Chapter 1

No man chooses evil, because it is evil; he only mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks.

Lyra's fingers traced the lines of the book in her hands. Its leather-bound cover was worn and faded with age. The scent of aged parchment and musty paper wafted from its pages. Mary Wollstonecraft had always been her favorite author, the one she always read with her late mother.

When she thought of her, she never could distinguish between the light she had been in life and the dark tragedy that had befallen her in her death, at an age when her little daughters needed her the most. She and her sister were left with a father who, although caring and ever-present, could never provide two little girls with the motherly influence they so desperately needed in their lives.

But that afternoon, not even the words of such a sharp mind could keep Lyra's mind away from the sprawling expanse of Magdal Park and the imposing silhouette of Kearney Manor that loomed sorrowfully in the distance. It had been an entire year since the tragic death of Arden Kearney, a somber event that had shaken the community to its core. It seemed that there were deaths scattered through her life that marred every couple of years with its dark presence. First, her mother, then, a young man who used to be a close family friend.

With a heavy sigh, Lyra closed her book, realizing that she would not be able to focus on anything other than the past. She allowed the previously read words to blur inside her mind, as she herself struggled to make sense of the turmoil that had engulfed the place she had called home. She wished she could call it an idyllic place.

Perhaps, in a way, it was. But idyllic places are always tainted, too beautiful to exist solely within the confines of light. She had always harbored a deep-seated suspicion that Barrow Downs was cursed, haunted by a darkness that could cause a person to go utterly mad.

Although Lyra had not seen it herself, she had heard the stories of Arden's lifeless body, discovered at the bottom of the stairs of Kearney Manor. One maid described how she had stumbled onto the body at the foot of the staircase, Arden's lifeless form sprawled unnaturally amidst the grandeur of the manor's entrance hall. She recounted the pallor of his skin, the stillness of his limbs, and the vacant stare of his unseeing eyes. Each detail of that description was etched into Lyra's memory with chilling clarity, as if she herself had found poor Arden's body.

Apparently, a few of the servants broke the silence by praying and silently singing somber hymns, almost as if to ward off evil spirits. But Lyra knew that it would take more than prayers and hymns. Much more.

Lyra leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, and her gaze fixed on the silhouette of Kearney Manor. The gentle rustle of leaves overhead mingled with the distant chirping of the birds.

The warmth of the sun and the beauty of the woods around her ought to help her feel blissfully at ease, but there was an undeniable sense of foreboding settling over her like a dark, heavy cloak. And the only way to take it off was to break the curse.

At that moment, she could swear that she could see a carriage in the distance settled in the courtyard of Magdal Park. She narrowed her gaze to see better, but it was too far away. Ever since Arden's death, the house loomed empty and alone, so seeing someone there now was curious. Perhaps some distant relative had come to assure that the house would not fall victim to disrepair and ruin?

"Lyra!" She suddenly heard a familiar voice call out to her. "Goodness me! Why are you sitting on the grass?"

Her younger sister, Charis, appeared as usual with effortless grace, her presence always commanding attention with every step she took. Unlike Lyra, who exuded a certain boyish charm with her slender body. She lacked the curves of a woman, while Charis was the epitome of femininity. Her beauty and charm drew admirers like moths to a flame.

"Because it is more comfortable than the bench?" Lyra replied playfully, getting up, but not releasing the book from her hands.

"I swear, you have the strangest ideas," Charis giggled, as her golden locks cascaded in loose waves around her shoulders. Her porcelain skin glowed with a soft radiance, accentuated by the delicate flush of her cheeks. Her emerald eyes only seemed to add to the otherworldly beauty that she exuded, drawing everyone to her.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Charis pointed out. "Are you reading scary books again?"

"It's not the book," Lyra clarified. "Look."

She gestured into the distance, and a moment later, Charis could see the same thing. There was indeed a carriage in the courtyard of Magdal Park.

"So?" Charis shrugged. She offered the same conclusion that Lyra reached. "It's probably some relative that came to take a look at the house and see if it is being tended to."

"I suppose you are right," Lyra conceded, although curiosity was eating her up alive. The house had been empty ever since Arden's death a year ago. Why didn't anyone come sooner?

"Now, admit that you ran away from everyone to hide away here and read your scary books," Charis teased. Instantly, Lyra was pulled back into the charming effortlessness of the present moment with her sister. She always knew how to save her from the thunderous storm of her own inner thoughts.

"This has always been my favorite place to read," Lyra said with a smile. Glancing at the weeping willow tree that sorrowfully lowered its branches downward, as if in a constant state of mourning for someone who would never return. Lyra knew that pain all too well.

"Well, no more reading, madame," Charis replied, playfully shaking her finger at Lyra. "Have you forgotten about the tea? We mustn't keep Uncle George and Aunt Mathilda waiting."

Lyra bit her lip. She had completely forgotten about their tea arrangement, and she was caught. That entire afternoon she found herself lost in the past, forgetting about the present moment and the present arrangements.

"You have forgotten all about it, you silly little thing," Charis teased. "You are fortunate that you haven't soiled you dress with the dirt you were sitting on, otherwise we'd have to get you changed and lose even more time."

Lyra shrugged. "I don't really care much for appearances, Charis. You know this."

"Well, you may not, but others do." Charis reminded her sister of a painful truth that Lyra knew she would never be able to escape.

"Ugh." Lyra rolled her eyes, heading slowly back to the house. "Let's just get going."

Charis rushed after, and half an hour later, the sisters were walking through the main street of their little town, Barrow Downs. Lyra knew that the contrast between them was apparent at first glance.

While Charis exuded an air of elegance and poise, Lyra always felt that she was walking in a more boyish manner, unapologetic to following her own rhythm, which was usually frowned upon. In fact, almost everything she did was frowned upon.

She had always sought beauty in places other than the human eye. She sought it in books, in art, in meaningful discussions, instead of in pears and gold, in shiny fabric and tinted lips and cheeks. However, although her own image seemed to lack the striking allure of Charis' charisma, Lyra still believed that she possessed something truly her own, a spark of mischief and curiosity that would lead her in the direction of her dreams.

Only, she feared that her own path might be a solitary one. The ton frowned upon women who preferred intellectual pursuits to social life, and that was why Charis had become considered as the one having a successful season, with the best prospects to marry, while Lyra's independence, strength and spirited determination seemed to be her downfall.

"Have you heard what Lizzie told Winnie?" Charis chirped with no end to her tales about people Lyra did not really care about, but she liked the sound of her sister's voice. And furthermore, she wanted to be drawn out of her shell, because her own shell was stuck in the past that afternoon, thinking about curses and old, forgotten memories that were best left buried.

"What did she say?" Lyra replied with a smile.

"Well, first, it was the way she said it…" Charis continued, as they made their way through the town.

Lyra could see how her sister's presence cast a spell over everyone they met. A few passing farm boys seemed to be mesmerized as Charis drew their admiring gazes to herself without the slightest intention of doing so. Just then, they reached the bustling village square, as the preparations for the upcoming summer fete were in full bloom.

"There is Uncle George!" Charis gestured at the man who seemed to be keeping everything and everyone under control.

The air was alive with the hum of activity as colorful banners fluttered in the gentle breeze, strung between lamp posts and draped across the facades of quaint cottages.

Tables and stalls were being placed with the utmost care, and the scent of freshly baked pastries mingled with the fragrant aroma of flowers adorning every corner of the square. Bouquets of vibrant blooms spilled from wooden crates, their petals riots of color and fragrance.

Children darted like little arrows in all directions, following their mother's skirts, their laughter echoing in anticipation of the festivities to come. In the center of it all, a stage was being erected, its wooden frame rising steadily to the very skies while the skilled craftsmen adjusted everything. Soon, everything would be ready.

"My, my, everything looks so wonderful, Uncle George!" Charis exclaimed loudly the moment they approached their uncle.

He turned to face them and as he did so, his face lit up. "Girls! You are just in time to witness the setting up for the summer fete! It promises to be the best one yet!" His excitement was contagious and both girls couldn't help but smile, as he spoke with a twinkle in his eyes.

"It certainly seems so, Uncle," Lyra replied, as their uncle continued to outline the schedule of the events to come. Lyra had to admit that this sort of distraction was exactly what she needed. A day immersed in the vibrant energy of the village square was what she needed to fill her with a sense of joy.

Then suddenly, their uncle's face turned grave. He hesitated for a moment, as if he wasn't certain whether it was the right thing to do to speak. A shadow crossed his features, following his voice. "I must share some surprising news," he told them. "The Beatty family has returned to Barrow Downs."

The sisters exchanged a startled glance, their brows furrowing in confusion. Patrick Beatty and his sister Alba, close friends of the family, had not set foot there since the tragic death of Arden. Lyra understood that reasoning for the very simple fact that Alba and Arden were madly in love with each other. Everyone could see that, even those who did not know them well saw it.

They had been courting for a while, and their wedding was imminent, although not set. Then tragedy struck. Patrick, thinking it was for the best, took his sister away, and Lyra believed that it would take a long time before either of them returned. However, it turned out that a single year was enough.

"How do you feel about that?" Charis turned to Lyra.

"About what?" Lyra pretended that she didn't care.

The truth was, a part of her did not. But that still didn't make the situation any less awkward, because she and Patrick also had history. They had been socializing for a short while, but Lyra could not see him as someone she could spend the rest of her life with. It felt fair to simply end everything on a pleasant note and allow Patrick to find someone who would love him, someone he would be happy with.

Although Lyra's reasoning was logical, she knew that the matters of the heart were very rarely logical. That was why she wasn't all that glad to stumble onto Patrick, but if he and his sister were there, she could not keep avoiding him on purpose.

"About Patrick, of course," Charis' voice brought her back to the present moment.

"Oh, that," Lyra shrugged indifferently. "That is a finished chapter of my life, Charis. You know that."

"I do," Charis nodded. "But maybe Patrick doesn't."

"If that turns out to be the case, I will be happy to explain things to him again," Lyra smiled.

She had nothing against Patrick. In fact, she wished him and his sister all the happiness in the world, but unfortunately, she could not be the one to partake in it. She had her own path to follow, and that did not include him. It was as simple as that.

"Well, enough of that," their uncle wrapped his arms around each of the girls, leading them away from the village square. "I think the workers can do without me for an hour. Mathilda and Fifi are waiting for us to have tea, anyway."

Charis smiled, obviously immediately forgetting Uncle George's revelation, but Lyra knew that there had to be a reason for the Beatty's return. Alba was heartbroken by what had happened. Why on earth would she willingly return to a place of such heartache after only a year? It didn't make any sense.

The trio headed back to Uncle George's home, with Charis chirping away as usual, but this time, Lyra could not focus on a single thing her sister was saying. The weight of her uncle's words hung heavily above her, like a dark, menacing cloud.

Although she tried to convince herself otherwise, she feared that the presence of Patrick and Alba Beatty might herald unforeseen challenges for them all, stirring the once slumbering curse of Barrow Downs once again.

"There will be plenty of time to talk in the morning," Lord Stockton said, already heading back to the house with his wife in his arms. He threw a quick glance behind him. "Boys, you and Lyra follow closely behind. We've had enough adventures for one night."

Half an hour later, the three children found themselves in the cozy confines of the drawing room. The children found solace from the events of the chilly night as they huddled together, wrapped up snuggly in warm blankets, seated on the plush rug before the crackling fireplace with a cup of warm tea in everyone's hand.

The glow of the flames flickered all around them, casting dancing shadows on the walls, and Christian could not help but remember Lady Stockton's moonlit dance at The Warren. And those words… he could not get them out of his mind.

None of the children dared to speak. After all, what could any of them say? The tense atmosphere was suddenly interrupted by the arrival of Lord William Kearney, Arden, and Christian's father. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the room, his presence commanding but at the same time, comforting, especially at a time such as that.

"Come boys," the man called out to his sons. "From what I've heard, I should have come for you sooner."

Christian wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that if he had come for them sooner, they wouldn't be there for Lyra, to comfort her and hold her hand. But once again, he held his tongue.

Both Arden and Christian got up, leaving their teacups on a nearby table.

"Bye, Lyra," Arden waved to their friend, heading in the direction of the door.

Christian rushed over to Lyra, taking her hand into his, the warmth of her touch a reassuring anchor for them both. Hoping that he would have enough time to do what he set out to do, he fumbled in his pocket, finally extracting his family's signet ring. Both he and his brother had one give to them for the special occasion of their tenth birthday, but unlike Arden, Christian did not like wearing his, and instead chose to keep it tucked away safely in his pocket.

"Lyra, I want you to have this," he spoke with his heart trembling like a frightened little bird in the hand of a human whose intentions it was not certain of.

"Your ring?" she echoed tenderly, as he curled her fingers to make a small nest of her hand for the ring she was to hold on to.

"Keep it close," he urged. "To remind you that no matter what happens, I will always be there for you. I will always protect you, Lyra. I promise."

Before she could respond anything to that, his father called out to him, and Christian ran back to his father. He could only hope that, in those tumultuous times, Lyra would find the strength she needed to overcome her fears.