Haus Of Holbein Novels & Stories

no doll have I ever made gave me the chills, except for this one – something isn’t quite right about him, and I can’t put my finger on it, and yet, part of me trusts him with her- Both are going to be a problem and a hazard to my life. I finally opened the bedroom door releasing the red mists that sealed the entire entry way, My attention turned to Henry who was leaning against the wall that was directly across the bedroom - Sulking like he was the one hurt. “You better not have touched my little sister!” I hissed jumping to my feet.

Then, with a deep, resonant click, the door began to creak open. Beyond the door lay a hidden chamber, its walls lined with shelves filled with ancient tomes and strange artifacts. The air was thick with an energy Emma could almost feel, as though the room itself were alive. At the center of the chamber stood a pedestal, atop which rested a large, leather-bound book. Its cover was embossed with the same interlocking triangles that had guided them this far. Crane approached the pedestal cautiously, his eyes scanning the room for any signs of danger. “This must be it,” he said, his voice tinged with awe. “The heart of Haverstone’s work.”

The festive colors only burned my eyes, sharp and unsettling. I drifted through the frozen courtyard and toward my father's study. He wasn't in his own room, though—he was next door, in Matthew's old quarters. Everything in the courtyard was kept just as Matthew had left it. Spotless. As if its owner had only stepped out for a moment and would be back any second. Father sat at the desk, holding one of Matthew's favorite possessions—a vintage fountain pen—polishing it with a white silk handkerchief. His movements were so gentle, so tender, like he was handling something priceless.