Chapter 47 Dance, Chance, and Chants
The manor did not sleep that night. It was more alive than ever. The bricked walls sighed with age, trapping the memories of the deceased people. The intricate ceilings seem to got eyes, stalking the breathing young ones as they get dress for the night. The pillars got ears, listening to every murmur and slip of gossip coming out from their curious mouths.
Guillaume drank slowly. The apple in his throat sliding up and down as he gobble the liquid.
The goblet trembled once in his grasp before he steadied it, crimson streaking the rim where his lips met the metal... even the wine tasted like metal. Clarina’s blood was still warm with remembrance, thick with innocence and terror alike. It slid down his throat like a promise fulfilled... like it belonged in his stomach.
His eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, centuries collapsed inward—battles, fire, iron chains, screams swallowed by soil. His eyes remembered how he lost his precious fortress, Saint Guillaume Cathedral. He hungered for so long that he even licked the last small drop of blood.
Madame Ingrid watched with reverence.
Her breath was shallow, anticipating, as though standing before an altar... next to someone she worships. The torchlight carved shadows across her face, sharpening her cheekbones, hollowing her eyes. This was not the headmistress the girls knew, the composed woman of discipline and prayer, but Helga, reborn in devotion and ruin.
“Do you feel it?” she whispered.
Guillaume opened his eyes.
They were no longer dull. No longer clouded with rot and restraint. They gleamed in the darkness. His soul ancient and sick as he is. When he smiled, his teeth were too many, too sharp.
“I feel everything,” he replied with a deep, astonishing voice.
His voice rolled through the chamber like distant thunder. The metaphorical chains that once bound him shattered, setting him free and happy. He rose slowly, joints cracking, spine unfurling with grotesque grace. Flesh knitted itself tighter to bone. Strength flooded him, violent and intoxicating.
Helga stepped closer, wanting to be near his disturbing presence. “I kept my promise,” she said. “I fed you. I hid you. I protected you from him.”
Guillaume’s gaze flicked upward, as though sensing the manor above them. Constantine. The name passed through his thoughts like a blade.
"He had a bad choice gathering the young girls... a bad choice too for marrying the lassie."
"It was the perfect plan... they will never know about you... or about us." Madame Ingrid grabbed his knuckles.
"You are going to have to wait a little longer, my dear... but I promise you, you will have everything back."
"I wanted the church. My property."
"You are standing on that church... this is the church." Madame Ingrid whispered, feeding him the truth.
"Silence, Helga! That was long gone! It was burned onto the ground."
"Church may had vanished. But time gave us the sea. Now, this manor stood up on this island ruled by an enemy..." she rhythmically chanted, her eyes tearing up.
Guillaume reached out, fingers brushing her jaw. She shuddered, not in fear, but in longing.
“You were never meant to be forgotten,” she murmured. “You were meant to be remembered.”
"Even when you were gone, I knew I had to save your soul. I knew you would come back. So, when the prophecy came true, I went to this manor and pretended to be his loyal subject." she confessed, her fingers tracing the ridges of his pale face.
"Be with me and our love shall prevail. Together, we will destroy this land, until no man in this manor could ever sail." It was his time to chant.
Above them, Gertrude woke with a gasp.
"Damn this nightmare!" she cursed and clasped her fingers through the strands of her hair.
She closed her eyes and remembered her horrible dream.
It was a corridor... a familiar one. It was the corridor of the forbidden left wing--- Lord Constantine's fortress.
But when she walked along the lane, the surroundings changed. It was a different room... a dark, echoing chamber. She knew it was still in the manor, but she had no idea where it could be found. She remembers the coffin glass laying on the soiled ground, and saw herself naked inside. It was a recurring dream that no matter how many times she woke up, it would still continue and torture her mind.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, breath coming sharp and uneven. She sat upright, clutching the sheets. The room was dark and slightly freezing, however, her skin was drooling with little drops of sweats. Lord Constantine was nowhere nearby her bed.
She had not heard him leave.
A sound lingered in the air, not a noise, but a sensation. Like something brushing past her thoughts. A whisper that had not yet learned language.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed, bare feet meeting cold stone. The manor felt… wrong. Heavier. As though gravity itself had thickened.
“Constantine?” she called softly.
But there was no answer.
She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped into the corridor. The candelabra lining the pillars flickered. The walls could hear her tiny and shaky breathing. She stepped outside and ran to where she could find his man.
Her eyes beamed up when she saw his figure leaning against the parapet, as if monitoring the phases of the moon.
"Why did you wake up?" he seemed to notice her presence.
"Nightmare... y-you were not by my side." she explain and squeezed herself into his arms.
"Forgive me," he asked. "Will you dance with me tonight?" he changed the topic before she could even hate him.
"Is there a reason why you're asking me?"
"The moon is full and bright. Is there any good reason than that?" he held her close, pulling her by the waist.
They started slow dancing under the moonlight. In her mind, she doesn't want this to stop. A moment like this is all she ever hoped for. No fear. No sacrifices. No nightmares. No tears. Just her and him, dancing the night away. She shoved her head on his chest, arms wrapped around his nape.
Meanwhile, Guillaume’s voice growled, echoing through bones and blood. Constantine stiffened. "W-What's that?!" Gertrude shuddered.
Constantine's face darkened, his lips curving up to a cunning smile. "I knew it... he is here. In this manor." he uttered.
The war they had long buried was waking.
And Haugen manor, keeper of every sin and secrets, opened its doors once more. And it is never letting someone out safe. Ever.