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The memory of that night still sends shivers down my spine. It wasn’t a fleeting scare like a bad dream; it lingered, growing more intense with time, seeping into the very essence of the room and its furnishings, tainted by the specter’s presence.
The following day, I couldn’t bear to be alone even for a moment. I contemplated confiding in my father but hesitated for conflicting reasons. I feared he’d dismiss my tale as a joke or worse, think I’d fallen victim to the mysterious illness plaguing our neighborhood. Despite my own lack of fear regarding the illness, I didn’t want to alarm him, especially since he had been unwell lately.
I found solace in the company of Madame Penelope and the lively Mademoiselle Lafontaine. They sensed my unease and eventually coaxed the truth from me.
Mademoiselle Lafontaine laughed and said, “Oh, you’ve got a lively imagination, dear. Haunted walks and ghostly figures, it’s all in good fun, isn’t it?”
Madame Penelope’s expression turned serious. “These things can be unsettling. Dreams and fears have a way of creeping into reality.”
In a lighter moment, Mademoiselle Lafontaine teased about the supposedly haunted lime tree walk behind Victoria’s window. She said, “You know, Martin swears he’s seen a ghost there, twice before sunrise. But then, Martin can make a tale out of a shadow, can’t he?”
Madame Penelope shook her head. “Nonsense. It’s probably just the farmhands going about their early chores.”
I quickly cautioned against sharing such tales with Victoria, knowing her penchant for fear. “Let’s not add to anyone’s nighttime anxieties.”
When Victoria joined us later than usual, she looked visibly relieved to be among us. “I had the most dreadful night,” she confessed, her voice trembling slightly.
Madame Penelope leaned forward. “What happened, dear?”
Victoria recounted her experience. “I dreamt of something dark hovering over my bed. And when I woke up, I thought I saw a figure by the chimney, but my charm saved me. The moment I touched it, the figure vanished.”
We exchanged nervous glances, each of us harboring our own fears and suspicions, unsure of what was real and what was mere imagination.
“Well, listen to me,” I began, drawing Victoria closer as we sat in the cozy corner of the drawing room, the fire crackling nearby. I recounted my eerie experience from the previous night, noticing Victoria’s wide-eyed horror as I spoke.
“And did you have the charm with you?” she asked, her tone tinged with concern.
“No, it was in the china vase downstairs, but after your story, I’ll definitely keep it close tonight,” I replied, feeling a sense of unease creeping back.
As I reflect on that time now, it’s hard to fathom how I mustered the courage to spend another night alone in my room. I distinctly remember pinning the charm securely to my pillow, finding a strange comfort in its presence. Surprisingly, I drifted off to sleep almost instantly, enjoying a deeper slumber than usual.
The following night passed without incident, my sleep undisturbed by haunting dreams. However, upon waking, a lingering weariness and melancholy hung over me, though it was a melancholy that bordered on a strange sort of luxury.
“Well, I told you so,” remarked Victoria when I shared my peaceful night’s sleep. “I had a wonderfully restful night too; I kept the charm close to me this time. It’s all in our heads, you know. Our doctor explained that dreams are often just our bodies reacting to passing fevers or illnesses.”
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“And what do you think the charm actually does?” I inquired.
“It’s been treated with some medicinal substance, probably an antidote to airborne illnesses,” Victoria explained confidently. “It acts on our bodies, not on mystical spirits. These illnesses start by affecting our nerves, then our minds, but the charm wards them off before they can take hold.”
I wanted to believe Victoria’s rational explanation, but doubts lingered. For a few nights, I slept deeply, yet each morning brought the same weariness and a growing sense of being changed. Melancholy thoughts crept in, gently wrapping me in their embrace. It was a sadness tinged with a strange sweetness, a feeling I couldn’t resist.
Despite my inward changes, I refused to admit any ailment, keeping my feelings to myself and avoiding involving my father or calling for a doctor. Victoria, on the other hand, grew more devoted, her bouts of adoration becoming increasingly intense as my own energy waned. These displays of affection sometimes bordered on the edge of unsettling, like fleeting glimpses of a disturbed mind.
I found myself unwittingly descending into the grips of an illness unlike any mortal had endured. Initially, there was a strange allure in its early symptoms, almost making me welcome the disabling effects it brought. This allure intensified until it reached a tipping point, where a sense of horror began to seep in, gradually darkening and distorting every aspect of my life.
The first subtle change was rather intriguing. It was like standing on the brink before plunging into the abyss. Odd sensations crept into my sleep—a chilly thrill akin to swimming against a current. Dreams followed, so nebulous that recalling their details was futile. Yet, they left an eerie imprint, a feeling of exhaustive danger and mental strain.
After these dreams, fragments lingered—a dim place, unseen conversations, and a haunting female voice resonating with solemnity and dread. Sometimes, it felt like a gentle touch tracing my skin or warm lips on my neck, lingering lovingly yet unnervingly. My heart raced, breath hitched, and a sense of suffocation loomed, leading to unsettling convulsions and unconsciousness.
Three weeks had passed since this inexplicable state began, and its toll showed on my appearance—pale complexion, darkened eyes, and a growing weariness etched on my face. Despite my father’s concerns, I stubbornly insisted on my well-being, though deep down, I knew something was amiss.
My suffering seemed confined to the realms of imagination or nerves, keeping the full extent of my torment shielded within. It couldn’t be the dreaded ailment known as the oupire, which typically ended within days. Victoria, too, experienced unsettling dreams and feverish episodes, yet hers paled in comparison to the alarming nature of mine. If only I could grasp the gravity of my condition, I would have sought help desperately. But an insidious influence clouded my senses, numbing my perception of the impending danger.
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Let me recount a dream that unraveled an eerie discovery. One night, amidst the usual darkness, a voice—sweet yet chilling—pierced through, whispering, “Your mother warns you to beware of the assassin.” Simultaneously, a sudden light flooded the room, revealing Victoria standing by my bed, her white nightdress stained with a pool of blood from chin to feet.
Startled awake, I let out a scream, convinced Victoria was in mortal danger. Without a second thought, I leaped from my bed, rushing to the lobby, crying out for help. Madame and Mademoiselle emerged from their rooms in a panic, drawn by the commotion. The lobby’s lamp illuminated our distress, and they quickly grasped the cause.
Insisting on checking on Victoria, we pounded on her door, receiving no response. Our calls grew frantic, echoing through the silent hallway, but still, there was no answer. Fear surged as we realized the door was locked, leaving us feeling helpless.
Retreating to my room, we rang the bell urgently, hoping to summon aid. If only my father’s room had been closer, we would have sought his immediate assistance. Alas, he was too far away to hear our cries, and seeking him out seemed daunting in our state of dread.
Soon, the servants arrived, responding to our distress calls. We hastily donned dressing gowns and slippers, gathering our wits. Recognizing the urgency in our voices, the servants joined us as we ventured back to Victoria’s door, repeating our futile attempts to reach her.
Finally, I ordered the lock to be forced open. With a loud crash, the door gave way, and we stood in the threshold, our lights illuminating the empty room. We called out to Victoria, but silence greeted us. The room appeared undisturbed, frozen in the same state as when I bid her good night, yet Victoria was nowhere to be found.