rhythmic thump-thump from the direction of the mill seemed to intensify.
Inside Yume's mind, a chaotic storm of thoughts erupted. Every scrap of information they had gathered—the priest's ramblings, the bizarre, childlike nature of Vandana, the precise mechanism of the curse, the enduring loyalty of Isolde's spirit to a twisted pact—slammed together. His tactical instincts, honed over countless investigations, went into overdrive. He saw connections, patterns, and horrifying implications that had been lurking beneath their assumptions all along. The pieces clicked into place with a sickening thud, forming a picture far more intricate and disturbing than a simple vengeful ghost. His "inner Batman," the relentless, analytical part of his mind, kicked in, screaming at him: YOU FOOL!
"Yume?" Levy asked, her voice laced with deep concern, rushing to his side. "Are you alright? What is it? What are you seeing?"
Cana and Elara exchanged worried glances. "Yume, talk to us!" Cana urged, her usual brashness softened by genuine alarm. "You look like you've seen a ghost, or worse."
A low, guttural sound began to escape him, barely audible. "Hehehehe... hehehee..." It was a faint, almost strangled chuckle, rising in volume, devoid of any warmth or humor.
His head slowly lifted, his face illuminated by the dying light, his eyes wide and brilliant, not with terror, but with a horrifying, cynical amusement. A sharp, almost hysterical burst of laughter tore from his throat. "Hahahahaha! HAHA HAHAHA! HAHAHA HAHA!"
The others recoiled, startled. Cana, her earlier coffee-fueled excitement dissolving into pure unease, took a step back, a hint of genuine fear flickering in her eyes. Elara's hand flew to her mouth, her relief turning to dread as she stared at the sudden, unnerving transformation in their usually composed leader. Levy, frozen, watched him with wide, alarmed eyes, unsure if this was a breakdown or a terrifying breakthrough. His actions, so utterly out of character, sent a shiver through the room that was not of the curse, but of unnerving human unpredictability.
"Damn, we are idiots," Yume muttered, the silence in the room making his soft words heard clearly by them.
End of Chapter 22.