The following morning, Aileen awoke to a house enveloped in an eerie stillness. The usual creaks and groans of the old manor had subsided, replaced by a silence so profound it felt oppressive. Sunlight filtered weakly through the heavy curtains of her room, casting long, wavering shadows on the walls.
The journal from the night before lay on her bedside table, its presence both a comfort and a burden. Unable to shake the lingering images of the mirror and Eleanor’s sorrowful face, Aileen dressed quickly and decided to explore the house further.
As she wandered through the manorโs labyrinthine corridors, she felt the weight of unseen eyes. The ornate wallpaper, faded and peeling, bore patterns that seemed to shift when she looked away. She paused at a grand staircase, its bannister polished smooth from decades of hands sliding across it.
Descending the stairs, Aileen found herself in the main hall, where a series of portraits lined the walls. Each depicted a member of the Rothschild family, their expressions varying from serene to severe. At the far end of the row was a portrait of Eleanor, her face painted with a haunting melancholy.
โWho were you?โ Aileen murmured, her gaze lingering on the womanโs painted eyes.
As if in answer, a soft rustling sound drew her attention to a nearby door. She hesitated before stepping toward it, her heart pounding. The door creaked open under her touch, revealing a narrow staircase leading downward.
The basement was colder than she expected, the air heavy with the scent of damp stone and aged wood. At the center of the room stood a wooden trunk, its surface carved with intricate designs that seemed to pulse faintly in the dim light.
Aileen knelt and unlatched the trunk. Inside, she found an assortment of items: a bundle of yellowed letters tied with a crimson ribbon, a tarnished locket, and a small, leather-bound book. Unlike the journal, this book appeared more like a ledger, filled with names, dates, and strange symbols.
One name caught her eye: Damien Rothschild.
The name was accompanied by a series of cryptic notations: a crescent moon, an hourglass, and what appeared to be a shattered heart. Below his name was another: Eleanor Rothschild. Her notations were differentโa flame, a key, and an infinity symbol.
The sound of a door slamming above jolted Aileen from her thoughts. She clutched the book to her chest and hurried back upstairs.
In the main hall, the air felt charged, as though the house itself was alive. The mirror from the library had been moved, now resting against a wall where it reflected the portraits. The glass shimmered faintly, and for a moment, Aileen saw Eleanorโs reflection staring back at herโnot from her own position, but standing among the painted family members.
โWhy are you showing me this?โ Aileen whispered, her voice trembling.
The mirror didnโt respond, but a faint whispering filled the room. It wasnโt a single voice but a cacophony of murmurs, overlapping and indistinct. Aileen strained to listen, catching fragments of words.
โ…love is the key…โ
โ…the curse binds us still…โ
โ…she must find the truth…โ
The whispers grew louder, converging into a single phrase: โThe past will not be silenced.โ
Determined to learn more, Aileen returned to the library and delved into the letters from the trunk. They revealed a tragic story: Eleanor had fallen in love with Damien, a man her family disapproved of. Their union was not just forbidden by societal norms but by the very house they lived in.
One letter, written in Eleanorโs delicate script, stood out:
“My dearest Damien,
The house watches us, its walls whispering warnings I cannot fully understand. It demands sacrifice, yet I will not surrender our love to its will. If there is a way to free us, I will find it. Whatever it takes.”
Aileen sat back, her mind spinning. The house was not just a settingโit was a force, an entity that had shaped the lives of those within it. And now, it seemed, it had turned its gaze on her.
As night fell, Aileen decided to confront the mirror once more. Armed with the journal and ledger, she stood before the glass, her reflection barely visible in the dim light.
โI donโt know what you want from me,โ she said aloud, her voice echoing in the stillness. โBut Iโm not afraid of you.โ
The mirror rippled, and Eleanorโs face appeared again. This time, she wasnโt alone. Behind her stood Damien, his expression a mixture of anger and sorrow.
Eleanor raised a hand, pointing toward the ledger in Aileenโs grasp. The pages fluttered open, stopping at a page marked with the symbol of an infinity loop intertwined with a heart. Beneath it was a single sentence:
“Only love can break the cycle.”
Aileenโs heart raced. What did it mean? Before she could ask, the mirror darkened, the figures disappearing into the void.
Unable to sleep, Aileen spent the rest of the night poring over the ledger and the journal. She began to piece together a timeline of events:
In 1925, Eleanor and Damien had attempted to defy the houseโs will, resulting in their ultimate downfall. The curse wasnโt just a punishmentโit was a cycle, repeating itself across generations. Each attempt to break it had failed, leaving only echoes of their struggles within the manorโs walls.
As dawn broke, Aileen realized she wasnโt just uncovering the pastโshe was becoming part of it. The house had chosen her, just as it had chosen Eleanor.
What remained to be seen was whether she could succeed where others had failed.
Tides of Destiny
Chapter Two: Echoes of the Past
Aileen sat cross-legged on the dusty floor of the locked room, the journal open before her like an illicit treasure. The flickering light of her lantern cast erratic shadows on the walls, and the mirror in the corner seemed to shimmer faintly, as though waiting for somethingโor someone.
Her fingers trembled as she turned the pages. Each entry was dated, but the handwriting varied, suggesting that the journal had passed through multiple hands. It wasnโt just a diaryโit was a ledger of the houseโs strange and sorrowful history.
“February 14, 1925.
He warned me that love in this house is never simple. The manor has its own will, its own desires. But how can a house desire anything? Itโs just stone and wood, isnโt it?
And yet, I feel it watching me. It knows my heart better than I do.”
The name signed below the entry was Eleanor Rothschild. Aileenโs breath hitched. Rothschild. The name carried weight in Everspringโs history. The Rothschilds had been the original owners of Solace Manor, their wealth and influence unmatched. Yet their legacy was marred by whispers of betrayal, loss, and disappearances.
Aileen traced the faded ink, her mind racing. Could the woman in the mirror be Eleanor? And if so, what had happened to her?
As though answering her thoughts, the mirror rippled again. She looked up, her pulse quickening. The surface smoothed, and once more, the womanโs face appearedโEleanor, as Aileen now suspected. Her features were delicate, framed by dark curls, and her eyes brimmed with unshed tears.
Aileen rose cautiously, clutching the journal as she approached the mirror. โWho are you?โ she whispered.
The figure in the mirror didnโt speak, but her expression grew more desperate. She raised a hand and placed it against the glass. Instinctively, Aileen did the same, her fingers brushing the cold, smooth surface. A jolt of energy surged through her, and for a moment, the room around her vanished.
Aileen found herself standing in the manor, but it wasnโt the decayed shell she knew. The walls were vibrant with fresh paint, the chandelier above her glittered like a constellation, and laughter echoed from unseen rooms.
She turned in awe, her heart pounding. This was the house as it had been in its prime. Servants bustled through the halls, their faces unfamiliar yet strangely comforting. Music drifted from the ballroom, a hauntingly beautiful melody played on a grand piano.
Aileen followed the sound, drawn like a moth to a flame. In the ballroom, she saw herโthe woman from the mirror. Eleanor sat at the piano, her fingers dancing over the keys, her expression a mix of sorrow and determination.
Before Aileen could approach, a man entered the room. He was tall and striking, with dark hair and an air of authority. Eleanor looked up at him, her hands faltering on the keys.
โDamien,โ she said, her voice trembling.
โYou shouldnโt be here,โ he replied, his tone sharp. โYou know what this house demands.โ
Eleanor rose, defiant. โI wonโt let it take him. Heโs my son, Damien. Ours.โ
Aileenโs breath caught. A son? The conversation continued, but the words grew faint, drowned out by the sound of the wind howling through the room. The scene began to blur, and before she could process what she had heard, she was pulled back into the present.
Aileen gasped as she stumbled back, the journal slipping from her grasp. She was back in the locked room, the mirror still shimmering faintly. Her reflection stared back at her, but it felt like somethingโor someoneโelse was looking through her.
The journal lay open on the floor, its pages fluttering as though turned by an invisible hand. It stopped on an entry dated several months after the last.
“May 10, 1925.
I can no longer fight it. The house has claimed him, just as it claimed the others. Damien was rightโwe were foolish to believe we could outwit it. But I will not surrender. If there is a way to break this curse, I will find it, even if it costs me everything.”
The air in the room grew colder, and the lantern flickered violently. Aileen felt a presence behind her, and every instinct screamed at her to run. But she didnโt. Instead, she turned slowly, her heart hammering in her chest.
No one was there, but the door to the room was now wide open.
Aileen swallowed hard and stepped into the hallway. The house felt alive in a way it hadnโt before, as though it were aware of her presence. She clutched the journal tightly as she descended the stairs, determined to uncover more.
In the library, she found what she was looking forโa collection of ledgers and personal letters, all covered in a thick layer of dust. She began sorting through them, piecing together fragments of the Rothschild familyโs history.
The more she read, the more she realized the curse Eleanor had written about wasnโt just a metaphor. It was tied to the manor itself, its origins shrouded in mystery. There were references to a Rite of Union, a ritual conducted by the original owners to bind their fates to the house in exchange for power and wealth. But the ledger also hinted at a terrible priceโa bloodline cursed to suffer loss and betrayal for generations.
Aileenโs blood ran cold. If what she suspected was true, the curse didnโt end with the Rothschilds. Her grandmotherโs insistence that she was the only one who could uncover the houseโs truth now seemed less like a request and more like a responsibility she couldnโt escape.
As she sat back, exhausted but resolute, the lantern flickered again. The mirror in the corner of the library caught her eye, its surface rippling once more.
This time, she didnโt hesitate. She rose and approached it, ready to face whatever truth awaited her on the other side.
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 Aileenโs 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 darkโor 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 lawyerโs words still echoed in her mind. โMiss Whitaker, your grandmother was quite clear. This house is yours now, but with it comes responsibility. She believed you wereโฆ the only one who could uncover its truth.โ
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 faรงade 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 grandmotherโs scent. It shouldnโt have been thereโit couldnโt have been thereโbut 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. Aileenโs footsteps echoed as she ventured deeper, each step a mixture of fear and defiance. She wasnโt going to let ghost stories stop herโnot 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 coverโa pair of intertwining circles split by a jagged lineโsent 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 sketchesโcrude 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: โThe price of love is always paid in blood.โ
The sudden sound of footsteps shattered her focus. She froze, the journal clutched in her hands.
โWhoโs there?โ 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 appearedโa 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.
โYou shouldnโt have come,โ he said, his voice low, almost a growl.
โThis is my house,โ 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. โYour house,โ he echoed, his tone mocking. โAnd yet you know nothing of it. Nothing of what itโs seen. What itโs taken.โ
โWhat do you mean?โ
His smirk faded, replaced by something darker. โLeave, Aileen. While you still can.โ
Before she could respond, he stepped back into the shadows, vanishing as though heโd never been there.
Aileenโs 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 feelโitโs 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 wouldnโt budge. Frustrated, she leaned closer, pressing her ear to the wood. Thatโs when she heard the whisper, so close it felt like it was inside her mind.
โThe past cannot be undone, Aileen. But it can be rewritten.โ
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.
2 responses to “Tides of Destiny”
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I reckon youโre off to a great start, particularly loved the descriptions. gave me a good sense of the place and what she was experiencing.
However, I had to put aside my logic and go with the flow when it came to her not being scared by the apparition. Anyone in their right mind would have been.
however this is fiction so anything can happen.
of all I think youโre a great writer, keep going!LikeLike
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Thank you Sue, you are right. It would have been a good idea to cover all emotions. I am glad I have a great reader like you who can join the dots and give me ideas of how to improve without criticizing my work. I have more work that needs a proof reader like you. Thank you for your support.
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Mindfulness for everyday life
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“Whispers of the Silent Cries”
In the land of green hills and skies so wide,
Where oceans kiss shores and rivers glide,
Thereโs a shadow cast on the brightest day,
Where the dreams of children slowly fade away.
“Whispers of the Silent Cries”
Tiny hands that should reach for the sun,
Grasp only hunger when the day is done.
Their laughterโs quiet, their hopes concealed,
In a world where empty plates are never healed.
Beneath the stars, their beds of stone,
In houses broken, they feel so alone.
The warmth of love seems so far to seek,
When all they taste is the bitter and weak.
We speak of futures, of wealth and might,
Yet turn our backs on their endless night.
Where are the answers? Where is the light
For those who hunger, out of sight?
In the heart of Aotearoaโs grace,
Are children longing for a safer place.
Their eyes reflect the pain untold,
A story written in streets so cold.
Compassion calls in whispers deep,
For the ones who starve, for the ones who weep.
Canโt we offer more than just a sigh,
When the tears of the hungry fill the sky?
With every coin, with every hand,
We build a bridge from sea to land.
To lift the little souls so frail,
To let their dreams again set sail.
So let us stand, united, strong,
Against a world where wrong is long.
For every child, letโs raise a song,
And promise them where they belong.
In the land of green hills and skies so bright,
May we banish hunger from the night.
With hearts of love, letโs lift the gloom,
And fill their world with endless room.
For every child deserves the chance
To laugh, to love, to sing, to dance.
To feel the warmth of a life thatโs free,
And rise above their poverty.
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