Nemona: The Witch of Scaranton

Chapter 1: The Legend of The Scaranton Mansion

Rain draped London like a heavy shroud, the droplets creating rhythms on cobblestones. Taking refuge under the awning of a quaint cafe, I chanced upon an abandoned, weathered newspaper. While flipping through it aimlessly, a tiny snippet discussing local legends piqued my interest – especially the legend of the Scaranton Mansion.

The legend spoke of a dark witch named Nemona. With her long raven-black hair and deceptive appearance of a ten-year-old child, she was rumored to feed off the life energy of unsuspecting victims. She would manipulate minds, slowly draining the essence of life from her victims over the course of four nights. I felt an involuntary shudder.

As a witch myself, I'd heard of many legends. But this one had an eerie air of familiarity. What was even more intriguing was that despite all her power, Nemona was bound to the confines of the Scaranton Mansion, a colossal manor situated on the outskirts of London.

A sense of intrigue pushed me to investigate further. I have always been a traveler, searching for knowledge and power. My height often made me noticeable in crowds, and I usually received varying reactions from people; some found solace in my presence while others detected a cold, aloof energy. Yet, it was this same discerning nature that had kept me alive in my dealings with the supernatural.

With my mind made up, I headed towards the outskirts of London. The mansion, in its decayed grandeur, stood tall amidst a barren land. It was day, but the skies above the mansion seemed gloomier.

Approaching the entrance, the massive wooden door creaked open, seemingly of its own accord. A whisper of a voice, sweet yet chilling, beckoned from inside. "Welcome..."

Without any hesitation, I stepped in. My senses heightened, I prepared myself for whatever mysteries lay ahead in the Scaranton Mansion. For in the world of the supernatural, legends often held more truth than anyone could ever fathom.