Once Betrayed Never Forgotten

Chapter 56: Drowning in Doubt

Half an hour later, I’m heading down the long dark, corridors that weave through the Castle of Endless Night, looking for the library. The last time I was there, a few weeks ago, I stumbled upon it while trying to find a way to escape the castle, I was lost, but drawn to the sound of hauntingly beautiful piano music, and the player had turned out to be none other than the devil himself, Aleksandr Vasiliev

Luka said earlier that he was going to come by my bedchambers to see me, and it did briefly cross my mind that I could ask him for the answers. He seems pretty serious about this whole “mate” thing, so he might feel obligated to tell me the truth and answer his questions, But still, he’s loyal to his Master and the Vasiliev family, and it might not be that easy getting the truth out of him. It’s probably better for me to try to find the answers I crave on my own, and turn to Luka as a last resort.

Unfortunately, there’s no mysterious piano music leading the way to the library this time, so I have to try and find it by memory. Every corridor and stairwell looks the same, like a maze, and for all I know I might have been walking around in circles for the past hour.

As I walk along the passages, my mind drifts to the enigmatic Vasiliev family, the great contradiction of it all.

2.0

Everyone knows the Vasiliev family and their global business empire, the Evergreen Legacy Consortium, which is at the forefront of modern technology advances and eco–innovation. They are household names, amongst the wealthiest families on the planet. It’s jarring to think about what I used to know about the Vasiliev family (or, what I thought I knew about them), versus the reality. They’re incredibly famous and influential, movers and shakers – like the illustrious Rothschild dynasty or the Murdoch clan, but cloaked in a little more mystery than the others. Konstantin is famous for being an outspoken eco–warrior tech billionaire, and Aleksandr is equally wealthy, but with a slightly less squeaky clean reputation. According to the press, he’s at total ladies nun, a player and a heartbreaker. He’s been linked with several famous starlets and actresses and top models over the years, but now that I think about it, I’d never seen a photo of him anywhere, which is kind of weird for someone so famous. In fact… I don’t think I’ve ever seen photos of any of the Vasiliev clan, and I had no clue what Konstantin koked like before 1 met him, even though I’d asked mom to show me a pic on her phone. I should have known then that something was up,

Maybe the whole thing with vampires not having a reflection in mirrors also prevents their photo getting taken. It would explain the lack of mirrors in the castle – the only minor I’ve seen my entire time here is the one in my bedchambers, a rare exception

Aleksandr is rumoured to owas nunsions all over the world, and even a private island, a fleet of private jets, living a lavish rock star lifestyle that the tabloids love to write about. I remember reading some trashy article last year about how he was known in certain circles for hosting extravagant high- stakes poker tournaments in which the buy–ins are astronomical. The games attract poker legends and business magnates alike, with jaw–dropping sums of money changing hands

The whole world thinks they know all about him and the rest of his family, but the truth is, they know nothing at all.

And neither do 1, even after spending almost a month at his family home.

The Vasiliev family remains a mystery to me, but that’s all going to change, as soon as I find the library.

Finally, after what seems like ages, I see the familiar doors of the library, carved with a series of gilded bats and tiny wooden spiders.

I enter, looking around the cavernous space to see if I’m alone. The towering shelves stand like sentinels in the vast chamber, their gold–lettered spines. gleaming in the blue firelight.

I walk over the floor covered in a threadbare Persian carpet, past the grand piano where Aleksandr sometimes passes the time, playing Mozart and Brahms to the audience of books.

Quickly and quietly, I head towards the black wrought–iron spiral staircase at the library’s centre, climbing up it until I reach the third level, which is where I remember last seeing the item I now seek.

I walk over to th

the impressive book–lined wall, already feeling overwhelmed by the sheer number of titles jam–packed onto the wooden shelves. After scanning volume after volume for several minutes, I spot it. Finally, I find what I came here for.

“JACKPOT!” I mutter under my breath in triumph.

My eyes settle on the mysterious old tome that I picked up the last time I was here, bound in faded blood red fabric. It’s slightly larger than the other books, its ancient cover adorned with intricate patterns of vines and flowers, gilded in gold. Upon closer inspection, I observe that the flowers are climbing roses, a tangle of cruel sharp thoms, with the tiny figures of knights impaled on their bloody tips.

This is definitely the same book as last time there’s no mistaking it.

The title is half–faded away,

y, and I trace my fingers over the remaining letters. I

I can vaguely make out the characters “A BL—D SO–KED HIST–Y“. Last time I couldn’t guess what that meant, but I’ve had plenty of time to figure it out since then. I’d put money on it spelling out “A BLOOD SOAKED

Chapter 56 Drowning in Doubt

HISTORY” – quite apt, considering who’s library this is.

When I last held this book, before I could open it and glimpse inside, Aleksandr interrupted me and snatched the book away. Why was he so determined for me not to see inside? What exactly was he hiding?

Time to find out. This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - ©.

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If she s actually able to o

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Blood Relations

Chapter 57: A Blood Soaked History

I carefully open the book, the pages crackling as they unfold. The first few pages are filled with dense text, written in a script that’s more art than language. I squint at the words, trying to make sense of them, but it’s like trying to decipher a secret code. My heart skips a beat when I see a vividly illuminated illustration of a castle surrounded by a forest and snowy peaks, which looks an awful look like the exact same castle I’m standing in, at this very moment.

I turn the pages, hungry for answers. My fingers brush over the weathered parchment as I flip through the book, each page whispering secrets of a bygone era. The room is filled with an air of mystery and anticipation, and the flickering blue candlelight casts rerie shadows on the walls.

And then, I stumble upon it – the illustration, an illuminated manuscript that demands my attention. It’s a masterpiece, incredibly detailed, like a labyrinth of life frozen in time. My eyes widen as I take in the scene it depicts.

A snowy mountain rises under a starry night sky, its slopes leading up to a dark and ominous castle perched atop it. The Castle of Endless Night, I realise with a chill running down my spine. The menacing fortress in which I now stand, and my blood runs cold at the sight of it.

Beneath the

tle, a a dark pine forest blankets the mountain’s slopes, and nestled in a valley below, a medieval–looking village sprawls. It’s the very same village where I had been held captive, tormented and literally burned at the stake just days ago. The illustration captures every detail, as if it had witnessed my own trials.

My heart tightens as my gaze falls upon the centre of the image. A flaming pyre blazes, its inferno reaching skyward, and a small figure is tied to the stake. The figure, like a fragile doll, wears a white dress and has long, dark hair that cascades around her. My breath catches as I recognize her – Seraphina, the image of grace and innocence. She’s moments away from the merciless flames licking her feet and consuming her

It’s painful to watch, too reminiscent of the trials I myself barely survived. The horror of it all plays out before me, and I’m powerless to change the

course of events.

Then, I notice the text in the margins, written in an ancient, calligraphic hand in dark red ink. My eyes scan the words, and the story unfolds as if whispered from the pages.

“In the year 376, loana of the hamlet of Dracon, in the Kingdom of Dacia, came of age. She was a beautiful young woman, with skin as white as bone and hair black as night.

In time she caught the eye of the village’s most skilled hunter, Lothar the Forest Blade, and they were blissfully wed. From their union there was born a daughter – Seraphina, the very image of her beautiful mother. But their happiness was not to last. Lothar’s closest friend, Osric the Grim, had fallen in

love with the lovely loana..

Lothar was killed on a cold, starless night during a hunt with his close friend Osric. Osric claimed that it was the brutal horns of a wild stag which had impaled his dear friend and taken his life, although many whispered rumours heard in the village suggested that the killing blow came from none other -than Osric himself. With Lothar gone, Osric set out to seduce loana. When she rejected his advances and tried to make the village elders aware of her

plight, Ostic accused the maiden of witchcraft. As bailiff, his word carried great weight amongst the powers that be, and so loana’s denials and protestations of innocence fell upon deaf ears.

As was their custom, the villagers held a trial by fire, tying loans to the stake upon a flaming pyre, to cleanse her of her sins. But, they were not done every scrap of her existence needed to be cleansed, lest some tiny speck remain to poison and pollute the village. And so next, loana’s innocent daughter, only six years of age, was tied to the stake next to the burnt and ashen corpse of her mother.

As the flames licked her feet and engulfed her legs, travelling quickly up her young body, the little girl heard a voice as cold as ice speak inside her head. A woman’s voice. It said: if you wish to live, there is a way, Offer me a blood oath, give your life to me, and I will set you free from the chains of humanity, the chains of time. I am the one on the mountain, the dark queen who watches and waits. Call my name, swear your allegiance, and you shall

be saved.

The flames swallowed the girl’s body, and she became one with the inferno, gasping up for air and choking on the thick smoke.

And so, filled with rage and the desire to escape the flames and be free, young Seraphina bit her tongue, releasing a torrent of blood, and through her ruined mouth she cried out a blood oath. She swore fealty to Anya Vasiliev, the dark mistress, beckoning her, begging her to save her newest servant. She also cried out a curse upon the village. She swore that for their cruelty, they would be stuck in stasis and never grow or change, frozen in time, unchanging through the centuries, just as they had cursed her to be. The dark lady came for her vassal, Seraphina was carried away to the Castle of Endless Night. She was transformed into a vampire to take away the pain of the burns and to better serve her mistress. The villagers remain frozen in their dark twilight, lost in time, a fitting punishment. Seraphina continues to serve her lady, the dark mistress Anya Vasiliev with loyalty and gratitude. I know this, for I am that very same Seraphina, and this is my story, that I impart to you here.”

By the time I’ve finished reading the dark tale, my heart is hammering against my chest.