Fettes and Evangeline have plotted a dark scheme to achieve what they desire most: the return of Fettes' father to life and the death of Evangeline's cruel husband. But their plan involves an act of dark and dangerous magic that threatens to unleash...
The morning surprised the small and peaceful town, emanating warmth from the depths of the earth. The pigeons began their usual cooing, and the carriages emitted the first sounds of traffic.
The carriages, which had been requested early that morning for the grand mansion of the Dalburicks, crossed a small and almost dilapidated bridge that spanned a stream on the brink of extinction, with some difficulty.
People around engaged in conversations about the wonderful and warm day that nature had bestowed upon them, which they gratefully admired, especially after the terrible storm that had battered the city the previous night. An unexpected and inexplicable event for the knowledgeable in the matter, but it did not distress anyone.
Above them, the cloudy skies allowed a considerable burst of sunlight to illuminate them all, warming the carriages pleasantly. Once inside the property, a pair of burly and sweaty men rang the entrance bell, taken aback by the opulence of the garden and the exquisite facade that they had not expected to encounter that early morning when they were notified of their task.
"It sure is enormous, isn't it?" the younger one commented.
"Although it's somewhat far from the town. A fact that the owners surely haven't even noticed. They must have exquisite and comfortable carriages to visit the city center, so the route must be splendid," the other said.
"Of course, although it's strange that such a well-off family decided to make a home so far from the metropolis."
"No big deal, I'm sure the owner of the house is an old man accustomed to solitude."
Soon, an elegant footman opened the imposing gate, squinting his eyes as he felt the sting caused by the sunlight. Two prominent cheekbones widened as he bestowed them with a half-smile.
"Yes, what do you want? Oh, you are the laborers," he affirmed.
"That's correct, sir. We have brought eight of our men. Do you think it will be enough?"
"There are only two, so I believe it will suffice. Please come in. My master has already completed all the necessary paperwork, and the cemetery awaits. There will be no funeral procession or anything of the sort. Those were the wishes of the deceased..."
The men walked in astonishment through the enormous hallway illuminated by natural light. The floor was adorned with mosaic tiles that seemed to sparkle with each step they took. Various portraits of different sizes and colors hung from the walls, which they didn't hesitate to admire. The paintings were magnificent, although the stone-like faces gave the place a macabre and somber touch, commonly found in the houses of wealthy families.
A short while later, the men emerged, carrying two coffins.
"And who are the deceased?" asked the elderly driver who had been waiting in one of the wagons.
"A man and a woman, very young indeed."
"Young?" the man inquired. "How did they die? I'm sure it was an accident."
"Well, the owner said they were poisoned. Apparently, they ate raw deer meat, can you believe it?" the man who was boarding the carriage exaggeratedly exclaimed, alongside the old man. "The servant said they were attempting a sacrifice."
"Unbelievable, but they were just youngsters. I'm sure those gypsies from the town had something to do with this," the old man theorized.
"In these times, anything is possible."
However, both men soon forgot about the sensational event a few minutes later. It was not unusual for them to be scandalized by such things in their line of work. They had been in the funeral carriage business for far too long for something like this to scare them. So, the old man cracked the whip against the horse's hindquarters, and discreetly, they set off in a flash.
In the distance, from the main window of the grand mansion, a gray-haired man observed the small procession, smiling sinisterly behind the curtain held by his aged, sunspot-covered hand.
"Sweet and naive Evangeline," he whispered. "Perhaps you should have investigated a bit more about what that plant you forced me to consume was capable of. It seems it only helped me effectively feign my death for a few hours." He looked at his hands as a fierce laughter escaped his lips. "But I believe that both you and your little friend will have ample time and peace to think about that later, when you awaken from your apparent death. Then you will know that no one plays with Paris Dalburick."
He moved away from the window, still smiling, approaching the enormous desk where he would spend hours devising plans to set in motion his constant business endeavors. But just as he was about to take a seat and return to the tranquility of his routine life, filled with various occupations and transactions, a look of consternation washed over his entire face.
Impatiently, he rushed back to the vast window, gazing in terror at the carriages that were slowly fading into the distance, unable to believe what was happening. A couple of tears welled up in his celestial eyes when all he could see was the dust of the road.
"My son!" he exclaimed, crying bitterly.
꧁𓊈𒆜🆃🅷🅴 🅴🅽🅳𒆜𓊉꧂
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