Secrets of blooming estate book one

Chapter two the gardens threshold

The corridor stretched before them, long and silent, as if the very walls were holding their breath. The mansion was a labyrinth of shadows, each turn revealing forgotten rooms and faded memories from Sophia's childhood. She remembered playing hide-and-seek here, back when the Estate felt more like a dream than a prison. Now, it was heavy with a presence she could no longer ignore.

Beatrice moved silently beside her, gliding across the stone floor with the ease of someone who had walked these halls a thousand times. Her dark cloak billowed softly, and with every step, Sophia felt the weight of her decision deepening. She was about to cross a threshold—one she feared she couldn't come back from.

They reached a large, ornate door at the end of the corridor. The wood was blackened with age, but the carvings were still sharp—interwoven vines, strange symbols, and a figure that resembled a serpent coiled around a blooming flower. Sophia paused, her eyes tracing the intricate details. She had seen this door before, when she was younger, but her father had always kept it locked, forbidding her from ever entering the space beyond.

"Is this it?" Sophia asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Beatrice nodded, her hand resting lightly on the door. "This is the entrance to the Garden's heart. The place where your family's connection to the power begins. Only a Marlowe can open it."

Sophia hesitated, her fingers brushing the cool surface of the door. The pull she had felt since arriving at the Estate was stronger now, like a heartbeat thrumming through her veins. She didn't know what awaited her on the other side, but there was no turning back. The Garden had chosen her, as Beatrice had said, and whatever was inside, she had to face it.

Steeling herself, Sophia placed both hands on the door and pushed. It groaned under the pressure, as if resisting, but slowly, it creaked open, revealing a narrow staircase descending into darkness.

A rush of cold air hit her face, carrying the scent of damp earth and something else—something floral but faintly rotten, like flowers that had bloomed and withered in the same breath. Her heart pounded in her chest as she stepped forward, and Beatrice followed in silence.

The stone steps spiraled downward, each one narrower than the last, as though they were descending into the very bones of the Estate. The walls were rough, lined with roots that poked through the cracks in the stone. It was as if the mansion itself was slowly being reclaimed by the earth.

"How long has this been here?" Sophia asked, her voice echoing slightly in the confined space.

"Centuries," Beatrice replied, her voice low. "The Garden has always been here, long before your family took possession of the Estate. The Marlowes were chosen as its guardians, bound to its power. But the Garden is not simply a place. It's alive, in a way you can't fully understand yet."

Sophia swallowed, her throat dry. "And what exactly is it that I'm supposed to do?"

Beatrice's footsteps slowed as they reached the bottom of the staircase, where a narrow hallway stretched out into the dark. The flickering torch in Beatrice's hand cast long shadows on the walls, illuminating twisted roots that seemed to pulse faintly with life.

"You'll see soon enough," Beatrice said, stepping ahead and leading Sophia deeper into the passage. "The Garden will show you what it needs."

They walked in silence for what felt like an eternity until the hallway opened into a cavernous chamber. Sophia's breath caught in her throat.

Before her was the Garden—if it could even be called that. The chamber was vast, with towering stone walls that seemed to stretch forever into the shadows above. Thick, gnarled roots wound their way across the floor, and strange, phosphorescent plants glowed faintly in the dim light. At the center of the chamber stood a stone altar, covered in ancient symbols that pulsed with a faint, otherworldly light.

But what truly drew Sophia's attention was the enormous tree that loomed behind the altar. Its twisted branches reached out like skeletal fingers, its bark blackened and cracked as though scorched by some great fire. Yet, at the heart of the tree, something pulsed—a faint, sickly light that seemed to beat in time with Sophia's own heart.

"The heart of the Garden," Beatrice whispered, her eyes fixed on the tree. "This is what your family has been protecting all these years. The source of its power, and its curse."

Sophia felt herself being pulled toward the tree, her feet moving of their own accord. The air around it was thick, almost suffocating, and the strange light seemed to beckon her closer. She reached out, her hand trembling as she approached the altar.

"Stop," Beatrice's voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding. Sophia froze, her hand inches from the stone. Beatrice moved to stand beside her, her expression unreadable. "The heart is not to be touched lightly. It's more dangerous than you know."

Sophia turned to face her, confusion and frustration rising in her chest. "Then why am I here? What do you want from me?"

Beatrice's gaze softened slightly. "The heart is dying, Sophia. The balance within the Garden has been disrupted. Something is wrong, and it's growing worse by the day. We've tried to maintain it, to keep the Garden stable, but without the bloodline of the Marlowes... it's slipping beyond our control."

Sophia took a step back, her mind reeling. "You're saying this is my responsibility? That I'm supposed to fix this?"

Beatrice nodded. "You are the last Marlowe. The Garden is tied to your family, to your blood. If the heart dies, the power within the Garden will spread unchecked. It will consume everything—this estate, the land, and possibly more. You must decide whether you will take up the mantle and restore the balance, or whether you will let it fall apart."

Sophia's heart raced. She had come here seeking answers, but all she had found was more confusion. How could she be responsible for something so vast, so dangerous? She didn't even know where to begin.

"I don't even know what I'm supposed to do," Sophia whispered, her voice barely audible over the low hum of the Garden's energy.

Beatrice's expression grew grim. "The heart will show you. But it will test you first. The Garden does not easily give up its secrets, and it will demand something from you in return."

Sophia felt a cold knot of fear settle in her stomach. "What kind of test?"

Beatrice didn't answer. Instead, she stepped back, her eyes locking with Sophia's. "You have to decide, Sophia. The Garden calls to you. Will you answer?"

Sophia looked back at the heart, its faint glow pulsing steadily in the darkness. She could feel it pulling at her, urging her to come closer, to touch it, to claim it. But beneath the surface, she sensed something else—something ancient and malevolent, waiting for her.

Taking a deep breath, Sophia stepped forward, her hand hovering over the altar once more. This was her family's legacy, her inheritance, and the weight of it pressed down on her like a shroud.

And then, with trembling fingers, she reached out and touched the heart of the Garden.

The world around her exploded in light.