Welcome to The Thirteenth Door-a vault for the strange, the lost, and the not-quite-dead. This blog explores the chilling edges of reality through real urban legends, true crime tales, unsolved mysteries, and myth-soaked history. Each post is a step deeper into the unknown-part research, part storytelling, all shadow. Some doors should never be opened. But you just found the thirteenth.

The fire had died sometime during the night. Isolde woke before him - heart hammering, lungs tight - her thin shift twisted around her body, skin still flushed and aching from the night before. She could still taste him on her lips. Still feel the bruising press of his mouth along her throat. For one wild moment, she thought about staying. But then she saw the dagger - his dagger - lying just inches from where he slept, one hand still curled protectively around it. She turned - ready to run. She screamed, twisting - but he was already awake, dragging her down to the cold stone floor. "You little thief," he snarled, wrenching the dagger from her grip and pinning her under him in one brutal, fluid motion. His body caged hers - heavy, burning. "You were going to leave me," he said, voice low and dangerous, almost... hurt. "I'm not yours," she spat. Lightning flared - and she saw the flash of something darker in his golden eyes. "No," he said. "Not yet." Then he flipped her, forcing her onto her stomach - his weight pressing her into the floor - his hand fisting in her hair, yanking her head back. "You want to run?" he growled against her ear. "Fine. Let's see how far you crawl after I break you." She struggled - useless against him. One hand slipped under her shift - rough fingertips tracing the trembling line of her spine. She gasped, every nerve sparking. "You think you hate me now, dove?" he murmured, mouth dragging along the curve of her neck. "You'll hate me so much you'll beg for it next time." His teeth grazed her skin - a wicked, claiming scrape. A promise. Then - suddenly - he was gone. Standing over her, breathing hard, fists clenching at his sides like it physically hurt him to stop. He stared down at her - furious, broken. "You're not ready yet," he rasped. She pushed herself up on trembling arms, fire flooding her veins. "Ready for what?" she demanded. He smiled - slow and cruel.

She fell asleep one night but little did she know what would happen next...