Romans & histoires Black House

I looked down the hallway and through the other side, and there was actually no one in sight. My heart hammered as I approached the large double office doors with D. BLACKWOOD engraved on the metal plate. I forced my trembling hand to knock. No answer. Great. I knocked again. Still nothing. Screw it. I pushed the door open— —and froze in place. Damian Blackwood sat behind his massive black desk. Sharp suit. Cuffed sleeves. Jaw tight enough to crack a diamond. He didn’t look up at me. Not even a glance. I opened my mouth to speak but was cut off by his deep voice.

The Black family estate sprawled across rolling hills like a living monument to time, love, and the enduring power of a single decision made in desperation. Sixty-two years after Emma Thompson had walked into Alexander Black’s towering office with nothing but courage and a worn handbag, the mansion had become a sanctuary where multiple generations gathered to celebrate life, share stories, and strengthen the bonds that had been forged in fire and passion.

He yelled loudly and fell, crashing the black pot along with him. The chief priest stopped halfway in his sacrifice when he heard the sound of the broken pot. He quickly ran to the backyard of the shrine where the black pot hung on a tree then he stopped. Split like crushed pieces of stones was the sacred black pot. He swayed his eyes and saw Ibekwe running away. He did not chase him because he knew it was a waste of time. He shook his head. He knew what had to be done. He went back to the shrine where Nwaka and Ezinne sat, holding the two sacrificial cocks.

The old lighthouse had been dark for years. Perched on the jagged edge of Widow’s Point, the Black Hollow Lighthouse had been abandoned since the night Keeper Alden Rowe vanished without a trace. No one had taken the position after that. Some said he’d fallen. Others whispered the sea had claimed him for a debt long unpaid. Mara didn’t believe in sea-debts. But she knew what she saw. Three flashes. Evenly spaced. Deliberate. The pattern repeated. Her little brother, Toby, burst into her room. “Did you see it?”

The king was focused to Chief Black at once. "We found this in hidden in the belongings of the crown princess, Your Majesty." Chief Black lifted his hand for everyone to see. I gasped and my throat ran dry when I saw what he was holding. It is a black little bottle with black lid. "And we found out that it indeed contains the deadly extract of the poisonous flower Lily of Morte." I felt like my whole world crumbled into ashes. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. It felt like doom was suddenly in front, standing right before me.

I don't think they have neighbors, the houses all look abandoned but just in case we need to make this quick, I don't want anyone calling the cops about fifty bikers in their neighborhood. I walk up the few steps to the house and narrow my eyes on the small holes in the wood that the windows are boarded up in. They are just small enough for someone to see out of from the inside. I walk the perimeter of the house and right before I get back to the door, I hear a shout of words coming from a familiar voice. "Austin, they have guns, get away from the door."

Or is this just another cage? ​He didn't answer. He just looked back out the window as we turned onto a private road that wound upward into the mist shrouded hills. ​Blackwood was nothing like the glass and steel penthouse. It was a sprawling, Gothic revival estate made of dark stone and ivy that looked like it had been clawed into the side of the mountain. It looked ancient, imposing, and deeply lonely. As the gates creaked shut behind us, I felt a strange shiver crawl down my spine. This wasn't a home, it was a monument to a legacy that had claimed too many lives already.

--- Blackwood Mansion – Morning After The house was still. Not still. Still like an attic with its door half-open, expecting the storm to blast its way in through the ceiling. Servants tiptoed. Doors shutting just quietly. No one ever screamed. And no one ever said Leya's name. Because what had happened last night — what every one of them had seen — had revealed something. Not just shame. Not just scandal. A gasp. And it was spreading. ---