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Releases 2027

Read Sample:

One

That night I dreamt of red. Not the red of roses, nor the red silk of gowns, nor the red of dying ember. This red was darker, thicker, and richer.

I raised my pocket watch to ascertain the hour. Four o’clock in the morning.

Splendid.

My eyes resisted closing, as much as I tried to think blankly, and rest my eyes, the crimson hue always returned, spiralling my thoughts like a tightening, aggressive serpent. I open my window to let in some fresh air, attempting for this to halt my repetitive thoughts.

I enter my bed once again, hopefully with refreshed reflections, and a positive mood to commence my rest. Though the wind brings no peace. Only a repetitive hush that seemed to tingle the borders of my ears, waving my hair within the cold air. I wanted to believe it was refreshing, but the awful thought of red, dripping, filling my brain like taps of rain, never left. I grunt, as if I were trying to confront my thoughts and tell it to shut up.

I force myself to rest and not complicate this night anymore. But perhaps the crimson thoughts were meaning to utter something. Something powerful, dark, and menacing. Perhaps a warning, or a preparation for my dreading future.

I wanted to sleep, and wake up with positive energy, and I started to feel the thoughts more thoroughly. My head started to ache in pain, as I suddenly knew why my sleep was in such trouble.

Victor. Of course, it had to be Victor. As much as I wanted to make my father proud, there was nothing special about Victor. Even when he held my hand, his touch was gentle yet hollow, as though his eyes searched everywhere but my own.

He will be coming at seven, and I will look like an awful mess. Though, if I was being truthfully honest, I doubt he will even notice, he rarely notices when I am present at all.

__________

That morning, I wake up with large bags under my eyes, representing my frustration with my rest. I slowly lead myself down three stairs to where I have my breakfast. As I enter, I see Nothing. Nothing on the hearth, not even a wisp of smoke. I

sigh, as a grab a loaf of bread that has been sitting in the pantry for what felt eternity. I bite the rock-hard bread with my very little strength, and chew, though my jaw gets sore immediately.

Rose, the eldest of all my sisters, steps with pride, with that unnecessary confident smug that always swells her face. She halts, her posture so perfect, I almost retch in laughter. She greets me with flared nostrils, and unimpressed facial expressions.

‘You.’ She says, keeping the sly smug that never erases from her disrespectful personality.

‘Look at you,’ she continues a moment after. I take another weak bite from the stale bread. ‘You’re a mess. It looks like you have seen a ghost.’ She utters, her sentence ending in a chuckle that makes my stomach swell in angst.

‘Hush, Rose. Just remember who is engaged.’ I reply, with more confidence, perhaps more energy. Rose’s eyes widen.

‘It was a set up. I know your thoughts about him. Your honest thoughts. Father has no idea.’ She says, striding closer to my silhouette.

‘Just know, I have all the power. I can go to father right now and tell him.’ She finishes, or so I hope, before she laughs silently about five seconds after the insensitive response. 

Rose, who’s mouth opened, about to emit some other useless insult, before Beatrice, the middle child, though most mature, and most religious, stepped silently as always into the living.

‘Sisters,’ she begins, her face flooded with disappointment. ‘We mustn’t argue to one another.’ She speaks, firmly, expecting us to comprehend. Although annoying, it seems as though Beatrice is the leader, and from day one, she expected us to follow her lead. And we did. Rose silently nods; her hand disposed around her back.

‘Yes, sister Beatrice.’ Rose replies, with remorse. I clear my throat.

‘Sorry Sister.’ I speak.

‘Very well.’ Beatrice finishes, walking off, this time louder than when she first came in.

Rose exchanges me a glance, which at first, I take in the wrong way, before she walks off and doesn’t say anything. I place myself back to where I was earlier. The kitchen. I slice another piece of the stale bread, and expect it to fulfill my hunger, maybe recharge my anxiety to marrying a man I have zero interest in.

I chew quieter this time, as though I believe Rose will barge in again, and throw useless insults at me. The candle beside me gutters, as I stare at its guttering longer than I should. The way it moves with the wind of Blackstone Manor unsettles me more than it should.

The flame does not simply flicker; it inclines, bowing at an angle too deliberate to be accidental. The windows are latched, the air still, and yet the candle bends as though acknowledging a presence I cannot see.

I watch it longer than necessary.

The wax gathers at its base in a slow, viscous descent. It thickens before falling, clinging stubbornly to the ivory column before surrendering to gravity. For a fleeting, foolish moment, I think of my dream again. Of that dense, consuming red. And I feel my throat tighten in response.

I exhale through my nose and turn away from it.

‘You stare as though you expect it to speak.’

My father’s voice does not startle me; it rarely does. He has always possessed the peculiar ability to appear precisely when he intends to.

He stands just beyond the threshold of the kitchen, already dressed for the day in a dark coat cut to perfection. Not a crease dares disturb the line of him. His gloves, as always, are immaculate.

‘I was merely thinking,’ I reply.

‘Thinking is better done productively.’ He speaks. ‘Don’t eat that bread, dear, it’s been sitting there longer than your mother has been sick.’ He recalls, pointing his index to the food I had just consumed.

‘We don’t have anything else.’ I say in response, tightening my demeanour, and curling my eyebrows just enough for him to react more tense.

Silence seeps too quickly, like a knife that had just been sharpened to its finest edge.

‘Anyway, dear,’ he begins, ‘Victor is arriving shortly, and I want you to present yourself more exceptional. Your standards are in a desperate mess.’ He finishes. The words hit me just like Rose’s shitty insults that I was dreaded from hearing.

‘Yes, father.’ I reply, bowing my head, as I make my way to my bedroom on the third floor.

I take a candle that was placed on a chiffonier, and used the low, guttering, yellow gleam of the candle to lead myself.

The candle wax begins to drip slowly onto my skin. I shudder. Its heat burns, though it brings me warmth. This house always has a coldness to it that we can never fix no matter how much clothes we wear, no matter how much socks we stack over our feet. There were not many fireplaces here, the main one in the living room, which has always been my favourite area in the estate, as it is the most peaceful.

The candle’s wax made its way to my palm, which strangely seemed to burn more than when it fell on my wrist.

I finally made it up to my room, panting harshly.

I quickly attired myself, and completed my facial hygiene, yearning for the bags under my eyes to vanish, though, to my expectations, Instead, they stayed there and seemed to be even bigger and darker now. How come?

Fatigue.

I have been tired for far too long, the bags under my eyes were large. They were always that large and dark. Soon, I detect the sound of the main entrance opening. It is Victor. I quickly arrange my thoughts in position and shuffled myself down the large number of stairs, almost slipping due to my amount of speed, though, I knew father would be largely disappointed if I didn’t arrive to greet Victor on time. 

So, after the rush of galloping down the stairs, I made it to the entrance, where father was standing there before me, a harsh look swarming his visage. Shit. I once again disappointed father. Now I know I most definitely cannot go live with Victor. 

‘Good day, my dear.’ Victor says in a peaceful tone, as he lifted my palm, and kissed the top of my hand. I let him kiss me often, though he didn’t seem to notice I never shared my love to him. I don’t love him enough to be in a lasting relationship with him, though I had no choice. Father believes he is such a gentleman, though I do not see it.

He may kiss my hand, and bring me flowers, though behind all that flexing, angel personality, he is just like any other man. Though, maybe when we get married, and he lives here in Blackstone manor with me, my love for him will change or deepen.

Hopefully.

I do not want to live my future with a man that I don’t fully love with all my heart and passion.

‘Welcome,’ father begins, with a calm voice that seemed to make my skin crawl. ‘So pleasant to make your acquaintance

again.’ He finishes, ending his sentence in a wide smile that bothered me again. I barely ever see him smile. Or be kind.

‘I believe the pleasure is mine, Mr. Harcourt.’ He replies, with a smug look on his face.

‘Please, address me as Charles.’ Father replies.

All that time, I have been standing patiently beside them, longing for them to conclude their back-and-forth battles of tenderness.

Lillian, my youngest sister, and Julian, my only brother, stood beside father.

‘Lillian, Jullian! Be a generous Harcourt and deliver his baggage to the room upstairs.’ He yells.

Lillian and Julian comprehend, following his orders, their mouths still shut like a stitched doll.

‘It’s a pleasure seeing you, darling,’ Victor begins, though I do not utter anything in reply, as though I have a feeling he will say more. ‘Though, your undereye region looks very fatigued, are you sure you completed your rest?’ He says, in concern. No, actually. I feel like absolute shit, and no one has been here to comfort my hunger, nor my restless nights of crimson worries and battles with imaginary scenarios. My head is an absolute tangle of mess, and I need someone to comfort me with my uncomfortable clutters.

‘Yes,’ I begin. ‘I’m fine.’ I reply. As much as I didn’t mind lying, this time, I felt a rotten sentiment spreading in my stomach.

‘Very well.’ Victor replies with careless remorse.