Winter 1690

Lady Mabel Theawicke paced the room like a cat possessed and fought to regain some control over her senses; all emotion apart from rage appeared to have abandoned her. Her killer leaned nonchalantly against one of the heavily ornate posts of the bed, his arms folded across his chest and a smirk fixed upon his handsome face.

“You cheated me! You promised to make me one of you!” she screamed at him.

“I promised nothing of the sort –- you cheated yourself!” His words were calm and confidently delivered.

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Labels: Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction, Weblit

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