Her Untold Story
- WolfGirl1777
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Her Untold Story
Her Untold Story
A dark whispering in the air. A cold touch, a quiet scream, a silent story.
Her secret stays here. A secret desperately needing to be told, but better left unsaid.
Here, in the darkness of the abandoned Marymore Manor.
The cricks and nannies, walls and floors, they hold the truth. The truth of a girl’s story. Forbidden to enter, she did anyway. She wanted to know if the rumors were true. Does he still live here? Is he still alive? Does the house shelter the things that go bump in the night? She had to know. It was pulling her in. Little did she know, he was pulling her.
She entered the looming door; carved black wood, rotting, mangled with rusted iron vines. At the end of the lobby, a hallway with a set of stairs on each side stood silent, untouched. She took the right staircase all the way up to the third floor landing. Passing mirrors, eerie paintings, half broken statues, and things unnamable along the way. Then she stumbled across a bedroom, the only one not in shambles.
It had white walls, lavender carpet, and a queen sized four poster bed with a lace canopy and curtains. A wardrobe fit for a princess was on the opposite side of the room. Directly across from the door, on the other side of the room, were two French doors. They were framed in magnificent gold, silver, and lavender swirls and vines. She pushed aside the curtains and opened the doors.
Her eyes deceived her. She saw a garden that would make the gods blind from beauty. But it was actually a garden of death. Made by him, to do his dirty work for him. But she was special. He spoke her name, so long forgotten. She froze; she felt his cold presence in the darkest corner of life. He spoke again. She ran. Her feet couldn’t move faster; they wouldn’t move faster. Blind with fear, she ran without knowing where. She could feel him behind her; no matter how fast she was, he was right there.
She took a wrong turn. Trapped, with nowhere to go or to hide, she turned back around, knowing – yet not knowing – what’s to come. He slowly walked into the doorway and stopped.
His piercing eyes tore through her; a burning cold from eyes of fire and ice. She didn’t notice his right hand. She should’ve. For in it, was a dagger of the most intricate and dangerous design. He walked forward, their gazes locked. The dagger twisted in his hand, over, and over, and over.
He lifted his hand, and plunged it downward. She screamed; he missed. She ran around him and headed down the staircase, towards an armory she saw earlier. She made it there in time to grab a sword and turn around.
Her secret needs to be shared, but she knows she can’t. After that dark, lonely night, no one’s ever heard her speak.
Her last words, as she kneeled over him, one hand caressing his cold dead cheek, the other still on the hilt of the sword in his heart, were two simple, lonely, words.
“My love.”
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