Ella barely slept the rest of the evening. Her eyes remained wide open, glued to the door of her small room as she sat huddled in the corner, her body trembling with residual fear. She could still hear that voice echoing in her mind, the way it had whispered her name through the wood like a breeze carrying a deadly promise. And that final word — run — had cut through her like a blade.
But there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.
That night none of the lords summoned her, which though it brought Ella some relief, also served as further proof that after a long day's work it wasn't the butler who had been visiting her.
Morning crept into her room slowly, the faded light filtering through the narrow window casting long shadows across the cold walls. She hadn't dared move all night, afraid that whatever had been outside her door would return. But with the arrival of the weak morning light, she finally allowed herself a few ragged breaths of relief.
The stone floor was cold against her bare feet as she slid out of bed. She shivered as she quickly dressed in the plain, drab uniform the servants were given — a simple black dress with long sleeves and a high collar, its fabric coarse and unyielding against her skin. It was designed to offer no warmth or comfort, only practicality.
She didn’t know what was happening in Blackthorn Manor, but it was clear now that this place held far darker secrets than even the brothers' insatiable thirst for blood.
Just as her mind began to spin with anxious thoughts, the familiar, sharp knock sounded on her door. Ella flinched, her heart lurching in her chest. It took her a moment to gather her composure before she stood on shaky legs and crossed the room to answer it.
When she opened the door, Mr. Hawke stood there, his expression as unyielding as ever, but with an edge of impatience she hadn’t noticed before.
"Get ready, now," he said curtly. He stepped inside, giving her no room for hesitation. "There is a lot of work today."
Ella expected that after giving his brief command, the butler would leave her room and go about his own business. Instead, he merely closed the door to the tiny room, turned his back to her, straightened his posture and began to wait, nervously tapping the toes of his polished shoes.
"You've got less than five minutes now, girl," he hurried her.
She moved mechanically, her body still stiff from the events of the night before. Ella brushed her tangled hair with trembling hands, pulling it back into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. There was no mirror in the room to check her appearance, but it didn’t matter. She was no longer a person to be admired or judged on her looks; she was simply a tool, here to serve the whims of the brothers who ruled the manor.
Ella slipped into the thin, worn shoes left at the foot of her bed, her every movement feeling heavy with the weight of her new reality. Her hands were still trembling slightly as she laced them up, but she clenched her fingers into fists, forcing herself to steady. She could not afford to show weakness. Not now.
As the first light of day crept into her room, she took a deep breath and left her quarters, ready to face another day in this house of darkness.
“I’m ready, Mr. Hawke,” she said.
After assessing the girl's appearance, the butler nodded in satisfaction and handed her a list of tasks with brisk efficiency, not sparing her even a glance of sympathy. There was no room for error; every action had to be precise and silent, the invisible hand that kept the manor running behind its dark, imposing facade.
Her morning was spent in the grand dining hall, polishing the long, dark wooden table that seemed to stretch for miles. The air was thick with dust and the faint, lingering scent of old blood. Every surface, from the ornately carved chairs to the high stone mantelpieces, had to be scrubbed clean. Ella worked quickly and diligently, her muscles aching with the effort. The silence of the manor was oppressive, broken only by the faint echoes of her cloth against the wood.
In the afternoon, she was sent to the kitchens. Though her tasks there were mundane — chopping vegetables, preparing trays for the other servants — her nerves were frayed, always waiting for one of the brothers to appear. Every sound, every creak of the manor’s ancient bones, set her on edge. The other servants, ghostly figures moving in and out of the kitchen, avoided speaking to her, their eyes downcast, their faces expressionless. She was alone, despite their presence.
By the time the evening arrived, Ella could finally manage to get a piece of soap and some bathing supplies, washing away the exhaustion of the long workday and at last taking a moment to rest before her nighttime duties.
* * *
"The master has summoned you," the butler said curtly. He stepped aside, giving her no room for hesitation. "Get dressed and follow me."
Ella’s stomach twisted into a tight knot. Which one of the brothers would she be meeting now? After her strange encounter with Lucien last night, she had hoped for some time to recover, to process what had happened. But in Blackthorn Manor, there was no respite.
She had no choice but to obey.
The gown was a soft, ethereal ivory, made of gossamer silk that flowed like water over her body. It was light, almost weightless, and when she moved, it seemed to drift around her like mist. The fabric cinched gently at her waist, cascading down in layers of sheer silk that brushed the floor, giving her an almost ghostly appearance. Tiny pearls were sewn into the fabric, catching the light and giving the dress a soft shimmer, as if it had been kissed by stardust.
In this dress, Ella felt like she was stepping into a dream — fragile, otherworldly and heartbreakingly beautiful. But beneath its beauty, there was an undeniable sense of melancholy, like a fleeting whisper of something lost.
The corridors of the manor were quiet as she followed Mr. Hawke, their footsteps echoing off the walls. As they wound their way deeper into the manor, Ella’s unease grew with every step. The air seemed colder here, thicker, like it was trying to cling to her skin.
After a few more turns, they stopped in front of a set of tall, black double doors. They were carved with intricate designs — twisting vines, thorns and the faint shapes of ravens, their wings spread wide as if they were about to take flight. Mr. Hawke knocked twice, the sound heavy in the silence.
"You may enter," came a soft voice from within.
Ella tensed. She recognized the voice — Raphael, the gentlest of the brothers. A strange sense of relief washed over her, though it was quickly tempered by the knowledge that he was still a vampire, no matter how kind he appeared.
Mr. Hawke pushed the door open and gestured for her to step inside.
Ella crossed the threshold, her heart thudding in her chest as the doors closed behind her with a soft thud. The room was different from the others she had seen so far. It was smaller, more intimate and filled with the soft glow of candles placed on shelves and tables throughout. The scent of fresh flowers hung in the air and a faint warmth radiated from the fireplace at the far end of the room.
Raphael sat near the fire, his back to her as he gazed into the dancing flames. He looked peaceful, almost serene, his golden-brown hair falling in gentle waves around his face. His presence felt different from the others — less predatory, more like he belonged to a world of soft light and gentle touches rather than the cold, oppressive darkness of the manor.
"Come closer, Ella," Raphael said, his voice as soothing as a lullaby.
Ella hesitated for a moment but forced herself to approach him, her legs heavy with the weight of her anxiety. When she reached his side, he turned to face her, offering her a small, kind smile that made her chest tighten with conflicting emotions.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the cushioned chair across from him.
She did as he asked, lowering herself into the chair with careful movements. Raphael studied her for a moment, his eyes soft and sad. "You look frightened," he said quietly.
Ella couldn’t help the small, bitter laugh that escaped her lips. "I suppose that’s to be expected," she murmured.
Raphael’s smile faded slightly, his expression turning more serious. "It is not my intention to frighten you, Ella," he said softly. "I only wish to ease your stay here, as much as I can."
His words were kind, but they did little to comfort her. She knew that despite his gentle demeanor, he was still a vampire, still one of the creatures that controlled her life now. She couldn’t afford to trust him. She couldn’t afford to trust any of them.
Raphael seemed to sense her reluctance, and he sighed quietly, looking away. "I know you think of us as monsters," he said softly. "And perhaps you are right to do so. But not all of us are as heartless as you might believe."
Ella said nothing. She didn’t know what to say. There was a kindness in Raphael that made her want to believe him, but she couldn’t forget where she was or what he was.
Raphael shifted in his chair, leaning forward slightly as he met her gaze. "I won’t force you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But… I must feed, Ella. It is what keeps us alive. Without it… we become something far worse than you can imagine."
His words sent a shiver down her spine and for the first time, she saw a flicker of something darker in his eyes. It wasn’t a threat — it was more like a warning, a plea for understanding.
Ella’s throat tightened, her pulse quickening. She had known this was coming. She had known that at some point, one of them would feed on her. But now, sitting here with Raphael’s sad green eyes locked on hers, the reality of it hit her like a punch to the chest.
She nodded slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. "I… I understand."
Raphael’s gaze softened again and he reached out to take her hand in his. His touch was cool, but gentle, and there was a strange comfort in the way he held her. "I will make this as painless as possible," he said softly. "You have my word."
Ella closed her eyes for a moment, trying to calm her racing heart. She had no choice. She had to endure this. She had to survive.
Raphael stood then, moving to kneel before her. He gently pushed her hair back from her neck, his touch light and careful, as though he was handling something fragile. Ella’s breath hitched as she felt the cold brush of his lips against her skin, but she forced herself to remain still.
The seconds stretched on endlessly, each one heavier than the last, as she waited for the inevitable bite. And then, with a sudden sharpness, she felt the prick of his fangs sinking into her flesh.
She gasped, her body tensing as pain lanced through her. But almost as quickly as it came, the pain dulled, replaced by a strange, numbing warmth that spread through her veins. It was an odd sensation — not entirely unpleasant, but deeply unsettling. She could feel her blood leaving her body, feel the pull of it as Raphael drank deeply from her.
And with it, something else stirred inside her. A strange, faint connection formed between them, as though with each drop of blood he took, a piece of her was being tied to him. It was intimate in a way she hadn’t expected and it made her feel vulnerable, exposed in a way that went beyond the physical.
Raphael’s hands were gentle on her shoulders, holding her steady as he drank, and though she tried to resist it, a soft sigh escaped her lips. The warmth intensified, spreading through her like a drug, making her limbs feel heavy and her mind hazy.
Finally, Raphael pulled away, his lips stained red with her blood. He looked up at her, his eyes soft and sad once more. "It is done," he whispered.
Ella’s vision blurred as she swayed slightly in her chair, her body weakened from the blood loss. Raphael caught her before she could fall, lifting her gently in his arms. His touch was careful, almost tender, as he carried her to the nearby bed and laid her down.
"You need to rest now," Raphael said softly, brushing a strand of hair from her forehead. "Sleep, Ella. I will watch over you."
Ella’s eyes fluttered closed, her mind too hazy to resist the pull of sleep. She was too weak, too drained to think, to worry, to fear. All she could do was give in to the darkness that pulled her under.