Legacy of a Countess

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact: romarindemetri(at)gmail(dot)com.

Published by Block 13 Publishing

Copyright © 2016 Romarin Demetri

All rights reserved.

Block 13 Publishing

Author's note:

This short story was released in celebration of Halloween, 2016. It was formerly the prologue of "A Mirror Among Shattered Glass",  book one in The Supernatural London Underground Series. Because the short story takes place in 1590, and the novels are set near present day time, the story was a fun exercise that acquiesced to exist on its own. We will never have Countess Bathory's own account of what happened at her castle, but one thing is for certain: There is no getting away with murdering hundreds of girls without a few rumors being started.

Legacy of a Countess

By: Romarin Demetri

circa 1594 A.D

"Dear God," she breathed out in vex, knowing a word, an invocation preparing her for her following actions, did not exist in the confines of her native tongue. The word she was looking for only existed to someone else of a different time and standing, who had the pleasure of knowing the word as something material enough to touch. Her folded arms made a shaky cradle for the blameless infant, clutching the bundle to her chest as if making her last, finite walk down the scarcely lit corridor.

There would be no returning.

The bundle of frayed fabric, the unexpected reason she had come to the castle to work, caused the wound on her to arm burn and fade. She shifted the weight on the lengthy walk through the pitch dark.

Moving forward, she was pacing in her mind. The pain pushed her backward, and the numbness propelled her through the hall ahead, knowing there was a light circling the destination. She was more than aware of what was bound to happen to her only child after this night. Such traitorous actions against her own blood were etched into her head, neighboring the nightmarish evening a few weeks ago, in which she stumbled upon that hideous hidden chamber.

*****

Two months prior, with her child slumbering peacefully during the witching hour, the maiden, having not produced so much as a yawn, took a candle for a curious stroll. The countess, who had been at court for many weeks, wouldn't be around to reprimand her for acts unsuited for someone of her class. She was still enamored by the castle, having never set eyes upon one until the count found her and offered her work and refuge.

Lost in her thoughts, following the flame's dim light, she could have been mistaken for the countess, in charge of the whole grounds and every living soul on them; maybe even every living soul in Hungary. She stood tall and glided in her steps, until one of their souls cried out, a whimpering sob echoing through cracks of tired stone; a cry too devastating to stay behind a wall for long.