Tides of Destiny

Introducing first chapter of my new Novel. Hope you will enjoy. Please like and comment if you like my work.

Chapter One:

Whispers in the Wind

The wind clawed at Aileen’s coat as she stood at the iron gates of Solace Manor, a place spoken of in hushed tones and hurried whispers. The last light of day cast long shadows across the overgrown grounds, making the trees seem like twisted sentinels guarding secrets that time refused to bury. The gate creaked as she pushed it open, a sound that seemed to echo for miles.

No one in Everspring dared to approach this place after dark—or during daylight for that matter. Yet here she was, Aileen Whitaker, clutching the deed to the crumbling estate her grandmother had inexplicably left her. The lawyer’s words still echoed in her mind. “Miss Whitaker, your grandmother was quite clear. This house is yours now, but with it comes responsibility. She believed you were… the only one who could uncover its truth.”

The path to the front door was a tangled mess of weeds and roots, forcing her to tread carefully as the setting sun painted the sky in hues of crimson and gold. The manor loomed above her, its broken windows like hollow eyes, its façade a crumbling testament to forgotten grandeur.

She pushed open the heavy wooden door, the sound of its groan sending a shiver down her spine. The air inside was thick, tinged with the scent of damp wood and decay, but beneath it lingered a faint trace of lavender. Her grandmother’s scent. It shouldn’t have been there—it couldn’t have been there—but it was unmistakable.

The grand foyer was a cavernous space, its once-polished floors now scuffed and covered in dust. A broken chandelier hung precariously from the ceiling, its crystals dull and lifeless. Aileen’s footsteps echoed as she ventured deeper, each step a mixture of fear and defiance. She wasn’t going to let ghost stories stop her—not when this house held the answers to the questions her grandmother had taken to her grave.

In the parlor, she found the journal. It rested on a carved wooden table, its leather cover untouched by time, as if it had been waiting for her. The strange symbol embossed on its cover—a pair of intertwining circles split by a jagged line—sent a prickle of unease through her. She opened it cautiously, the pages yellowed with age but the ink sharp and vivid.

“December 3, 1924.
They warned me not to love him, but how does one deny the call of the heart? If love is a curse, then I welcome it willingly. For love, even in its pain, is the only truth I have known.”

The words resonated, as though they were meant for her eyes alone. She turned the page and found sketches—crude but compelling. One was of a woman, her features hauntingly familiar, staring out from the page with eyes that seemed to see too much. Below it, a hastily scribbled note read: “The price of love is always paid in blood.”

The sudden sound of footsteps shattered her focus. She froze, the journal clutched in her hands.

“Who’s there?” Her voice barely rose above a whisper.

The footsteps grew louder, deliberate, as though someone wanted her to hear. Her pulse raced as she peered into the hallway, where the shadows seemed to shift and writhe.

Then he appeared—a man emerging from the darkness like a phantom. His features were sharp and unyielding, his eyes dark as the void, yet alive with something unreadable. He moved with a predatory grace, his presence filling the space as if he belonged here more than she did.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl.

“This is my house,” Aileen countered, forcing herself to stand her ground despite the fear coiling in her stomach.

He tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Your house,” he echoed, his tone mocking. “And yet you know nothing of it. Nothing of what it’s seen. What it’s taken.”

“What do you mean?”

His smirk faded, replaced by something darker. “Leave, Aileen. While you still can.”

Before she could respond, he stepped back into the shadows, vanishing as though he’d never been there.

Aileen’s knees felt weak, but she refused to let fear take hold. She returned to the parlor, her eyes falling on the journal once more. She flipped through the pages, her heart pounding as fragments of a story began to emerge.

“To whoever finds this, know that the curse begins with love and ends with betrayal. What you see, what you feel—it’s only the beginning.”

A sudden gust of wind blew through the room, extinguishing the dim light of her lantern. She gasped, stumbling as the room plunged into darkness. Her breaths came in shallow bursts as she fumbled to relight it, but the matches trembled in her grasp.

Then, faintly, she heard a sound. A melody. Soft and sorrowful, it drifted through the air like a lament. It seemed to come from upstairs. Against all reason, she followed it, her footsteps hesitant but determined.

The melody grew louder as she ascended the creaking staircase, her lantern casting eerie shadows on the walls. It led her to a locked door at the end of the hall. The music stopped abruptly as she reached for the doorknob.

She tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. Frustrated, she leaned closer, pressing her ear to the wood. That’s when she heard the whisper, so close it felt like it was inside her mind.

“The past cannot be undone, Aileen. But it can be rewritten.”

A chill ran down her spine as the door creaked open on its own. The room beyond was filled with moonlight, illuminating a single object in the center: a mirror. Its surface rippled like water, and for a brief moment, she saw not her own reflection but the face of the woman from the journal sketch.

And then the vision was gone, leaving Aileen staring at her own wide-eyed reflection.

The wind outside picked up, howling like a wolf in the night. She stepped back, clutching the journal to her chest, knowing that whatever she had just witnessed was only the beginning.