Chapter 3 Chapter 2

The doctor shook her shoulders hard. Sierravalle sat bolt upright, gasping for air, one hand raised as if reaching for something only she could see.

She pressed a hand to her chest. “W-what happened, Doctor?”

“You were… making sounds,” he said, swallowing hard as he stood by her bedside. “You were groaning… and moaning.”

Sierravalle stared at him, her brow furrowed. Confusion swirled in her mind, followed by a hot flush of shame—had she truly done those things?

“What did you see, Miss Valdemorte?” Doctor La Monte asked.

“N-nothing, Doctor,” she lied. “Please leave. I need to rest.”

“But Miss Valdemorte—”

“I said leave! Do you not understand? I want to be alone!”

“Of course, Miss Valdemorte. I will remind your guardians to ensure you take your medication later,” he said quietly, before exiting the room.

Sierravalle reached for the glass of water on her nightstand and drank deeply. Her heart was still racing. She set the glass down and closed her eyes and instantly, the image of the man’s strong body filled her mind again.

Her eyes flew open. Her hand slipped, and the glass shattered, spilling water across the sheets. She stared at the damp spot, her hands trembling, then began scrubbing frantically at the wet fabric with the hem of her white camisole.

Just then, the door creaked open. A guardian rushed forward the moment they saw what she was doing.

“Senyorita, stop! That is not a rag it is your clothes!” The guardian tried to pull her hands away, but Sierravalle fought back. “Senyorita, please, stop!”

Sierravalle shoved the matron away, her face twisted with anger. She kept scrubbing, harder and harder, until her movements became violent and desperate.

The guardian stared at her, tears welling in their eyes, then hurried out to fetch help. Moments later, they returned with the housekeeper. They both froze in the doorway, staring at Sierravalle who lay curled on the bed, her back turned to them.

“I thought you said she was panicking?” the matron whispered, confused.

“She was… just a moment ago,” the other replied.

“Let us leave her be before she wakes,” the matron said, and the two stepped back out.

Sierravalle had heard every word. As soon as the door clicked shut, she sat up, turned to look toward the entrance, and waited.

When she was certain they were gone, she slipped quietly from the bed and crept to the door. She peered out—only to see the guardians standing guard right outside. Disappointment flooded her.

“Senyorita Valle!” the guardian called out the moment they spotted her.

“I want food. Prepare something for me at once,” she ordered. “And be quick! Do not keep me waiting!”

The maids scrambled to obey. As soon as they were gone, a wicked smile curved her lips. Her plan to escape, to return to the forest, was already taking shape.

She was consumed by curiosity about the strange, new feelings this man had awakened in her. It was as if he had cast a spell over her thoughts. That was why she was so determined to unravel his secrets—why she needed to uncover the truth behind his mystery.

But was he even real?

“SENYORITA Valle! Where are you?”

Sierravalle glanced back toward the sound of her matrons’ voices—they were close now, accompanied by armed guards.

The forest remained dim and shadowed, and the sky threatened rain. But Sierravalle ignored it all. She barely felt the branches brushing past her as she ran.

She was almost at the spot where she had first seen the mysterious man. She burned to find him again; she could almost feel his presence pulling her forward.

She stood at the heart of the forest, turning slowly, scanning the trees but he was nowhere to be seen.

Then the rain broke, pouring down in sheets.

“Senyorita Sierravalle!”

“Senyorita!”

Her pursuers were drawing nearer. She ran again. Her thin camisole clung to her skin, soaked through, leaving little to the imagination. Her heavy skirts dragged through the mud.

Her breath came in ragged gasps. Her legs burned and grew numb. She stumbled over a pile of dead leaves, her chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath.

When she finally looked up, she saw it: an old, abandoned mansion, its gates rusted shut and marked with peeling letters: PRIVATE PROPERTY – NO TRESPASSING. Desperate to escape, she pushed her way through.

Inside, darkness swallowed her. The only sounds were the flutter of bats and the echo of her own footsteps. She stood frozen in the foyer, blinking to adjust her eyes. A dusty chandelier hung crookedly from the ceiling, and the grand staircase was streaked with rust.

“Did you not read the sign outside?!”

The voice boomed, echoing off the stone walls. Sierravalle jumped, she had no idea where it came from.

She spun around, scanning the room wildly. She knew it was him. It had to be.

“Mmm…”

“Who are you? Show yourself!” she shouted. “I am not afraid!”

There was no answer. The voice did not come again, and no one stepped from the shadows.

Then she heard it: a rhythmic thudding, coming from the far side of the house. Without hesitation, she followed the sound. She stepped into a side room and froze.

An old man stood over a rough wooden table. His feet were bare and caked in mud; his frame was hunched, his long hair snow-white. He hacked violently at something on the table.

“Excuse me… may I ask you something?” Sierravalle asked softly.

The old man stopped. He lowered the machete in his hands.

He turned slowly toward her. “What do you want?” he asked.

Sierravalle felt as though her soul had left her body. She collapsed to the floor, screaming in terror.

The old man was terrifying to behold. His face was twisted and scarred beyond recognition, and his tattered clothes were stiff with dried blood.

Her gaze darted to the table beside him. Great slabs of raw meat lay there, glistening and she knew instantly why his clothes were stained red.

Trembling from head to toe, Sierravalle tried to stand, tried to run but her legs would not obey.

“Well? What is it you want to ask?” the old man said, stepping closer.

Sierravalle’s mouth would not open. Her lips quivered, and her eyes fixed on the blood on his clothes until she squeezed them shut and curled into herself on the floor.

Even with her eyes closed, she felt it: strong arms wrapping gently around her, lifting her up. And for a moment, she felt as though she were being rocked, safe and warm.

"Valle, wake up!" He shouted.

As the voice whispered in her ear, Sierravalle woke up from fainting. She sat up suddenly and looked around. She found herself in a dim room.