~One knock.One stranger. One secret that changes everything. ~
---
The Secret Behind the Door
In the quiet, rain-lashed neighborhood of Hollow Pine Lane, nestled deep in the California suburbs, the storm raged on—howling winds, trembling windows, and flickering streetlights. It was just another night. Another night Evelyn found herself alone.
She was used to it by now.
Her mother’s work had become her life—always gone before dawn, returning after dark, too exhausted to ask if Evelyn had eaten, how her day had gone, or why she often sat silent with red-rimmed eyes. But Evelyn never blamed her. She wasn’t a child anymore. In just a few weeks, she’d turn sixteen. Old enough to understand. Old enough to be invisible.
Curled up on the long L-shaped couch in the heart of the vast living room, Evelyn stared at the TV, where her favorite detective show flickered with suspense. Her eyes followed the clues, but her mind wandered—far from the murders on screen, deep into a darker mystery.
Herself.
There was something inside her. Something... not human. A presence she couldn’t explain, a shadow that stirred beneath her skin. She didn’t know what it was—only that it was there. A creature, a force, living with her. Within her.
Whenever she tried to talk about it, her mother brushed it off.
“Ignore it, sweetie. It’s nothing. Just a silly phase. You need to learn to handle small things on your own.”
But this wasn’t small. It never had been.
She had almost killed someone. A boy at school who mocked her, who called her names like they didn’t cut into her ribs like blades. One day, she’d snapped. One moment he was laughing—then she was on her feet, fist slamming into his jaw. Before he could react, she’d seized him by the throat and lifted him into the air.
She had lifted him.
She wasn’t strong enough for that. Not normally.
The school suspended her. Her mother didn’t even show up for the meeting.
Now, she spent her days as a ghost in her own home, bingeing true crime, her only company the cold hum of the television. She sank deeper into the cushions, sighing to herself, “Why am I even alive? I bring my mom nothing but shame.”
And then—
A knock at the door.
---
---
At first, Evelyn thought she had imagined it.
A knock.
Soft. Distant.
It was 2 a.m. Who would be at the door at this hour?
She sat frozen, blinking at the darkened hallway beyond the flickering glow of the TV. Maybe it was the wind. Maybe she'd drifted off and dreamt it.
Then—
Another knock.
Firm.
Followed by another.
Unrelenting. Determined.
Her pulse quickened. She hesitated. Her mom was in Paris on a business trip—halfway across the world. And there was no one else. No father—he’d left when she was five, when she needed him the most. No aunts, uncles, cousins… no one she really knew. No one who cared.
So who was knocking?
Slowly, Evelyn rose from the couch. Barefoot, she stepped across the cold wooden floor, every creak of the house louder than it should’ve been. She approached the door, her hand hovering over the knob. A breath hitched in her throat.
She turned it—just enough to open a narrow slit, enough to see who was there.
And what she saw made her heart pause.
A man.
Tall—at least 6'5, towering even over her 5'9 frame. He looked like he'd stepped out of another world.
His hair was dark, almost black, with glints of auburn that shimmered in the storm light. His eyes—impossibly red, like fresh blood in moonlight. Skin pale, near corpse-like, stretched over high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. He wore a suit under a long coat, sleeves casually rolled up, the top button undone, revealing a silver cross pendant hanging against his chest.
His body was lean but strong. Dangerous.
He looked her over, eyes scanning her from head to toe with something between disappointment and disgust.
“Tch. I have to deal with this?” he muttered.
“What…?” she started, her voice barely a whisper.
He looked directly at her. “Are you Evelyn Darius?”
She nodded slowly, still gripping the door.
Without warning, he shoved it open, stepping inside in one smooth motion. His hand shot out, gripping her wrist—hard. Too hard.
“Ow—what the hell?!” she cried, struggling against his iron hold. A bruise was already forming under his fingers.
“Then you’re coming with me,” he said flatly, already turning to pull her outside.
“No, I’m not!” she snapped, trying to yank free. “Who the hell are you? A mafia thug? Some escaped criminal?! Let go of me!”
He sighed. Not out of frustration—but boredom.
“Humans…” he muttered. “Isn’t your birthgiver’s name Hannah Thornvale?”
Evelyn froze. “Y–yes. How do you know my mother?”
“She’s the one who sent me,” he said, tightening his grip. “Now stop talking. And come with me.”
---
---
He dragged her through the rain and into a sleek black car parked just outside the gate. It gleamed under the streetlight, polished to perfection, far too expensive-looking for someone who behaved like a kidnapper.
Evelyn climbed in reluctantly, the soft leather seats swallowing her as the door slammed shut. Before she could fumble with the seatbelt, he leaned in and clicked it into place himself.
It was oddly gentle.
She blinked at him.
As if reading her thoughts, a faint smirk tugged at his lips.
“Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m only doing this because Lady Thornvale asked me to… be nice,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Otherwise, I would've just slung you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes.”
He leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other with casual grace. “Now, now… don’t get too comfortable. But yeah—help yourself.”
He went quiet after that. The car hummed along the slick road, rain pattering against the windshield as the city blurred past them. For nearly an hour, neither of them spoke.
Evelyn broke the silence. “How do you know my mother?”
His jaw clenched, and his red eyes narrowed. Clearly, her voice annoyed him.
“That’s none of your business,” he replied curtly.
She tilted her head, watching him. “Are you… my mom’s boyfriend?”
He reached for a bottle of water—but choked as soon as the words left her mouth, coughing violently.
She winced. “I-I didn’t mean it like that! I just—”
“Oh my god,” he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Listen—first of all, your mum’s a little old for me. Second—she’s more like a mother figure, alright? Let’s not ever speak of this again.”
Evelyn grinned, just a little. “Didn’t know my mom adopted… vampires or… Draculas.”
That caught him off guard. He turned to her slowly, brows raised.
“How do you know I’m a—?”
He cut himself off with a sigh. “Ugh. Never mind.”
---
---
Evelyn blinked again, her mouth parting to say something—but before a word could escape, his fingers pressed against her lips.
“Just shut up, will you?” he muttered, eyes forward.
Her brows shot up. She grabbed his hand and yanked it away. “Okay, rude. But can I ask just one thing?”
He groaned. “What now?”
“How old are you?”
He exhaled, long and dramatic. “Seriously?”
She nodded with a sly smile. “Mhm.”
He didn’t look at her, just stared at the road ahead. “What do you think?”
She studied him for a moment. “Hmm… about twenty-five? Maybe thirty?”
His head snapped toward her, eyes wide. “Do I look that old to you?!”
She shrank a little in her seat, laughing nervously. “W-well, I didn’t mean old-old...”
“I’m twenty, girl.”
“Oh.” She blinked. “Ohhh… Okay. Well, I guess your vampire aura adds like, five years.”
“I can read minds, you know,” he deadpanned.
She turned her face to the window quickly. “Eh-heh… didn’t say anything…”
Another thirty minutes passed. The rain had eased into a steady drizzle, and the darkness outside seemed endless. Evelyn, growing restless, began softly humming a tune—the opening to Demon Slayer.
He twitched.
“Shut. Up.”
“What? I’m just humming.”
He gave her a glare that could’ve shattered glass. “Do you know how insufferable it is to have a human next to me who sounds like a badly repaired radio box?”
She gasped, mock offended. “A human? You say that like you’re not one.”
He straightened up, clearly flustered. “Well—I am! I mean—ugh—that’s why I told you to shut up!”
“Okay, fine!” she snapped, arms crossed, lips tight—but her eyes were sparkling with amusement.
___
---
He gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, a flicker of worry flashing in his crimson eyes.
Had he just slipped?
Had he actually said that aloud?
He glanced sideways at Evelyn—only to find her curled up, head resting against the car window, fast asleep. Her chest rose and fell in a soft rhythm, lips slightly parted, a faint crease still etched into her brow as if she were frowning even in her dreams.
A quiet sigh of relief escaped him.
Thank the stars she didn’t catch that.
The digital clock on the dashboard glowed 4:03 a.m. The road ahead was nothing but fog and empty highway, and exhaustion tugged at his limbs. With a groan, he pulled into an empty lot beside a lone diner, the neon sign flickering erratically.
He cut the engine. Silence wrapped around the car like a blanket of shadows.
For a moment, he just sat there, watching her.
There was something… off. Not just about her presence, but her aura. Dark. Ancient. Faintly glowing beneath the surface like embers smoldering in a fire long thought dead.
His gaze sharpened.
It couldn’t be.
The aura of a Fallen One. A forgotten spirit, once belonging to a legend—an angel cast out, locked away by fate and silence. A presence thought lost in time… now radiating from this unassuming girl snoring softly in his passenger seat.
“Tch,” he muttered. “So… hopeless.”
Still, without thinking, he reached behind the seat and pulled out a thick wool blanket. Carefully—almost hesitantly—he draped it over her, tucking the edges in just enough so the cold wouldn’t reach her.
She stirred slightly, murmuring something in her sleep.
He froze.
But then her breathing evened again.
He leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, staring at the cracked ceiling of the car, eyes haunted.
“She has no idea what she is,” he whispered to no one. “And when she does… I hope I’m not the one standing in her way.”
---
---
Morning crept in slow and gray, the clock reading 7:07 a.m. Fog still clung to the edges of the road like a ghost refusing to let go. The car rumbled back to life, gliding onto the damp asphalt.
Evelyn stirred, stretching with a soft groan. That’s when she noticed the blanket draped over her. She blinked, pulling it tighter around her as she glanced at him.
He didn’t look her way. “Don’t get the wrong idea,” he muttered flatly. “Your birthgiver’s orders were clear—bring you safely. No injuries, no disease. I’m just doing my job.”
She grinned, amused. “So… you’re like my bodyguard?”
He rolled his eyes. “Are you out of your mind? I’m no one’s bodyguard. I’m a guard of the Royal Court. Personal assistant to your mother. Well—one of many. She has higher-ranked ones than me.”
He sighed, as if the next words physically pained him.
“So… yeah. I guess I am kind of your bodyguard. But not for long.”
“Wow,” she said dramatically. “So that means I can command you to do anything for me, right?”
“No.”
“Why not?!”
“Because I’m your bodyguard, not your personal assistant,” he snapped.
“Okay, okay! Chill out, cracked head.”
“Language, girl.”
“That’s not even a swear!”
“Still!”
They drove in silence for a while. Evelyn gazed out the window, then back at him.
“You know,” she said casually, “it’s kind of funny.”
He gave her a side glance, already wary.
“I’m here… in your car… being watched by you… I’ve trusted you this far. But I don’t even know your name.”
He sighed, clearly dreading what was coming next. “Lucien.”
She blinked. “Lucien what?”
“Lucien Thornvale.”
She sat up straighter, eyes wide. “Wait. What?”
“Yes,” he said with a grimace. “I’m your cousin. Unfortunately.”
Her lips parted in surprise, then slowly curled into a small, almost vulnerable smile.
“So I do have someone to call mine…”
He groaned. “I’m not yours.”
“It’s a figure of speech, genius...”
---
Awesome—here’s the next episode, picking up from that strong emotional beat and taking us deeper into the mystery, with a hint of what’s coming for Evelyn…
---
The drive continued into the hills, winding through thick mist and silence, until the car finally pulled up to a massive iron gate wrapped in crawling vines. Behind it stood a towering estate, ancient and gothic, half-consumed by ivy, its spires stabbing into the pale sky like blackened fangs.
Evelyn leaned forward, eyes wide. “Okay… wow. Are we visiting Dracula’s summer home or something?”
Lucien didn’t reply. The gates creaked open on their own, and the car rolled through.
They parked in front of the manor. The door—carved with strange runes and lined with silver—seemed to hum under her gaze.
Lucien stepped out, slamming the car door. “Get your legs moving, princess.”
Evelyn rolled her eyes but followed. As soon as she stepped past the threshold of the manor, a sharp chill passed through her.
It wasn’t cold.
It was recognition.
Something inside her twitched.
The hall was dark, lit only by flickering wall sconces. Paintings of warriors and beasts lined the walls. The floor beneath her boots felt too smooth, too polished—like it had been cleaned of blood.
“This place is giving major cursed vibes,” she whispered.
Lucien led her down a long corridor and stopped at a heavy wooden door. “This,” he said, “is where you’ll stay. Don't leave without me.”
“Geez, dramatic much?” she muttered, but he was already walking away.
She stepped into the room.
It was large, stone-walled, and surprisingly warm. The bed was carved from dark wood, draped in red velvet. A full-length mirror stood in the corner.
She caught her reflection—and froze.
Her eyes flashed black for a split second. Just one. But enough.
She stumbled back.
“What the hell…”
And then—a voice. Not hers. Not Lucien’s. Not human.
> “So you finally brought me home.”
She spun around. No one was there.
Her heart pounded. “Wh-who’s there?”
Silence.
But the mirror… it flickered.
And in her reflection stood not Evelyn—but a woman with wings made of shadow… and a crown of thorns.
Evelyn backed away slowly, breath shallow.
> “You're not going crazy,” the voice whispered again, inside her mind this time. “You’re waking up.”
---
---
Episode 3: Burnt Toast and Bloodlines
The morning sun filtered weakly through the fog-draped windows of the manor, casting pale light across Evelyn’s face. She stirred, blinking against the unfamiliar ceiling. For a moment, she forgot where she was. Then the memory struck her: the stranger, the car, the manor... Lucien.
Something sizzled.
Then—a clatter.
Then—“OH COME ON!”
Evelyn jolted upright.
She threw on the oversized hoodie she found hanging on the back of a chair—definitely not hers—and padded barefoot down the cold stone hallways. The kitchen door was open, light spilling out onto the floor. Inside stood Lucien, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly disheveled, glaring at a now-smoking toaster like it had personally betrayed him.
She leaned against the doorframe. “Having a war with breakfast?”
He didn’t look up. “This archaic beast of a machine is possessed. It burned six slices already.”
“You know you have fangs and supernatural speed, but toast defeated you.”
Lucien gave her a sharp look. “Would you prefer I let you starve?”
“No. But I’d prefer edible food over charcoal.”
He muttered something that sounded like, mortals and their attachments to bread, then turned back to the fridge.
As Evelyn stepped further into the room, a chill prickled down her spine. The light dimmed slightly. A shimmer moved near the far wall.
“Lucien…” she said slowly, pointing.
The shadows stirred. A translucent figure in silver robes glided forward—hovering just above the ground, her hair floating around her as though she moved underwater. Her eyes were ancient. Knowing. Almost sorrowful.
Lucien straightened. “Lady Aeloria.”
The ghost offered Evelyn a formal bow of her head. “You’re awake.”
“Um... yeah?” Evelyn blinked. “Who... are you?”
“A voice from the Court. I was summoned to read your aura.”
Lucien moved to Evelyn’s side. “She’s harmless. Mostly.”
Aeloria floated closer, her form wavering. She hovered her palm over Evelyn’s chest. The air trembled faintly.
And then—a gasp.
Aeloria staggered back, her form flickering.
“She carries it,” she whispered. “The Mark. The Mark of Valtora. The bloodline of the Fallen still runs in her veins.”
Lucien’s expression turned to stone. Evelyn just stared.
“Wait. The what now?”
Aeloria looked at her, something close to fear in her ancient eyes. “Your soul has been touched by a power long sealed. The legacy of Seraphina Valtora—the one who defied the Thrones. It was thought extinguished.”
“I’m sorry,” Evelyn said slowly, “are you saying I’m like, cursed royalty or something?”
“No,” Aeloria said, voice low. “Worse. You are a beacon. And others will come for you.”
She vanished.
Lucien was silent.
Evelyn exhaled. “...So, no breakfast, then?”
---
---
Episode 4: The Forbidden Library (and the Sassy Bat)
The manor was larger than Evelyn expected. Endless corridors wrapped around themselves, the walls lined with old portraits that seemed to watch her. Some whispered—only faintly, like a breeze through leaves. She didn’t dare stop to listen too closely.
Lucien walked ahead of her, silent, coat flowing behind him like a shadow that refused to leave the ground.
“You know,” Evelyn muttered, trying to break the silence, “a tour would’ve been nice.”
“You’ll get one,” he said without looking back. “After you stop being a target.”
They stopped at a door set in dark stone—twice her height, with symbols carved deep into its surface. Chains wrapped across it, glowing faintly blue.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“The Forbidden Library.”
Evelyn raised a brow. “That sounds... welcoming.”
Lucien pressed a hand against the runes. The chains trembled, then retracted slowly, slithering away like metal serpents. The door creaked open.
Inside was a spiral staircase that descended into flickering torchlight.
And somewhere below, a voice grumbled, “Another one? You people never let me sleep.”
Evelyn blinked. “Did that book just talk?”
Lucien sighed. “No. That’s Snips.”
A bat—well, something bat-like—fluttered into view. Its wings were torn at the edges, its eyes an odd shade of green, and it wore a monocle far too large for its head.
“Oh good,” Snips groaned. “It’s you. And you brought company. Delightful.”
Evelyn whispered to Lucien, “Are we sure we’re not hallucinating?”
“I ask myself the same question every time I see him.”
Snips circled her once. “You’ve got that cursed look about you.”
“Thanks?”
He flapped back toward a perch made of bone. “No one enters unless they bring me the Sacred Fruit.”
Evelyn pulled a banana from her hoodie pocket—leftover from the kitchen. “This?”
Snips sniffed it, then sighed. “Fine. Rules are rules.”
The torches flared and the floor beneath them shifted, opening to reveal stairs that hadn’t been there before.
Lucien moved forward. “Stay close.”
The air was colder here. Older. The stone walls breathed with whispers and shifting dust. Rows upon rows of books rose around them—some bound in iron, others chained shut. One shelf had a faint red glow. Another had thorns growing out of the spines.
Lucien pulled a heavy volume from the back wall. “The Records of Valtora.”
He handed it to Evelyn. The moment her fingers touched the leather, it thrummed like a heartbeat. Her vision blurred for a second. A woman appeared in her mind’s eye—tall, radiant, with black wings scorched at the tips. Seraphina Valtora.
“Who was she?” Evelyn asked.
“A Fallen,” Lucien replied. “Once a celestial. She broke from the higher orders—not for power, but because she believed fate was a lie. That we had the right to choose, not be dictated.”
“And I’m... related to her?”
“Directly,” he said. “The blood that ran through her burns inside you.”
The book opened on its own. Its pages flipped until one stopped—marked in ink that shimmered like stars.
It read:
“She will rise when shadow meets flame. The bearer of grief, fire, and the end.”
Evelyn stared at the text. “That’s not vague at all.”
A soft glow flickered over her hand—black and silver veins briefly illuminated beneath her skin.
“Lucien…” she whispered. “What if I can’t control this?”
He looked at her. Not as a stranger. Not as a bodyguard. But as someone who’d seen power twist the minds of better men.
“Then I’ll make sure you don’t have to do it alone.”
She wanted to believe that.
She really did.
But somewhere deep in the shelves behind them... something growled.
---
What will happen to Evelyn?...what will happen to the dark spirit...what does the future hold for them?...
~we'll......see~
-by...
~•°∆Râvenshadøw∆°•~
(Swastika thalavai k.)
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