Lady Dafina’s hands trembled. She tightened her grip on the reins, her eyes darting nervously to the setting sun.
Today marked a day of great importance — she was to meet Sir Samuel’s family. A year had passed since their fates intertwined. They had shared a passionate kiss in the moonlit woods on their first night and had since been inseparable. Now, the time had come for the formalities, for presenting themselves as a couple to his noble kin, whom Lady Dafina hoped would see her as Sir Samuel did.She had familiarized herself with the key details: Lady Margaret, Sir Samuel’s mother, was a connoisseur of exquisite tapestries. Her refined taste extended to her palate as well. Lord Reginald, Sir Samuel’s father, was notorious for his blunt manner, his words often cutting through pretense. Yet, beneath his grumpy exterior lay a somewhat reserved, kindness.
Lady Dafina felt a glimmer of anticipation. Was this not a step forward in their union?
The journey from Canterbury to Windhelm Manor was long and treacherous, a path that wound through dense forests. Wyndhelm was the kind of place where time was forgotten, where there were towering ancient oaks and the air was thick. Their manor stood at the end of a narrow, shadowed lane. Lady Dafina felt the weight of its gaze upon her, as if the very stones watched and waited. The courtyard was too pristine, in a way that seemed unnatural like a smile stretched too wide upon a face.
When the door creaked open, she was taken aback. Lady Margaret seemed too youthful for her age. Her face was as smooth as the finest porcelain, untouched by the ravages of time, and her hair fell in lustrous waves. Her smile, though bright, was unsettling in its intensity. But her eyes – those were the eyes of one who had witnessed unspeakable things.
Lord Reginald was much the same. His face was unlined, his beard trimmed with a precision that felt almost unnatural. They appeared as though they had stepped from the past, unscathed by the passage of time.
Lady Dafina stepped inside and the cold air wrapped around her. The manor was grand, filled with polished wood and tapestries but it was also cold, almost lifeless. The walls seemed to swallow the light from the flickering torches, casting the hall into a twilight. The stone floor, covered in deep, blood-red rugs, was cold beneath her feet. Lady Dafina felt herself shrinking, her earlier excitement giving way to a sense of dread.
Lady Margaret smiled at her again in an unnerving way. “Samuel,” she said in a lilting voice, “you have caught another songbird.” Lady Dafina’s stomach lurched as she realized the lady meant her. The words were warm but there was something beneath them, something cold and sharp.
As they ate dinner, Lady Margaret’s gaze never left her, heavy and probing. “What is it that you do, Lady Dafina?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper.
“I paint manuscripts and the like,” Lady Dafina replied, trying to keep her voice steady.
Lady Margaret’s smile widened, and Lady Dafina had to suppress a shudder. “You must see our garden. It is teeming with life,” she said.
The meal continued, the tension coiling around Lady Dafina like a serpent. Suddenly, Lady Margaret leaned in close, her voice barely a whisper. “You should try this tonic. It keeps one youthful.”
Lady Dafina lifted the goblet, the liquid inside thick and sweet. As it slid down her throat, her vision began to blur, her eyelids growing heavy. The room spun, darkness rushed in and she fell into it, unresisting.
She awoke, her skin slick with sweat and her mind was sluggish. Slowly, she opened her eyes and found herself bound to a wooden chair and surprisingly, her wrists tied with rope. Her heart was hammering against her ribs. Birds with delicate wings were fixed to her skin, their tiny legs skittering across her flesh. Her skin withered before her eyes, shrinking and graying. A raven hovered before her, its eyes glowing red.
“She is awake!” a voice shrieked, high and piercing. Lady Dafina felt a sharp sting in her arm, and then the darkness claimed her once more.
She awoke in her own chamber, the scent of dried lavender a balm to her nerves. Sir Samuel was there, concern etched into his handsome features. “Are you well?” he asked, his voice soft, worried.
“I… I am not certain,” she murmured, disoriented, still trapped in the nightmare that felt too real.
Later, she ventured into the garden, a familiar place of refuge. As she strolled through the hedgerows, she saw them – the birds, vibrant, just like in her dream. They were trapped inside glass cloches, their wings beating desperately against the confines.
“Who trapped these?” she whispered, the words slipping out before she could stop them. As she reached out to lift the glass, a hand stopped her.
Lady Margaret stood there, her grin stretching her face into something monstrous. “Lord Reginald loves collecting these,” she said, her voice too soft, too sweet. “He has a whole collection.”
Lady Dafina tried to smile, to nod, but the unease was back. “Birds,” Lady Margaret continued, “are beautiful creatures, with so much to give and so much to take. They deserve to be admired, to be seen and to be captured. Be careful not to let them escape.”
Her eyes bore into Lady Dafina’s, and the warning was clear.
That night, Lady Dafina awoke once more in the chair. This time, she was more aware, more alert. The figures loomed over her, their faces obscured by grotesque masks, their skin wrinkled, their hair white. They probed her skin, their fingers rough, their touch like the skittering of insects. Their eyes were gleaming with a desperate hunger and she felt her energy draining, seeping into the darkness that surrounded her.
“We are almost there,” one of them said, his voice deep and ancient, “do not fear, little songbird.”
Lady Dafina awoke again, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Sir Samuel was not there. She stumbled into the kitchens, seeking something solid and real. Through the window, she saw two figures. Was it Sir Samuel and his mother? But the woman was not Lady Margaret. This shadow was older, her back hunched, her voice gravelly, almost animalistic. Her hair was short and white as snow.
“It must be tonight,” the old woman rasped.
“Yes, I know,” Sir Samuel replied, his voice cold.
Lady Dafina knocked into the door, the wood creaking. She peered inside, and there was Lady Margaret, her long black hair framing her face, her smile bright though her eyes held that same darkness. “Do you need something, my dear?” she asked, her voice sickly sweet.
“No,” Lady Dafina stammered. “Pardon me.” She glanced at Sir Samuel, his eyes urging her to leave. Back in her chamber, she tried to lose herself in prayer but the floor creaked beneath her feet and a small gap in the floorboards caught her eye. She pried it open, revealing a hidden box filled with butterflies, a note and sketches.
The drawings depicted Sir Samuel with another lady and another picture of Sir Samuel with a man, both unknown to her. The note was cryptic, something she did not fully understand. But as she pieced it together, a chilling realization took hold of her.
She rushed to the grand door, her heart pounding but a voice halted her. “Come here, Lady Dafina. Do not be shy.” It was Lord Reginald.
She hesitated, then sat in the creaking chair before him, the air thick with dread. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“That is a foolish question,” he replied, his eyes gleaming with malice. “What you should be asking is what we want from you.”
“What do you want?” she stammered, her gaze darting around the room. Sir Samuel stood by the door, his expression unreadable.
“I can help you,” Lord Reginald said, leaning closer.
“How?” Lady Dafina asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“You must help me end her, or I shall end you,” he said, his voice dripping with menace. She knew he meant Lady Margaret.
As they spoke, Lady Margaret appeared, her eyes sharp. “What troubles you, dearest?” she asked, her voice too sweet, too calm.
“Nothing,” Lord Reginald replied, his tone smooth, too smooth.
Centuries earlier
In a dimly lit chamber, the shadows cast by the flickering candles were dancing on the walls. Lady Margaret, then a woman full of life, sat at a heavy oak table with Lord Reginald. The atmosphere was tense, charged with unease.
“Reginald, I am not certain this is right,” Lady Margaret’s voice trembled as she looked down at the arcane symbols etched into a manuscript spread before them. Her eyes, once bright and full of warmth now showed signs of doubt.
Lord Reginald’s expression was stern. “Margaret, we have spoken of this. The souls we claim are necessary for our preservation. The ritual must be completed for our continued existence.”
“But to take the lifeof others…” Lady Margaret’s voice faltered, a hint of doubt clouding her gaze. “They are innocent.”
Reginald’s face hardened. “Innocence does not spare one from the demands of our survival. We are bound by the ancient pacts, Margaret. We cannot afford weakness.”
Lady Margaret’s fingers trembled as she traced the symbols on the manuscript. “I fear that if we continue, there will be no turning back.”
Lord Reginald’s eyes grew cold. “You are reluctant. I see it now. Your hesitation endangers us both. If you cannot fulfill your role, you become a liability.”
Lady Margaret’s face paled. “What are you saying?”
Reginald’s voice was chillingly calm. “If you cannot embrace your duty, then you leave me no choice. I must seek a replacement. One who will not falter.”
Lady Margaret looked away, her heart heavy with the weight of her decision. The fear in her eyes was unmistakable, but her resolve wavered. “I… I will try,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Present day
That night, Lady Dafina awoke once more in the wooden chair. This time, she was ready. Beside her, Lady Margaret sat but now she was old, withered, her vitality drained. Lord Reginald stood between them, his hunger palpable and his desire to consume them both clear. He approached Lady Dafina, untying her restraints and handed her a dagger with a silver blade. The air was thick with fear and the faint smell of incense.
Lady Dafina hesitated, her heart pounding, the weight of her decision pressing heavily upon her. With trembling hands, she took the dagger, her mind racing. She looked at Lady Margaret, who was now a shadow of her former self, her vitality drained. The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in.
With a deep breath, Lady Dafina steeled herself. She moved swiftly, plunging the dagger into Lord Reginald’s side. He gasped, a look of surprise and pain flashing across his face.
His body convulsed, the light fading from his eyes as he crumpled to the ground, a dark red pool spreading beneath him.
Lady Margaret shrieked in rage but her voice was thin and shrill. She lunged at Lady Dafina but the withering woman was slow, her movements labored. Lady Dafina, her heart pounding, evaded her grasp, using the dagger to fend off the weakened Lady Margaret.
With one final, desperate effort, Lady Dafina drove the dagger into Lady Margaret’s heart. The woman let out a haunting wail, her form twisting and dissolving into a cloud of shadowy mist. The darkness lifted and the weight that had hung over Lady Dafina for so long began to recede.
5 years later
Lady Dafina stood alone in the mirror. The once vibrant woman now appeared tired and worn, her eyes haunted by the memories of that night. She still visited Windhelm Manor from time to time, though now its grandeur faded and its gardens were overgrown.
The manor had changed. Its grounds were now wild and untamed, the vibrant birds Lady Dafina had once seen trapped in glass cloches now fluttered freely, their wings beating against the open air. It was a place of beauty and at the same time, decay, a reminder of what had come to pass.
As Lady Dafina walked through the garden, she was no longer haunted by nightmares. She had come to terms with her past, finding solace in the beauty of nature and in the knowledge that she had freed herself from darkness.
As she gazed out the window, a dark smile touched her lips as she glanced at the three birds trapped in her cage, their silence a reminder of the torment she had endured and would no longer have to bear.
