I've always been a loner. It wasn't because I didn't like people's presence around me. I remember I've even looked for it once. But my shy, quiet nature was just pushing away anyone who dared to come any closer.

It's true, that might have been caused by the fact that I was an orphan. And that life in solitude was all I've ever known. I've never met my father. And my poor mother died of a merciless illness before I was five. My grandparents, simple people, did not want me. I was to find out later the reason, and I've tried to understand them. Being a love child would've made them feel ashamed in their small, closed world.

This is how I've become the Master's adoptive son. My mother used to work in his house as a servant. And the Master felt sorry for the red-haired, scared little boy who used to hide in the darkest corners and wouldn't come out until hunger or necessities pushed him out of his hideout.

There were a lot of o people saying the Master was my father. They wouldn't have explained how a grumpy, sullen man like him might've felt sorry for a boy who didn't bring him any benefit. Maybe because of that, the other servants were envious of me, gossiping about in the corners.

But I have tried not to let myself influenced by the malice around me. That's why I never searched for my father. The only one to show me some kindness was the old butler, cold and stiff as a bone, an orphan himself.

He was the first to put the pen in my hand, guiding it into the tangled world of the letters. He was also the one to teach me how to count. Every evening, we used to count the crows that have built their nest in the old poplar in front of the mansion. And he was the one to open the door to a magical world of which I never ceased to wonder – the world of books. But he died before I could ever thank him for the few moments of joy that he brought into my life.

Then, I followed The Boarding School for Boys, together with the three sons of my Master. I have to admit that of all the four Master's children – three boys and one girl – the boys never liked me, not even when we were very young. Their mother, the Lady of the house, had listened to the poisonous words of the servants and she even encouraged them to tease and torture me; torture that lasted as long as the school did. Not even after her death, which came really fast, their malice and bad words didn't end.

But I grew up to learn that, although the path of life was hard when you walk it alone, sometimes you don't have a choice. You only have yourself for every joy or sorrow that comes in your way. Truth be told, in my gloomy world, I've found an occupation to make my soul and mind happy. I have learned how to read pretty early, to the envy of my little masters. And so I came to know the wonders hidden inside the books; to spend hours in a row smelling the old pages and the ink; and surrender completely into that new, ever-changing world with each page I read. The Master's library had become my favorite place in the world.

I even had a secret corner, away from unwelcomed eyes, where I would read for hours. That's how I came into reading the most different books. Physics, astronomy, history, I used to read anything whenever I had a moment of peace. I wasn't bored with romance, nor with poetry; nor with philosophical ideas or with the ones with no base such as alchemy. I even liked the obscure books of spiritualism which seemed to blossom in those days. And I wasn't bored with the romantic letters of some respectable ladies, gathered in books with pompous covers of floral motives, which were quite a sensation at the time. So I began daydreaming about becoming a writer one day. And that I would write a book – the book of my life, only for me to read. For becoming a real writer was too much for the tall, thin, freckle-faced boy that I was.

But then, my Master considered I've studied enough, so my path to knowledge ended. The little masters continued their education in prestigious universities of the world, but without distinguishing themselves in any filed. I used to see them only during holidays, and, as the time passed by, they found tormenting me rather boring. They did it only when there were guests around, but even then, it was without the passion they once had.

After I finished my studies, Master thought it was the time to find a purpose in life. So I came to take care of the administration of the big domain my Master owned – whether it was the wood for the winter or the flour for the kitchen. If the roof broke, it would be my duty to call the handyman to fix it up. If there were parties, I would take care of everything, from the menu to the place of the piano. And every disorder that might have appeared would have been my fault; which needed to be fixed without delay.

Of course, no one gave me reasons to believe I was someone important for the job I was doing. I was the lowest in the administrative hierarchy, yet the one to do most of the work. The head-administrator, a man in his fifties, was the most talented in getting rid of all his chores and always made them my responsibilities; just like any other problem that appeared, all of them from my fault, of course. Plump, heavy, and always wiping out the sweat from the visible parts of his body, he was always looking for resting and napping, even when there were emergencies to be solved.

But I was working without complaining, with a stubbornness that used to annoy many. I even managed to save some money, a nice amount actually, which I carefully hid under the bed's mattress, away from the eyes of my roommates, the gardener, and the chimney sweeper. And the amount grew bigger from one month to another simply because I wasn't a person spending my earning in a tavern or in the company of obscure ladies.

I used to dream about buying a house big enough for a library and a desk where to write the story of my life. Maybe with a small orchard or a garden to make a living out of it. And I even put my eyes on one, an abandoned manor house, one of the days I was accompanying my Master on a visit to his vast lands. I suppose he could see the enthusiasm in my eyes because that was the moment when he put the mask of a fierce man aside.

"Never give up on your dreams, Daniel," he said, "no matter what..."

The only indulgence I would surrender to was in books, which I used to discover on old, dusty antique shop shelves, and which brought so much joy to my small life.

I had no idea I was to discover a joy thousands of time bigger, to lighten up my humble existence as a ray of light after years and years of dark clouds...

Thank you for reading this story! This is my first paranormal romance, written in first person narrative. Leave your votes and thoughts here!