The Vampire's Court

Chapter 8- Everwood Manor

5 days had passed quickly, and as the carriage rolled out of their estate, Seraphine's anxiety grew, her heart racing like a wild bird in her chest. She gazed out the window, her emerald eyes fixed on the passing landscape, her mind consumed by the impending meeting with the Duke.

Her beautiful ball gown, a masterpiece of silk and lace, shimmered in the fading light. The ivory satin bodice, adorned with delicate florals and intricate embroidery, hugged her slender figure, while the full skirt fell in soft folds to the floor. A delicate silver chain held a tiny crystal pendant, another token from her father, around her neck.

Her ginger hair, a rich, fiery hue, cascaded down her back in loose curls, with a few strategically placed strands framing her heart-shaped face. A delicate lace shawl, draped over her shoulders, added a touch of whimsy to her ensemble.

As the carriage turned onto the Duke's manor, Seraphine's breath caught in her throat. The grand estate loomed before her, its turrets and spires reaching toward the sky like skeletal fingers. A shiver ran down her spine as she recalled her father's words: "The Duke awaits."

Fear and uncertainty wrestled within her, her mind torn between the charming stranger who had swept her off her feet at Somerset Estate and the menacing figure who had threatened her father. She had no idea that these two men were one and the same.

As the carriage swept up the winding driveway, Seraphine's eyes widened in awe at the sprawling estate before her. The dark grey stones of the manor seemed to absorb the fading light, casting long shadows across the lush front gardens. High parapets and gargoyles adorned the roof and front steps, like sentinels guarding the secrets within. The Gothic architecture loomed above her — its grandeur both captivating and intimidating.

The carriage rolled to a stop before the manor's grand entrance, and Seraphine's heart sank. She felt like a rabbit caught in a snare, her fate sealed. With a deep breath, she steeled herself for the encounter ahead, her emerald eyes flashing with a mix of fear and determination.

Seraphine's heart raced as she felt the darkness around the estate closing in, like a shroud suffocating her. Anxiety boiled over, her breath catching in her throat. She couldn't shake the memory of Withers, the Duke's assistant, stalking through her family's manor, his presence a harbinger of doom. If the Duke was even half as menacing as his emissary, she knew she could never love him.

The carriage halted before the grand entrance, and Seraphine's gaze fell upon the heavy wooden doors, adorned with iron hinges and a massive knocker in the shape of a snarling gargoyle's head. The doors seemed to glare at her, like the mouth of a beast waiting to devour her. A shiver ran down her spine as she realized she was about to enter the lair of the man who held her fate in his hands.

With a deep breath, Seraphine steeled herself for what lay ahead, her blazing green eyes holding back tears. She would face whatever darkness awaited her within the manor's walls, but she would not go quietly into the night. She would fight for her freedom, for her heart, and for her very soul.

As they approached the manor's entrance, the door swung open with an unnerving swiftness, as if Withers had been waiting in anticipation. Seraphine's heart skipped a beat as he towered before them, his tall, gaunt frame clad in impeccable black attire, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity.

"Ah, welcome, Lord Emmons, Seraphine," Withers intoned, his voice low and gravelly, as he executed a precise bow. "Please, do enter. The Duke awaits your presence."

As they stepped across the threshold, Seraphine's gaze was drawn to the grand foyer, a cavernous space that seemed to swallow the light whole. The walls, adorned with dark, rich wood paneling, appeared to absorb the sunshine that filtered through the magnificent glass ceiling above. The emerald green accents – subtle, yet striking – added a touch of elegance to the otherwise somber atmosphere. The manors staff flitted around them, perfecting the last of the ball's decorations.