sacrilege [michael langdon x reader]

i. arrival

The house was bigger than you had expected. The pictures your mother had shown you truly didn't do it justice.

'A blessing', your mother had said, eyes lined with silver as he two of you sat in the cold stillness of her car after the reading of your grandmother's will. 'I cannot believe she changed her mind about me on her deathbed and decided to leave me the house after all. I's going to be great. Just you and me, together, in the house I spent my childhood in! You're going to get my old room...' She had trailed off and lost your attention in the process.

Now, two weeks later, you weren't so sure about her reassuring words as you faced the grand façade of the 18th century mansion that fit in all too well with the tidy pattern of homes that stood watch along the broad, sunny street, flowers cowering in their beds before them, their heavy, luxurious smells mingling to form a nauseating, opulent scent that sent your head spinning. The bright, late afternoon sun shone upon a tidy brick path winding up a ridge to reach polished marble steps that then led up to a set of grand wing doors, painted an iridescent black. All obstacles that sent you wheezing, struggling to keep the box with your belongings steady as you made your way towards the entrance.  You set it down, reaching for the rather intimidating door knocker that seemed to glower at you with its gleaming metal eyes, just in time to see the door being opened.

Small brown eyes peeked out from underneath a neatly organised mass of grey hair that framed a round, pale face. The woman opposite from you was wearing a maid's clothing, and, even though she seemed to be in her late fifties, exuded a sense of wariness.

"Miss L/N?"

You nodded in confirmation, forcing yourself to curve your lips into what you hoped to be a winning smile. 

"You're early. I didn't expect you until 8 pm."

She made no effort to open the door, blocking the frame with her body before she made to study your face with eagle eyes, leaving you feeling ever so vulnerable to her close visual examination.

"You look much like your grandmother, god bless her soul. You have the same eyes."

Her gaze shifted, eyes focusing on an object to your right. A scowl twisted her features into a condescending mask, lips twitching as her body tensed.

"It's best you come inside now. When will the Madam arrive?"

She didn't wait for your reply and instead made towards what you assumed was the kitchen. Curious as to what had unnerved her enough to have caused such a drastic change in behaviour, you turned around slightly, hair shifting around your shoulders as you went.

A blonde guy around your age wearing all black  was leaning against a tree in the neighbouring yard, arms crossed in nonchalance. You could feel his piercing eyes on you, the way they seemed to take in every detail, every little thing about you.

His stare was too intense, and the deep blue of his eyes that was still visible despite the yards that separated you felt like a tidal wave threatening to come crushing down on you with each passing second. You shook yourself slightly before recomposing yourself, casually lifting your hand in greeting. Though the corner of his lips seemed to twitch upward, he didn't react, eyes still emitting cool calmness.

"Dick.", you mumbled, and despite the impossibility of it, you could have sworn you saw an amused glint enter his eyes.

You shrugged, not willing to pay much attention to him after his cold reaction, then bended over to pick up the bothersome crate, bracing yourself to struggle once more. Surprisingly, you had no trouble carrying it as you made it into the house, all the while feeling his gaze resting on your back.

—

A glass of water in one hand and your phone in the other, you sat at the kitchen isle, watching the old maid formerly employed by your grandmother and now your mother, who had briefly introduced herself to you as Bess, go about her work as she cut onions and peppers to prepare dinner.

You downed the water quickly, setting the glass down on the marble countertop before asking quietly:"There was a guy in the neighbors' garden. About my age. Blonde curls. What can you tell me about him, Bess?"

Because you were facing her back, you could see the play of the muscles tensing first; then, how she set down the knife with a rash, erratic motion, its hilt meeting the kitchen counter with a sharp clang. When she turned around, her face spoke of mute fury, barely contained violence staining her brown eyes.

"If I were you, I wouldn't go near that boy. Bad things happen to the people around him. It's like he's-", A brief pause as she seemed at a loss for words,"cursed. That boy is cursed. And he'd be no good for you, trust me, so don't even think about it!"

You winced, taken aback by the intensity of her words, and nodded in agreement. At the back of your mind though... you were as intrigued as ever.

—

That night, you were restless. After what felt like an eternity of rolling around in bed, trying to get some sleep before the inevitable morning, you sighed, muscles revolting as you got up slowly, chills rushing down your spine when your feet met the cold ground.

In retrospect, dinner had gone well. Your mother had arrived shortly after you had, carrying the rest of her bags, an apologetic smile on her face. She'd rushed in, hugged you breathlessly and placed her belongings in the lobby before heading to the kitchen, screaming for coffee.

The two of you had set down at the way-too-long dinner table covered in plates with steaming dishes and talked about your day. You hadn't mentioned the boy and Bess's strange reaction to your questions about him, who had constantly scurried into the kitchen, carrying empty plates  and returning with full ones, keeping your mouths full until you felt like you couldn't move a finger.

Somehow, you'd made it upstairs to your room, where thoughts had kept you up for a majority of the night.

Leaving your room, you noticed the yellow light leaking from underneath your mother's door. She was most likely still up, probably working on another project, back bent as she leaned over the screen of her laptop where she would remain until she inevitably fell asleep in a sitting position, as she usually did. Your mother was a true workaholic- she was constantly working overtime just to get one pesky promotion; and it had been a reliable, consistent source of conflict in your relationship.

You frowned and considered entering just to ensure she'd actually make it to bed for once, but a melody ringing through the corridor stopped you in your tracks. The sound soothed your mind, like a lullaby, familiar yet strange enough to keep you on your toes- the soft tune luring you into pursuing the mysterious notes.

A shiver went down your spine, goosebumps forming on your exposed skin in the chill night air as you rounded a corner and found yourself facing a chestnut door left slightly ajar, swinging in some imaginary breeze.
The music was embracing you now, surrounding you like a bubble of comfort and familiarity, beckoning just beyond the door.

Hand resting on the cool door handle, you made to open the door when a sense of certainty hit you, knocking the breath from your lungs, causing you to groan and stagger back, your white knuckled hand holding onto the metal for dear life.

You knew that whatever awaited behind that door was essential; some primal part of you responded to the dormant energy that seemed to slumber in that room, the melody a mere memory of its former glory- you knew it was important for you to open that door.

And so you did.

—
I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of sacrilege.

I would be eternally grateful if you voted and left some constructive criticism! Tell me what you would like to see in this ff! You have the opportunity to shape it so I strongly advise you do ;)