When we settled in the drawing room, sipping our coffee and chocolate—Victoria abstaining, yet seeming back to her usual self—Madame and Mademoiselle De Lafontaine joined us for a small card game. Papa later joined, calling it his “dish of tea.”

After the game, he sat beside Victoria on the sofa, a hint of concern in his voice as he asked if she had heard from her mother since arriving. “No,” she replied. He pressed further, inquiring about a reliable way to reach her mother. “I can’t say,” she replied vaguely. “But I’ve been considering leaving. You’ve been incredibly hospitable and kind. I’ve caused you a lot of trouble, and I’d like to take a carriage tomorrow to search for her. I know where she’ll be, but I can’t tell you yet.”

“You can’t entertain such a thought,” my father exclaimed, to my immense relief. “We can’t bear to lose you, and I won’t agree to you leaving unless your mother instructs it. I’d feel much better if you heard from her. Tonight, news about the mysterious illness in our area has gotten worse. Without guidance from your mother, I feel the weight of responsibility. But I’ll do my best. You mustn’t leave unless she explicitly directs it. We’d be devastated to see you go without her say so.”

“Thank you, sir, a thousand times for your hospitality,” Victoria replied, blushing slightly. “You’ve all been so kind to me. I’ve rarely been happier than I have been in your beautiful chateau, under your care, and in your daughter’s company.” He gallantly kissed her hand in his old-fashioned manner, visibly pleased by her words.

As usual, I accompanied Victoria to her room, chatting with her as she prepared for bed. “Do you think,” I asked after a while, “that you’ll ever fully confide in me?”

She turned toward me, a smile lingering on her lips, but she remained silent, her eyes speaking volumes.

“You won’t tell me?” I prodded gently. “It’s alright if you can’t, or don’t want to.”

“You were right to ask, about anything,” she replied softly. “You have no idea how important you are to me, how much I value your trust. But I’m bound by vows, like a nun under strict rule, and I can’t reveal my story yet, not even to you. The time is coming when I’ll share everything. You might think me selfish, even cruel, but love tends to be that way—the stronger, the more self-centered. You must either come with me, loving me till death, or hate me and still be by my side, hating me even in death and beyond. Indifference has no place in my nature.”

“Victoria, you’re starting with your whimsical talk again,” I interjected quickly.

“Not today, not for you,” she replied, a hint of playfulness in her tone. “I’ll speak like a sage for your sake. Have you ever been to a ball?”

“No, but you’re jumping topics. What’s a ball like? It must be wonderful.”

“It’s been ages,” she mused. “I almost forget.”

“You’re not that old. Your first ball should still be fresh in your memory.”

“I remember it all, with effort,” she explained. “It’s like seeing through water—clear but distorted. Something happened that night, something that blurred the picture and dimmed its colors. I was nearly killed in my bed, wounded here,” she touched her chest, “and I’ve never been the same since.”

“Did you almost die?”

“Very nearly. A strange, cruel love—it demanded my life. Love has its costs. Sacrifice isn’t real without pain. Let’s sleep now; I feel so lazy. How can I muster the energy to get up and lock my door?”

She lay there, her hands tangled in her hair, a shy smile playing on her lips, watching me with glittering eyes that held a mystery I couldn’t quite grasp.

I wished her good night and left her room with an uneasy feeling gnawing at me. I often pondered whether our charming guest ever said her prayers. I had never witnessed her kneeling in prayer. In the mornings, she didn’t appear until long after our family prayers, and in the evenings, she remained in the drawing room while we gathered for our brief evening prayers in the hall. If she hadn’t mentioned in passing that she had been baptized, I might have doubted her Christianity altogether. Religion was a topic she never broached, a silence that struck me as odd. If I had been more worldly-wise, perhaps her disregard or aversion to religion wouldn’t have surprised me as much.

The precautions of anxious minds are contagious, and those of similar temperaments tend to adopt them over time. I had taken to Victoria’s habit of locking her bedroom door, swayed by her whimsical fears of nighttime intruders and lurking threats. I also followed her routine of briefly scanning her room, ensuring no hidden assailants or burglars were “ensconced” there.

With these precautions in place, I settled into bed and drifted off to sleep. A lamp glowed softly in my room—an old habit I couldn’t bring myself to abandon. It provided a sense of security, allowing me to rest peacefully. However, dreams disregard barriers; they pierce through walls, brighten dark corners, or darken well-lit spaces, and their actors enter and exit as they please, mocking even the most secure locks.

That night, I had a dream that marked the beginning of a peculiar torment. It wasn’t quite a nightmare, as I was aware of being asleep, yet I felt just as present in my room, lying in bed as I was in reality. I saw—or imagined I saw—the room and its furnishings just as they were, albeit in near darkness. A figure moved around the foot of my bed, initially indistinct but gradually taking the form of a soot-black creature resembling a monstrous cat. It seemed about four or five feet long, matching the length of the hearthrug as it prowled back and forth with an eerie restlessness. Although I wanted to scream, fear had rendered me voiceless. Its movements grew swifter as the room darkened further until only its eyes were visible.

Suddenly, the creature leaped onto the bed, its eyes glaring at me, and I felt a sharp, piercing pain as if two large needles had plunged into my chest. I jolted awake with a scream, greeted by the comforting glow of the candle burning throughout the night. To my horror, a female figure stood at the foot of my bed, shrouded in a dark gown with her hair cascading over her shoulders. She remained unnaturally still, like a statue, and as I stared, she seemed to shift position, eventually disappearing through the door.

Relieved but still shaken, I checked my locked door, fearing that Victoria had played a prank and I had forgotten to secure it. To my relief—or perhaps heightened fear—it was still locked from the inside. I buried myself under the covers, too terrified to move until morning, my mind racing with unanswered questions and lingering dread.