By Vladimir Nabokov Novels & Stories

I turned to see Anya, one of the younger maids, standing frozen, her hands hovering over a pile of books she had just dropped. “Are you okay?” I asked. She nodded quickly. “Yes, Miss Isabella. I—I was just—” Her eyes flicked to something on the floor, and when I followed her gaze, I saw it. A small, leather-bound book. I bent down before she could react, picking it up. The cover was worn but elegant, and when I turned it over, I saw the name written in faded ink. Nadia Volkov. My heart stopped. I looked up at Anya, whose face had gone completely pale.

Taking everything in, the room was very spacious, it had one double bed in the far corner of the room, a desk, and a large rug in the center. ------ [Chapter quote: All silence is the recognition of a mystery- Vladimir Nabokov.]

Out of curiosity, she stood up and walked towards the closed door. ** Ichabod stood at the door, unable to enter. He was part human-part vampire, he couldn’t go in even if he tried to, he needed her permission. The maid had only checked to see who he was and she hadn’t asked him to come in, so he was waiting. Theoretically, vampires cannot enter a house unless the owner of the house or someone who had lived there for a long period of time, invites them in. This only applies to residential houses alone.