🖋 The Midnight Ledger. The Hound of Blackthorn Manor

🖋 The Midnight Ledger

A Short Story from the World of 4EverMore, where the shadows hold more than just secrets - sometimes, they whisper back.. Location: Somewhere deep within the City of Eclipsora or The Red City depending on their mood. Immortal Storytellers: (Sonia Bloodthorn, Cordillera, Lysander, and Rook Nightwind).
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The room was dimly lit, the scent of parchment and candle wax thick in the air. Lysander leaned back in his chair, boots propped on the grand mahogany table, twirling a quill between his fingers. "Tonight," he announced, his voice carrying that deep, knowing charm, "I’m going to tell you about the greatest detective who ever lived - except you’ve never heard of him. Why? Because mortals weren’t allowed to know."

Rook, sitting across from him, smirked. "So, we’re just rewriting history now?"

"Oh, Rook, history is just a story told by those who won. And we?" Lysander gestured grandly. "We are the true keepers of untold tales. So, let me introduce you to - " He paused for effect, tapping the quill against his chin. " - Victor Harrow and his ever-faithful assistant, Jonathan Graves."

Cordillera floated lazily above, giving a dramatic sigh. "Let me guess, immortal detectives?"

Sonia chuckled, sipping her wine. "Oh, this should be good."

Lysander’s grin sharpened. "Oh, it’s better than good. You see, our dear Victor Harrow and Jonathan Graves were no ordinary detectives. They had spent centuries unraveling the greatest mysteries of both 4EverMore and the Outerworld. No crime too small, no villain too powerful. And yet, their strangest case... was the one they almost didn’t solve."

He leaned forward, lowering his voice. "This is the tale of The Hound of Blackthorn Manor."

The Hound of Blackthorn Manor

The rain fell in thick, heavy sheets, turning the cobbled streets into glistening rivers of silver and shadow. The gas lamps flickered in protest against the storm, their glow barely cutting through the gloom. It was the kind of night where secrets slithered through alleyways, and even the bravest souls quickened their pace.

Victor Harrow - tall, lean, and utterly unbothered by the mortal elements - strode through the downpour with a confidence that suggested the rain dared not touch him. His coat, midnight black and lined with enchanted silk, barely showed a sign of dampness. At his side, Jonathan Graves followed, less amused, shaking out his hat and muttering curses under his breath.

"Remind me again why we agreed to this particular case?" Graves grumbled, wiping rain from his spectacles.

Victor barely glanced at him. "Because the dead do not lie, Jonathan. And this particular ghost has been screaming."

Blackthorn Manor loomed ahead, its towering spires clawing at the storm-tossed sky. The estate had stood for centuries, a relic of old nobility - yet its halls were now filled with whispers of a monstrous beast, a hound born from darkness itself.

They were greeted at the entrance by Lady Eleanor Blackthorn, a woman whose presence was as commanding as the house she ruled. Dressed in deep crimson, her black-gloved hands were perfectly still at her sides - except for the faintest twitch of her fingers, betraying the tension she fought to hide.

"You received my letter," she stated, wasting no time with pleasantries.

Victor inclined his head. "A spectral hound, terrorizing your estate? Sounds almost charming."

Her eyes flashed. "It has killed three already."

Jonathan sighed. "Well, that’s significantly less charming."

Lady Eleanor turned, leading them inside, where the scent of old books and damp stone filled the air. "It is no ordinary beast. It is cursed. It appears only on storm-wracked nights, a creature of smoke and shadow. No weapon can touch it, no spell can banish it. And each time it comes... it claims another soul."

Victor’s fingers twitched at his side. "A hound that kills with no mortal tether?" His voice was softer now, thoughtful. "Then it is not merely a creature. It is a punishment."

Jonathan shot him a look. "Oh, splendid. Just once, I’d love for the culprit to be an actual dog."

Victor’s lips curled into the faintest smirk. "Where’s the fun in that?"

Lady Eleanor led them to the great hall, where a portrait loomed above the fireplace - a grim-faced man, his eyes dark pools of judgment. "My ancestor, Lord Edwin Blackthorn. The curse began with him," she admitted. "He betrayed a powerful fae lord centuries ago, breaking an oath that should never have been broken. The fae do not forget, nor do they forgive. This hound is their revenge. It will never stop."

Jonathan crossed his arms. "So, we’re dealing with vengeful fae magic. Fantastic. And here I was hoping for an easy night."

Victor’s gaze was locked on the painting. "The fae do not curse bloodlines for mere sport. They always offer an escape - a bargain." He turned to Lady Eleanor. "Tell me, has anyone in your family ever attempted to break this curse?"

She hesitated. "There was one. My brother, Ambrose. He sought the fae lord, hoping to make amends. He never returned."

Victor exhaled slowly. "Then we have our answer. The curse will not end until justice is repaid."

Just then, a low, guttural growl rumbled through the manor. The candles flickered. The shadows twisted unnaturally.

The hound had arrived.

Jonathan grabbed his cane, the silver handle pulsing with faint magical energy. "Right. Remind me again how we fight something that doesn’t technically exist?"

Victor merely smiled, rolling up his sleeves. "With wit, my dear Graves. And, if necessary... with a little bit of cheating."

Back at The Immortal Quill Studio...

Lysander leaned back with a satisfied smirk. "And that, my dear storytellers, was merely the beginning of the case."

Cordillera clapped. "Alright, I love Victor and Graves already. More, please."

Sonia chuckled, swirling her wine. "Lysander, you’ve outdone yourself. I’m invested."

Rook raised an eyebrow. "Are you actually going to finish the case, or are you just going to leave us hanging?"

Lysander grinned. "Oh, patience, my dear Rook. Mysteries must unfold at their own pace. But fear not - the hound of Blackthorn Manor will meet its end soon enough."

Sonia smirked. "And let me guess… it won’t be in any way the mortals would expect?"

Lysander winked. "Would we really be immortal detectives if it was?"