PROLOGUE

The night of the monstrous birth…

A painful scream ripped through the wall of Blackthorn Manor. So raw that no one will believe it was from a highborn woman in labor.

‘Where is he? Where is my husband?’ She snarled as she dug her fingers deeper into the soft cotton below her. The only thing that seemed soft about the night.

Just an hour ago, the Duke had promised to be by her side while she gave birth to their child, whom they had prayed and hoped for all these years.

He had kissed her hand at the dining table and assured her that everything would be fine.

Now he was gone. Vanished. And no one dared to tell her what the hell had happened to him.

Pain - worse than what the midwives had warned that she might experience - split through her spine like fire, and she wondered if that was how some women ended up being paralyzed during birth.

Oh no, she won’t. She had to fight through the pain and be alive for her baby.

She shut her eyes and whispered silent prayers to the Virgin Mother, completely blind to the fear and dangers that surrounded her, and the evil that lurked in every crack and corner of the manor.

The midwives stood in front of her with trembling hands and fear guiding their every step - making them stumble into each other at some point.

One of them stopped to stare at her belly and pointed feebly at the unusual movement over the duchess's tummy as she mumbled.

‘H-h-her b-belly’ her voice, though in a low whisper, echoed lightly through the already deserted walls of the manor, which was now lighted by the eerie shadows the blood moon that had appeared in the sky, towering over the manor cast in the house.

As if waiting to witness the birth of the monster.

Somehow, words had made rounds in the manor amongst every servant and soldier about the mysterious birth, and on the same night, the blood moon appeared after so many years.

It didn’t help that The Duke was also found dead not long after dinner in the store room, hanging from the rafters with his eyes popping out of his tiny head.

Everyone had silently disappeared. Each returned to his own home in the village and told twisted tales, even the queen, who was still mad at her loving husband, was oblivious to. Leaving the midwives and the lady in waiting to their miserable fate.

‘Help me,’ The duchess whispered in a raspy voice, ‘Please get it out of me.’ She sobbed weakly as her hands lay limp beside her.

Her lady-in-waiting moved closer to her and bent forward to touch her belly. The spot where her hands rested lit up in a bright orange light, and the midwives shrank back in fear and shock.

The servant stepped back and, in one command, ordered the midwives to cut through the duchess's abdomen.

‘But we can’t do that. She has to give birth natur-’ her words were cut short as a shadow appeared from the darkness and wrapped invisible hands around her neck and lifted her until she was hanging loosely in the air.

The second midwife got on her knees immediately and fumbled through her apron for her birthing knife. Her hands were trembling as she tried to cut smoothly through the duchess's abdomen, but the tears that blurred her eyes wouldn’t even let her do a perfect job.

She shut her eyes tightly as the blade sliced through the skin, and blood slowly gushed out.

The duchess was too weak to scream, but her body quaked with the pain tearing through her.

The young, inexperienced midwife turned to puke at the sight of so much blood as the womb finally lay opened in front of her.

A hand roughly grabbed her as she tried to get up, and when she raised her head, her eyes settled on the duchess, who was looking at her with a mixture of pain, fear, and…death.

‘Where is my husband?’ she asked as her hands tightened around her hands, and the midwife was not sure at that moment if the duchess was also possessed by whatever had taken over the manor.

She dared not lie to her, as she feared what might become her fate too.

‘Dead! He is dead’ she replied abruptly with wide eyes fixed with fear. She felt the hand around her arms loosen slowly, and a new wave of pain crossed the duchess’s eyes.

When the guttural scream escaped the duchess's throat a few seconds later, the midwife was not sure if it was from the news of her husband’s death or the gory sight of blood as the lady in waiting practically tore the baby from its mother’s womb without due process.

The duchess looked down at the woman who stood between her thighs with her child in her arms, as her voice died down and life slipped away from her body.

She could sense her death as much as she could now see the evil lurking in every corner of the room.

She stretched out her hand to her baby, even when she knew there was no point now. She couldn’t even make out the face of the woman carrying her child.

From where she lay bleeding out, she could only see the dark shape of a woman, with the blood moon behind her like a crown, casting its increasing brightness on her.

She had to do one thing. At least if she couldn’t hold her baby, she could name him or her.

‘Lucien,’ she whispered as a tear trickled down the corners of her eyes.

She and the duke had waited all those years for this very night, and they didn’t even get to see the face of their child or even hold it in their arms.

Lucien was definitely not the name she and her husband had hoped to name their son - as the priest prophesied - but it didn’t matter anymore.

With her last strength, she pulled the crystal from her neck and handed it over to the midwife, still crunched beside her in absolute fear.

‘Lucien,’ she whispered again.

A wolf howled in the distance, and the building came alive with ethereal cries of spirits and shadows, as the woman raised the baby - still covered in blood and an umbilical cord - up into the air.

It was the night that changed Blackthorn Manor.