Harlotte Kodanis cannot help but realize that only when one confronts true terror does one discover the measure of one’s own courage. And now he stands perfectly still before the great wolf whose jaws still drip with fresh blood.
In his vision, the beast’s flesh is rotted away, wounds weeping foul-smelling gore, and half its skull is stripped bare of fur. All around them lie heaps of bodies and pools of blood; the stench of iron and decay assaults his nostrils, and the sour reek of putrefaction nearly turns his stomach.
I mustn’t break my resolve, he reminds himself. No matter what appears before me, I must endure. After all, no one can drive a madman madder than he already is.
Head Guard Ella blinks in surprise at his sudden arrival. In her memory, the young master has always been pampered, rarely straying beyond the castle’s walls—let alone venturing into the servants’ wing. Even during morning drills, he would avoid exertion whenever possible. Yet here he is, seeking her out.
Her concern deepens when she sees the bloodshot rings around his eyes—like the werewolf-rage she has witnessed in herself under a full moon. But if he were truly in that frenzy, he would be out of control. Instead, he sits before her with unnerving calm.
“Master, why have you come to me? Did someone dare harm you? Tell me if there’s anything amiss”
“I’m simply deciding whether—or not—to deal with her,” Harlotte replies.
Ella’s duty is absolute: to protect the young master at all costs. Should any harm befall him within these walls, she would answer to the castle’s laws—and suffer their penalties. Her offer is wholehearted, born of genuine worry.
But Harlotte can barely register her sincerity; her face is a blur, her words muffled by the rising chorus of dread that echoes in his mind.
“The full moon approaches,” he says. “I want to know if you still intend to leave the castle as before?”
In the original’s memory, Ella always found an excuse to vanish on moonlit nights. He must learn whether the rules she enforces will falter in her absence.
“Very well,” she answers. “The day after tomorrow, I will leave the castle for the hunt.”
She explains that the kitchen staff complain he’s eating too little, so she must procure game and rare ingredients to tempt his appetite. The head maid also urged her to secure more meat, given his current state.
Her words confirm his suspicions. He fights to still the horrifying visions and the swelling hymn that presses against his eardrums.
“But what if I face danger while you’re away?” he asks.
His question strikes at her sacred duty. His mother’s letter warned: you must protect his safety. He cannot summon more clever questions—his mind feels as though it might boil over.
“Fear not, Young Master. This castle is safe.” Ella’s gaze sharpens with sudden alarm.
“If I am gone, you must remember three things”
“First, no matter what, do not leave the castle”
“Second, until I return, do not venture out alone at night; stay in your chambers after dusk”
“Third, whatever strange occurrences befall the castle, do not act rashly—wait for my return to handle them”
“And if you still encounter unknown danger while obeying these rules, call out the butler’s name, and she will come at once to aid you”
Harlotte longs to smile, but cannot. Despite her omissions, these instructions bring him a measure of calm. He must return to his room before nine o’clock.
“Thank you, Head Guard. I feel unwell—will you escort me back to my chamber?”
Gazing at his half-eaten meal, Ella hesitates, then forces a gentle smile. She lifts the nearly six-foot nobleman onto her shoulder as effortlessly as if he were a straw doll, ignoring all curious stares.
She carries him through the winding corridors to his chamber and lays him upon his bed. Harlotte lies there, unable even to twitch a finger. His once-safe haven now feels alien, the room’s warmth twisted by his fevered mind.
He knows it is all an illusion, every sight and sound false—but his pounding skull will not let him sleep.
Half-conscious, he hears the door open and scents a heady fragrance, sharp against the rot that clogs his senses.