La! Friend, I am happy to report that a maiden has nothing to fear on her wedding night. He did not try to hold my hands. Not even once! I shall tell my cousin straight away next time we meet, for she is next to marry. We motherless brides must share what we can.

Upon arrival at the manor, my lord husband and an elderly servant brought me directly to my chamber. This room alone was as big as my family's cottage.

I tried my best to adequately appreciate the space, walking around murmuring my genuine awe and thanks for their preparations, but truth be told I could hardly stand on my feet. I trembled with various emotions and tears threatened to spill.

Nerves undone, I struggled with lighting a second oil lamp on my nightstand which Lord Vane stepped forward and helped me with himself. I would have felt more comfortable with the maid leaning over me. He did not appear so thin to me from this close.

It afforded me another chance to study the face which I was sure had grown more pale. He caught my eye and seemed startled at my scrutiny. With a quiet bid goodnight, he was out the door. I thought it odd I heard the flutter of his capes and not the click of his boots against the stone floor.

Now here I am. I have traded in the span of one short day a pallet of straw for a mattress of feathers and fur.

I have been lying in bed for some hours now, staring at the darkness that should be my ceiling. The flickering light does not reach that high, but I imagine its corners and crevices just the same. This stone encrusted manor with tall ceilings is far colder than my family cottage and I laugh as I picture my frigid nose chilling a glass of wine.

I miss feet in my face—or I should. Sharing a bed with my three younger cousins meant I had my fair share of toes wiggling in my face. Sometimes as a game, most times it was not. Give me a week and I will miss them terribly, I know it.

I suppose I should put out the lamp and sleep. But to be honest and simple, I am afraid. For the first time in my life I am alone, but being alone isn't as bad as what surrounds me.

If I were more eloquent, I could describe the chilling aspect of the stained stone, of the inky black shadows that cling to everything, of the silence that is more deafening than screams. Except for that cry...

No...I am not mistaken. I hear a cry. It is faint, but what I can hear sounds terrible. I'd be better off describing it as a whimper. A pitiful whine of impending death.

It is getting louder.

As a child, I heard tales about the ghosts of murdered lords, ladies, and servants in this very manor. They were exciting fireside stories then, but now? Such stories feel far too real.

It douses me again, that nemesis: dread.

What if it is Lord Vane? He's dying in the hall outside my room...and I am doing nothing. A vision of angry villagers reappears. I should try and help.

I cannot stop my hand from shaking and I fear I will spill the oil lamp. I barely manage to heave open my heavy door and step into the dark hall. No one is around.

The stone walls drink in my lamplight, so I am left with only a small sphere of glow around me. That whimper, once more! The darkness of the castle hall matches the clarity of my thoughts. I can't think anymore than I can see.

My traitorous knees have grown soft and won't hold me much longer. I creep forward a few feet in hopes to be of help, but not so far from the safety of my room.

Chapter 3 End

QUICK NOTE

FYI: Charis is pronounced Car-iss
(silent h, short a)

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