The Chains of Obligation
The year was 1925, and spring had arrived in Rothschild Manor with deceptive gentleness. The sun painted the stone walls in warm hues, and the garden bloomed with wild abandon, a riot of roses and ivy that threatened to overrun the estate. Yet, for Eleanor, the beauty of the season only sharpened her despair.
Her engagement to Harold Blackthorn had been announced weeks earlier. The news was delivered with pomp and celebration, but to Eleanor, it felt like a sentence. Harold was everything her father admired—wealthy, influential, and rigidly traditional. But to Eleanor, he was a stranger cloaked in propriety, his intentions as cold and sharp as the winter winds that had only just passed.
Her heart, however, belonged to Damien Carter.
Damien was no match for Harold in the eyes of society. A painter with little to his name but his talent and a fierce, restless soul, Damien represented everything Eleanor’s family despised. His love for her was raw, unpolished, and free of the suffocating expectations that weighed on her every moment.
They met in secret, in the forgotten corners of the estate—the overgrown gazebo near the woods, the hidden passages beneath the house, and occasionally, beneath the great willow tree where Damien often sketched her.
But the walls of Rothschild Manor had ears. The whispers of their forbidden love grew louder, carried by servants too loyal to her father’s strict authority to keep silent.
April 20, 1925
Eleanor sat in her bedroom, her reflection in the gilded mirror distorted by her tears. The woman in the mirror no longer looked like her. She was a stranger—a prisoner draped in fine silks and jewels, with sorrow etched into every line of her face.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Enter,” she called, quickly wiping her eyes.
The door creaked open, revealing Damien. He looked disheveled, his dark hair tousled and his hands smudged with charcoal. He closed the door behind him, his expression both urgent and tender.
“Eleanor,” he said, crossing the room in long strides. “We don’t have much time. Your father knows.”
Her heart sank. “Knows what?”
“About us. The servants are talking. He’s furious.”
Eleanor’s breath caught. “What will he do?”
Damien reached for her hands, his grip firm. “It doesn’t matter. We’re leaving. Tonight.”
She shook her head, panic flooding her chest. “Damien, he’ll never let me go. You don’t understand the lengths he’ll go to—”
“I do understand,” Damien interrupted, his voice low and fierce. “But I won’t let him keep you here. We’ll run, Eleanor. To the coast, to Paris, to anywhere but this cursed place.”
Eleanor wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that their love could outlast the wrath of her father and the shadows of the manor.
But the house had other plans.
As night fell, the manor seemed to come alive. The walls groaned as if resenting their plans, and the air grew heavy with an unspoken warning. Eleanor and Damien met by the old willow tree, where a carriage awaited them.
Damien helped her into the carriage, his touch steady despite the tension that crackled between them.
“We’ll be free,” he said, climbing in beside her. “I promise.”
But as the carriage began to move, a loud, piercing scream shattered the night. It came from the direction of the manor.
Eleanor froze. “It’s my father,” she whispered.
“No,” Damien said firmly. “It’s the house. Ignore it. It’s trying to stop us.”
The scream came again, louder and more anguished. Eleanor’s hands flew to her ears, her resolve crumbling. “I can’t, Damien. I can’t leave him.”
Damien grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “Eleanor, listen to me. Your father doesn’t own you. This house doesn’t own you. If you go back now, you’ll never escape.”
Tears streamed down her face. “You don’t understand. It’s not just my father—it’s something else. Something dark. It’s in the walls, Damien. It’s in the mirror.”
He stared at her, his expression a mixture of confusion and desperation. “Eleanor, please. We have to go.”
But the carriage jolted to a sudden stop. The horses reared, their eyes wild with fear. The coachman jumped down, shouting something neither of them could hear over the howling wind that had risen out of nowhere.
The door of the carriage flew open, and a shadow loomed outside.
Eleanor screamed as a figure stepped into the moonlight. It was Harold Blackthorn. His face was pale with rage, his fists clenched at his sides.
“Going somewhere, Eleanor?” he spat, his voice dripping with venom.
“Leave her alone,” Damien said, stepping out of the carriage to face him.
Harold sneered. “Ah, the painter. Did you really think you could steal her away from me?”
Eleanor climbed out after Damien, her knees weak. “Harold, please. Just let us go.”
Harold’s eyes gleamed with something dark and dangerous. “You think you can shame me? You think you can run away with this—this nobody?”
He lunged at Damien, and the two men grappled in the mud, their shouts and grunts filling the night.
Eleanor stood frozen, her heart pounding. She wanted to intervene, but terror rooted her in place.
Suddenly, the ground beneath them began to shake. The wind howled louder, and a low, guttural sound rumbled from the direction of the manor.
Both men stopped fighting, their faces turning toward the house. The windows of the east wing glowed with an eerie, flickering light, as though flames were dancing behind the glass.
“The house,” Eleanor whispered.
“It’s angry,” Damien said, his voice low.
Harold took a step back, his bravado faltering. “What is this?”
No one answered. They could only stare as the light in the windows grew brighter, the rumbling louder. The night seemed to close in around them, the air thick with menace.
“Eleanor,” Damien said, grabbing her hand. “We have to go. Now.”
But Eleanor couldn’t move. The house was calling her, its voice a siren song that wrapped around her mind and refused to let go.
“Eleanor!” Damien shouted, shaking her.
She tore her gaze away from the manor and looked at him, her eyes wide with fear. “I can’t. It won’t let me.”
Harold, now pale and trembling, muttered something under his breath and took off running into the darkness.
Damien tightened his grip on her hand. “Then we’ll fight it. Together.”
But as they turned to flee, the ground beneath them split open, and the night swallowed them whole.
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