[DISCLAIMER: All the characters in this work of fiction are meant to be over the age of 18. In no way, shape, or form have I, as the writer, wanted to imply that any character who indulges in sexual activities, or any other activities that are prohibited for people below the legal age, in this chapter, or the subsequent chapters, is underage.]
THE WOLVEN MANOR
Chapter I: Anabelle
As the sun was slowly slumping behind the treeline, young Anabelle was sitting in the garden of her family manor and sipping a special herbal tea that had been prepared by none other than her mother. The girl felt at ease, and the only thing that bothered her still at the moment, was the immutable fact that night was steadily coming. She used to love the watches of the night, but not anymore. Not since strange beasts had begun to feel audacious enough to venture close to the manor, howling at the moon from the nearby thickets and frightening the manor's residents with their presence alone.
By that time, the noble miss had already grown used to spending summers in the countryside, but his year was different from the others, and not in a better way. Her previous visits to the estate usually didn't last longer than just a couple of months. This time, however, she had already spent four whole months inside these confines, and what's worse, she didn't even know how much longer she would have to endure this dull isolation. It depended on her father, one of the more revered aristocrats of the nation, who had left the country to attend a meeting overseas, and while he was away, his family, Anabelle, her mother and brother, were expected to stay within the manor's premises with their servants, and wait for his imminent return. Needless to say, the girl, along with her mother and beloved sibling, was yet to see the master of the house come back.
Truth be told, Anabelle had lost count of how many days and nights had passed since her father left in his carriage. Days dragged into weeks, weeks into months, and months into what felt like an eternity. Nobody knew when the patriarch would be back, and the vocal minority of housemaids were beginning to whisper among each other that his return might not take place until the following year. This prospect horrified his daughter more than anything. She was nearly at her limit now, and if she had to spend one more month, or even one more week here, she would surely go out of her mind. At least, it was most certain that her father was alive and well, judging by the letters he had been sending to them on a monthly basis. His last letter had only arrived the day before, once again stating that he was fully committed to staying abroad for as long as it was necessary and that, once again, he was sorry to have left his family behind for so long. Or so her mother assured everyone in the household. Knowing her father, the girl suspected the actual contents of the letter to be far less elaborate and remorseful.
If only there were equipages or other means of transport to leave by, Anabelle would have immediately hired one of those to take her to the nearest city or town, where she could partake in anything other than reading or taking long and painfully boring promenades around the courtyard. As it stood, however, there were no such luxuries, and the only way to leave this place was on foot, for there was not a single horse, or even a stinking donkey for that matter, to be found in the extensive stables of the estate. Going on foot was not a viable option, as that would mean travelling through thick, dangerous forests and close to the Godforsaken mountains, the very places where the howling beasts lurked, waiting for naïve wanderers to feast on. Besides, Anabelle didn't want to upset her mother even more than she already had with her persistent mood swings and continuous whining. The daughter might have felt wretched about living the life of a canary, but she could only imagine how much worse her mother's ordeal was, having to stay here, stranded in the middle of nowhere, and watch her children and servants alike for months on end, instead of attending to her social duties in the capital.
Despite her mature age, Eleanor was a truly beautiful woman, to say the least. It felt like she belonged to a different world, a one where the flow of time had no power over her, since she still looked like a maiden in the bloom of her youth. Anabelle greatly resembled her mother, but the girl was quite certain that any man would agree that Eleanor's beauty was superior to her own. Her mother's beauty was greater than that of a rose, a swan or any other wonder of nature. Her splendour was virtually unreal, and that alone was enough to make anyone who gazed upon her feel a great sense of awe. No matter how young or old, wealthy or poor, every man, and perhaps some women, would feel their hearts skip a beat at the sight of her appeal that was only perfected by her refined and elegant demeanour. Nevertheless, no matter how much affection any suitor showed to her, they could never have the emeralds of her eyes and the flame of her intricately braided hair to themselves. No matter how much they tried to seduce the famed dame into a night of passion, she would never give up the precious gift, that was her body and mind, to anyone but her beloved husband. Anabelle wished to grow into a woman as lovely and gracious as her mother one day. Just like her twin brother Daniel, she already had her mother's eyes, but otherwise she was still an ugly duckling in every other regard, no matter how much praise she had received during balls and other highborn gatherings.
At some point, leaves had turned from green to all shades of yellow, orange and red, and the once barren ground had slowly turned into a carpet of fallen leafage. Autumn had always been Anabelle's favourite season, and she hated to greet it with nothing but complaints absconding her lips. The rustling of foliage was like a soothing lullaby to her ears, and the bright colours that decorated the trees and ground around her were reminiscent of the many romantic fairy tales she had read in her copious free time. The reality diverted rather drastically from those blithesome fictional stories, for it had been during the onset of the fall when the bestial howls had been first heard throughout the countryside. No one had paid attention to them at first, toning them down to a side result of seasonal migration of wolves or other lousy varmints, but with each passing night the ominous sounds had only become ever so louder, to the point when they could no longer be so easily ignored.
Anabelle finished her cup of tea and leaned back in her chair with a deep sigh of contentment. The warmth of the beverage lingered in her chest and was beginning to spread throughout her body, chasing away the chills that had settled in her bones. Evenings had become significantly colder ever since the howls had first been heard, and her mother's old shawl could barely keep the girl warm anymore. The golden rim of the sun nearly sank past the horizon at this point, and darkness would soon claim the land. Hopefully, the soporific tea would take effect before the nightly howling started. It was impossible to fall asleep with the anguished cries echoing throughout the countryside, especially since they had grown louder and closer to the estate over the past few weeks.
The girl sighed again, in resignation this time, and pulled the shawl tighter around her petite frame. She missed the capital and all the wonderful things that came with it, like evening dances and her peers. There was nothing for her to do here except read and daydream, and despite how much she adored reading and fantasizing, she needed people to commune with every now and then. Sure enough, besides her mother and brother, there were maids she could converse with, but, except Sophie, they were all considerably older than her and not particularly loquacious whenever the girl was around. They only saw her as their future mistress, not a fellow human being or - God forbid! - a friend. Even Sophie had that mindset, even though Anabelle had gone out of her way to befriend the youngest of the maids. However, despite her taciturn conduct and undeniable subservience to her betters, Sophie was probably the closest person she had to a friend among the servants.
At least the young lady still had her brother by her side. Naturally, she would have preferred it if he was somewhat more garrulous, not to mention manful, but she didn't mind him all that much. She loved Daniel for who he was. Kind and gentle to a fault, a sincerely good man, and the future heir to their father as the head of the family, although Anabelle couldn't really see him filling those big shoes, not with the backbone of his, or rather the lack thereof. No matter what, he would always be her little brother, even if they were twins. The siblings looked practically identical, and that said a lot about Daniel's appearance. They shared their father's blonde hair and mother's green eyes, as well as her soft features and pale complexion. When they were but small children, people used to mistake the two of them for sisters all the time, much to the boy's embarrassment. With time, as they grew older, the differences between them had become more apparent, and people soon stopped confusing him for a girl, though his meek personality still caused many to believe that he was secretly a lady in pants.
Finally, the herbs began to work their magic on Anabelle, and she felt weariness sweep over her. She was positively astounded that such a simple drink could make her drowsy, but then again, the recipe for this tea was one of the closely guarded secrets of her mother's family line, handed down through countless generations from mother to daughter. If anyone in the world could perform miracles, it was her. Eleanor even cultivated and handpicked the herbs herself, to ensure their overall potency. Some of them grew in the manor's garden and greenhouse, while the others had to be harvested in the wild, deep in the woods surrounding the estate. Surely, Anabelle's grandmother and the women before her had to be real witches to know that ordinary plants could have such powerful influences on the human body. As the future secret keeper, the girl was destined to inherit this knowledge, but for now, she would have to settle for being a passive recipient of their wisdom.
Basking in the warm comfort of her drink, the young noble took the liberty of yawning without covering her mouth, an unacceptable behaviour for a miss of her upbringing. Her mother would have been most displeased with such an indecorous display, but fortunately, Eleanor was inside the mansion, either seeing to her duties as the lady of the house or indulging in one of her favourite avocations, be it the music, her needlework, or one of the many books in the library. Anabelle had to go inside as well, for it was getting chilly in the garden. Breathing in the fresh evening air, she stood up and, nearly tripping over the folds of her dress, hurried back.
Anabelle's bedchamber was on the ground floor, unlike her mother's and brother's, whose chambers were a floor above. For some reason, the prospect of surmounting the stairs every time she wanted to slumber had never quite appealed to her, so ever since her first summer at the manor, she had been sharing the floor with her servants rather than her family. But this closeness to the handmaidens didn't help much to win their favour. As she made her way through cosily furnished hallways, their walls generously adorned with paintings and portraits of her father's aristocratic relatives, the blonde ran into a pair of maids with fresh bedsheets in their hands. The household was preparing for yet another sleepless night. The women bowed their heads in humble deference as they approached their mistress's daughter, who offered them a tired smile in return.
"Good evening, milady," they greeted her in unison.
