A Penny Dreadful Style Tale
As the silvery disc of the moon ascended to its nocturnal throne, casting an ethereal glow over the cobblestones and ivy-clad walls of the academy, Miss Evilene Wraithsyde found herself drawn to the heart of the labyrinthine library. Its towering shelves, laden with tomes of forgotten lore and forbidden knowledge, seemed to beckon her with a spectral finger, as if entreating her to uncover the secrets that lay within their leather-bound breasts.
The air was thick with the dust of ages, and the scent of mildew clung to the air like a desperate spirit. As Evilene’s candle cast dancing shadows upon the walls, she could not shake the sensation that the very books themselves were regarding her with an air of ancient expectation.
With trepidation lacing each step, Evilene ventured deeper into the literary catacomb. It was here, amid the silence punctuated only by the distant tolling of the clock tower, that she chanced upon a volume most peculiar. Its cover, adorned with symbols arcane and inscrutable, seemed to pulse beneath her fingertips, as if it contained a heartbeat of its own.
As she opened the book, a gust of wind snuffed out her candle, plunging her into darkness. Yet the pages before her were illuminated by a phosphorescent gleam, casting a ghostly light in the gloom. The words within spoke of rituals and powers beyond the ken of mortals, of a founder whose soul had been twisted by the pursuit of immortality.
The founder, it was said, had made a pact with a force dark and eldritch, binding the spirits of those who perished within the school’s domain to its very foundation. These lost souls, the volume revealed, could be freed only by one who bore the mark of the ancients, a mark that Evilene felt burning upon her own flesh as the truth dawned upon her.
As the night deepened, Evilene heard the whispers grow louder, a cacophony of voices that pleaded for release, for salvation. The walls themselves seemed to shift and groan, as if the building was a living entity, pained by the centuries of sorrow it had absorbed.
With the book clutched close to her breast, Evilene resolved to confront the spectral forces that roamed the school’s hallowed halls. She would seek out the places where the veil was thinnest, where the echoes of the past were loudest, and there she would perform the rites that the ancient tome had described.
Her journey would take her to the abandoned wing of the school, where the shadows lay thickest and the fabric of reality was frayed and worn. It was there that the boundary between the living and the dead could be traversed, and where Evilene would find herself face-to-face with the tormented specters of The Hauntening.
With each step, she felt the pull of destiny tugging at her soul, leading her towards a fate that was inextricably linked with the dark history of the academy. The next chapter of her tale would be one of either redemption or ruin, and as the clock struck midnight, Evilene Wraithsyde crossed the threshold into the unknown, her heart aflutter with both fear and a grim determination.
Not. The. End.
MADD FICTIONAL 