Epilogue

Furiously and feverish, she continued her hectic pursuit throughout the Tudor timbered manor. Well-crafted paintings, of her previous ancestors stood proudly, gazing over her with judgement, gloating with admiring disgust.

She hesitated. The world had begun to flicker once more. Darkness was spreading and it would only be a matter of time before it reappeared. Surely. Surely, it was just her, blinking. Or was it perhaps the candlelights; they often flicker so.
A wave of unease settled over her fragile body, as the cold familiarity returned. Her burning waxy pale neck prickled as the chill ran through her.

Smelling as sharp as freshly-cut wood, the air sliced low and sly around the dismal forbidden corners, where the great grandfather clock coldly chimed thirteen. Vibrations filled the suffocating atmosphere as the metal gears ground together with a sluggish metallic click.

It was close.

The shadows among the walls flickered and flared, then danced around the room in a glorious and taunting manner. Her pulse quickened.  Their presence overwhelming; the
leader lurked silently, cunningly sneaking up upon the young maiden.

Thickened with a decade's dust, the silken rug embraced the young maiden's delicate feet, stealing her balance. She tumbled against the locked window, lined with opulent jeweled curtains. Her disheveled and static hair caught on the precious metal hook.

Barely visible, were the glimpses of the many previous marks left upon the glass. She grew cold. The blemishes were the size of a child's fingers, the swirls and ridges still imprinted.

Piercing the vivid silence, the nails scratched and screeched against the old oak door behind her. The shadows hunting, sneaking round. Distorting her view...

Stealing her breath, stealing her...

Her

Stealing her.

It was a black allure that engulfed the young maiden's mind, scorching her skin. It sought out her thoughts, twisting them into a distorted mess.
Deceiving her unseeing eyes, the stain's tendrils emerged,.
Now; it lived within.

Gripping, chilling.

Famished.

* * * * *
Three days earlier

She awoke early that morning, blinded by sunlight. Stretching out her arms, she lazily rolled over and released a tiresome groan. Must it really return to this?

Overlooking the luxurious windowpane, she admired the warm haze of orange and pink hues surrounding the all-watching eye's awakening. Slightly ajar, the breeze she saw flowing throughout the trees could not reach her. In particular, stood a tall, looming apple tree. Its silhouette reaching further than the rest.
The apple, the reddest of the red, unclasped itself from the prickly rigid fingers of the tree and rolled down onto the emerald green grass below with a crunch.

Observing this, the young maiden freed her bouffant hair from the crimson silk ribbon, allowing the black ringlets to cascade down, framing her pale face, as she made her way towards the forbidden fruit.

"Mistress, your father awaits." Informed the serving girl, interrupting the young maiden's desires.

"Oh how tedious he must think of me, he knows surely that I am no longer a child! It would seem that I do have arrangements of my own, you see." The young maiden quipped. Did he not understand that history did not have the frequency of repeating itself?

"But mistress-"

"I am a woman of sixteen now, I think it very much my own right to head outside into our own orchard. Would you not agree?"

"Sir Tobias insisted that you must-"

"That one must simply sit and abide these petulant fools that he flings my way? Nonsense. Now, if you do excuse me, but I shall be heading off now."

The young maiden dismissed the serving girl, before walking off sullenly. Trying to dismiss the lingering thoughts in her mind..


* * * * *
Throughout the eternal day, the young maiden became more and more anxious of the nightfall yet to come. In the dimly lit bedchamber she perched on the ornate carved chair at her writing desk. Idly scrawling. Cautiously, she glanced erratically in all directions. Sharpening her glance. The sudden hollow echo of knuckles rapping against the door struck her immediate attention.

Hesitantly, she ignored the lump in her throat and hauled herself towards the old oak door, revealing the striking man. His bronzed cheeks were chiseled like a finely carved sculpture; his scent was earthily musky. In his hands, speckled all over with glimmering blemishes, he held an immaculate single rose.

He stood tall, looming over her.
“Adam?”
Adam’s fetching face wore a smirk, his timeless jade green eyes gazing deep into her own.

Brushing away the loose curls of her hair, he gathered it to the side. The butterflies inside of her fluttered.
Lingering, just at the nape of her neck, his breath tickled her with a burning shiver, his parted lips caressing her softly... Igniting the flame within.
Uncurling his fist, the rose petals blossomed, trembling towards the ancient floorboards.