By twelve o’clock, Sebastian and Celene were standing before Scarlythe Manor of Amaranth Hill, which, to Celene’s utmost surprise, happened to be the ancestral home of Sebastian himself. Just beyond the ornate brass gates rose a vast Victorian Gothic mansion, dark-stoned and imposing, its presence commanding the crimson land surrounding it.
She turned to him, partly awestruck by its austere magnificence, mostly surprised that the house she had so often passed by during scenic car rides with her mother turned out to be the very same home that Sebastian had grown into.
He smiled coyly, even though his pale face did not betray any hint of a blush.
“What?” he asked, answering the question she didn’t voice out loud. “You’ve never asked.”
Celene smirked, impressed. “You’ve never mentioned you’ve grown up in such a fine estate, either.” She looked once more at the mansion. “I must say, it is so much different from your own house.”
He chuckled. “Come, let’s go in. I don’t wish to linger much longer outside.”
Sebastian pushed open the heavy gate with effortless ease. “After you, my love.”
Celene blushed, crossed the threshold, and waited a few paces beyond for him to close the gate. He clicked it shut, glancing around momentarily before joining her side, after which he motioned for her to follow him along the gravel drive towards the house that seemed less than a family home and more like a place where things were decided.
She shivered.
As they walked, the crunch of their footsteps grew unnaturally loud, and, for the first time, her initial awe gave way to a chilling awareness of the eerie stillness around them. Celene looked up at Sebastian from the corners of her eyes and noticed that even he seemed to glance around discreetly, his attention momentarily straying from her.
“Are you sure we should be here, Sebastian?” she asked tentatively, striving not to betray the hint of unease rising in her voice. “I mean, the place looks deserted. Would we be able to visit the archives if there is no soul around?”
No soul.
Sebastian did not slow.
He looked at her briefly with an air as if nothing was amiss and smiled. But Celene knew better. The smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“It’s fine, my dear. It is, after all, my home too,” he furrowed his brows, looking ahead, “that is, despite not having lived here for quite some time now.”
They reached the crimson front door; robust, unadorned, large enough to dwarf a man, even one as tall as Sebastian. Celene hesitated. Its cold, dark wood, scarred by time but meticulously maintained, gave off an unwelcome feeling.
Sebastian lifted his hand to a single brass knocker, which bore an unfamiliar crest—no doubt the family’s—in the middle of the door and knocked, three times, in measured succession.
With each knock, the sound resonated wildly through the still air until, after the third, a deafening silence fell once more.
After a tense while, the door creaked open, revealing a gaunt, rigidly postured man who looked scarcely more alive than the house itself. Sallow-skinned, dull-eyed; his unreflective gaze straightened the moment he laid eyes on Sebastian.
He bowed. “Master.”
“Mortimer,” Sebastian replied quietly yet with a sense of authority Celene had never seen in him. “I trust all is prepared for the visit to the archive.”
Mortimer straightened.
“Of course, sir.”
He turned without a whiff of emotion in his features and motioned them in, his eyes never once falling on Celene. Sebastian rounded his hand to the small of her back, nudging her gently in, and followed.
They crossed the threshold, and as Mortimer closed the door behind them, the dimly lit entrance hall almost fell into complete darkness, even though it was still just past noon. Celene looked around. Then upwards.
Even though she knew the house was of another age, she was surprised to see no sign of electricity anywhere. The chandelier above them bore half-burnt candles. There were no switches. And, what was that faint metallic smell that seemed to be ingrained in the very walls?
As her eyes adjusted to the dimness of the hall, she realised that despite never having been there, the place wasn’t entirely unfamiliar to her.
At first, she could not quite place the awareness. All she could remember was—
A dim hallway.
A grand staircase branching into two separate wings, shrouded in what appeared to be eternal shadow.
A large stained-glass window at the centre of the landing where the staircase split, depicting what looked like a mournful, fallen angel—in the same scarlet-crimson hues as the drapes that cascaded across the entirety of the vast space; the veiled mirrors and damask curtains that blocked most of the sunlight from outside.
And then it struck.
It was in one of her late mother’s novels, The Dark Prince.
In it, the main character was abducted by a prestigious vampire family and taken hostage in a dark, gothic manor on Crimson Hill.
Celene stilled.
Amaranth—Crimson—Hill.
She shuddered.
Her eyes darted to Sebastian, perfectly at ease—seemingly unaffected—by the unnatural, unnerving, stifling ambience.
What if?
She shook her head, then looked at Sebastian once more, a chilling, dreadful feeling of uncertainty washing over her.
Did she truly know him at all?