An Unexpected Encounter
The alliance between restless ghosts and an overly determined mortal was precarious, to say the least. Rosalind’s destination this evening was the abandoned Calderbridge Cathedral, a hollow ruin that loomed with its crumbled spires and shattered stained glass. When she arrived at the iron-wrought gate, she shivered—not from the cold, but from a feeling deep in her gut, like the touch of unseen eyes.
And that’s when he appeared.
A tall man stepped out from behind a grove of withering oak trees. His form was shadowed save for the gleam of his silver cufflinks. He was dressed impeccably, almost overly formal for someone creeping about after dark—black slacks, a crisp white dress shirt, and a long double-breasted coat. His raven-black hair fell just above his shoulders, immaculately styled like someone preparing for a society gala. But it was his eyes—a startling shade of ice-blue—that caused Rosalind to instinctively clutch the grimoire closer to her chest.
“I would advise against opening that book here,” he said coolly, his deep voice reverberating with something unplaceable, like a string being plucked by a phantom hand.
“Who are you to give me advice?” Rosalind snapped, her courage outweighing her better judgment. She noticed his lips twitch into what could only be described as a smirk.
“My name is Dorian Evermoor,” he said with a bow, a gesture almost theatrical under the pale fog. “And I have spent over two lifetimes undoing the havoc caused by people who dabble where they shouldn’t.”
Riddles Beneath Starlight
Against her better judgment—and perhaps due to an inexplicable pull she felt toward Dorian—Rosalind allowed him to accompany her. Dorian claimed to be a “warden of the threshold,” a self-appointed protector of the balance between the living and the dead. His job was to stop people like Rosalind, although one look at her determined face and he appeared resigned to simply mitigating the damage instead.
“You must know this ritual comes with great cost,” he warned her as they stood beneath an open patch of moonlight inside the cathedral’s hollow nave. The shattered floor was strewn with loose floorboards and tufts of dying moss.
“If you’re trying to dissuade me, spare your breath,” Rosalind replied, flipping open her grimoire. The incantation was there, pulsating with potential. What frightened her most was that it had begun to make sense—as though the language itself was revealing its mysteries the closer she came to understanding her purpose. She knelt to draw the rune beneath its corresponding sigil on the cold stone floor, chalk dust clinging to her fingers.
“You’re persistent.” Dorian sighed, leaning against a fractured marble column. There was something equal parts irritated and admiring about his tone.”Tell me, then—if this succeeds and you reach across the veil, what will you ask of your friend’s echo?”
Rosalind paused. Why was he so interested? “You talk a lot for someone who claims to be an observer.”
“It’s my curse, I’m afraid,” Dorian admitted with a shrug. “Humans have always amused me with their endless insistence on poking the bear.”
The Revelation
The air grew heavy as Rosalind finished the final arc of the summoning rune. The incantation slid off her tongue like molten silver, fluid and radiant. Every syllable felt alive. Dorian stood stock still, watching her through a crystalline glare as the rune ignited in an eerie pale flame. A shiver crawled up Rosalind’s spine when a cold wind spiraled through the nave, extinguishing all the warmth in the air. And then, she saw her.
Elise.
Rosalind gazed in awe as the shimmering outline of her best friend’s form coalesced, wavering like light reflected on water. But something was wrong. Instead of joy, Elise’s ghost wore a pained expression, her hazy hands clutching her abdomen.
“Don’t trust him, Rosalind, don’t—”
Her voice was abruptly cut off as an arc of dark energy shot through her form. Rosalind turned to see Dorian standing dangerously close to the rune, his irises glowing like starfire.
“You’ve meddled where you shouldn’t, Rosalind,” he said, his tone devoid of the playful smugness he’d carried before. He straightened, his full presence radiating something ancient and predatory, as though he was far more than he seemed.
“What are you doing?” she cried. Elise’s form was dissipating into tendrils of smoke.
“Correcting a mistake.” His voice was quiet, almost regretful. “You never should have opened that book.”
Promises and Deception
In the aftermath, Dorian offered Rosalind a deal. He would allow her to keep the book—in exchange for a favor she would owe him in the future. Desperate, angry, and betrayed, Rosalind breathed heavily but knew deep down she couldn’t refuse. It was the only way to ensure Elise’s ghost wasn’t forever lost beyond the veil.
“Fine,” she managed through gritted teeth, her fingers digging into the grimoire’s cracked spine. “But mark my words, Evermoor—I’m coming for the truth, and if you lied to me, nothing in this world or the next will stop me.”
Dorian grinned, though his expression lacked true malice. “I would expect nothing less.”
As the storm lifted and the sky cleared to a soft dawn, Rosalind walked away from the cathedral, clutching the book that now held far more complexities—and dangers—than she’d imagined. Behind her, Dorian watched her silhouette fade with a quiet sense of admiration… and a spark of something dangerously close to hope.
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