Letter Of Invitation (I)

"Run, Evie—run!" Her mother's cries came out in ragged breaths, mingled with sheer hopelessness. But the rogues had already arrived at their door.

A fist slammed against the fragile wooden door with a deafening crack. The hinges groaned as dust cascaded from the trembling ceiling, due to the inhuman impact.

Evie remained frozen at the corner of the room where they both hid, her small hands trembling at her sides as her little brain tried to comprehend the horror unravelling around her.

The screams of dying people, the sickening stench of blood, and the inevitable whispers of death, laced the night air. And the rogues responsible for this chaos—were right at their door.

"You have to hide, honey. They are here to k-kill us all. They will s-stop at nothing till the last of us are d-dead," her mother's desperate whisper was accompanied by horror-stricken tears.

"B-but, Mama. I-I don't want to leave you," little Evie choked out. Scared, her tiny fingers helplessly clutched her mother's sleeves.

CRACK!

Another thunderous hit resonated, sending splinters of wood flying. A considerable part of the door had been shredded, almost giving the rogue complete access to their home.

"No, listen to me, my love. You have to hide, okay?"

"But m-mama—" Evie's words were intercepted by the loving kiss her mother placed on her head before she was fitted by her mother through a deep dent in the wall—one that could only accommodate her tiny body.

"I love you, Evie," were the last bittersweet words she heard her mother utter before the dent was concealed by a wooden panel.

Right then, the front door shattered. From a tiny hole, Evie was forced to watch three terrifying figures saunter in—and all it took was one heavy slash, ruthlessly driving the blade straight through her mother's chest.

"Mama! No!" she screamed in horror, right before the gruesome scene dissipated from her view.

Evie shot out of bed with a series of gasps. Her eyes flew open in a frenzied manner.

Frantically, her gaze rummaged through her surroundings, realising it wasn't the four-walled cottage covered in abyssal darkness and lurking danger; it was her room.

She sighed in relief.

It was a nightmare, Evie realised. It was the same dream, the same pain, which had been endlessly recurring.

The screams, the rogues, her mother's helpless eyes—they all felt too familiar. And with every recurrence of her nightmare, it felt like her days were drawing closer to something unfavourable—something problematic.

Sweat had clung to her like a shroud, soiling her lilac quilt. She took deep breaths, attempting to calm her noisy heartbeat. Evie wiped off all traces of sweat and a streak of tears on her face.

"Mother is gone. Crying won't bring her back," Evie whispered softly.

Her hand reached out for the butterfly pendant necklace that had constantly graced her neck for years—a gift given to her by her mum, an object linked to her nightmares.

"It will be alright, won't it?" she asked herself uncertainly, tracing her fingers against the cold metal.

Evie's mind was still recovering from the horrifying aftermath of her nightmare when the door of her room flew open in a frenzy. The loud creak caused her to flinch.

Right through the door was Aunt Maurice, who sauntered in. Clad in a blue apron, her blonde hair was tied into a bun. Her hands impatiently rested on her hips, while her eyes sharply looked down at Evie in thinly veiled disapproval.

"G-good morning, Aunt Maurice," Evie awkwardly greeted, taken aback by her aunt's sudden entrance.

The woman heaved, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I wonder what could be good about the morning, when all my niece does is lie in bed all day, daydreaming of a lover whom she would never come close to finding."

Evie's nails nervously dug into her quilt at her aunt's harsh retort. "I had a nightmare, Aunt Maurice," she tried to explain, earning a snort from her.

"Why am I not surprised, Evie? With all the bizarre books borrowed from the town library, how could they not feed into your delusions?" her aunt replied, with obvious disinterest in her nightmare.

"It was about Mum," she revealed, unable to conceal the emotion contorting her features.

"Seriously, Evie, your mother passed away over a decade ago. How could you still possibly have nightmares about her?" Aunt Maurice denoted with a lack of empathy. "Maybe if you spent less time sulking and instead searched for a job, you would have less time to worry about a woman whose bones have evidently withered into nothingness."

Evie's heart clenched, swiftly replaced by a poker expression.

She pursed her lips in subtle defiance. This had consistently been her usual wake-up call. Aunt Maurice's words were like alarm bells—never ceasing to wake her up.

"I will get a job," she murmured determinedly. Her words didn't go unheard by her aunt.

"When exactly, Evie? For all I know, you've consistently thrown away every opportunity you've had to grasp a suitable job."

She spat on, "Look at how you wilfully declined Lady Isolde's offer to work as a lady-in-waiting in her manor."

Lady Isolde Danbury was a lovely, kind old soul, different from the rest of the haughty elites residing in Valeria. But then, there was her husband—Lord Danbury—whose brown set of teeth constantly grinned lewdly at Evie. He had attempted to force himself on her on two occasions, an ordeal she dared not voice aloud.

She could never afford to compromise her safety and security, despite how befitting the job might have seemed.

"I will get a better job," she affirmed.

"Are you perhaps hoping for the title of a duke?" her aunt remarked sarcastically, eliciting a frown from Evie.

"I'm not," she mumbled. She wanted something simple and uncompromising, yet promising.

"Make sure you're out of bed. I don't want to find you all sprawled out when I'm back here. There are items on the porch that you have to deliver to Mister Rogers by noon," instructed Aunt Maurice. "And fix your hair, Evie. For heaven's sake, you look like you crawled out of a bird's nest."

"Nothing ever goes right in this house," complained her aunt, her receding steps echoing before the door was shut.

With a sigh, Evie got out of bed, reaching for the windows and letting the sun's rays gracefully filter into the room.

"Will she ever change?" she mumbled. "Aunt Maurice's favourite thing to do must be badmouthing others," whispered Evie with a frown. "Just endure until you find a job, Evie. You'll be free."

Her aunt never liked her—that she knew. Ever since she had been brought by her uncle into the Fletchers' home after her mother's demise, the woman had gazed at her unwelcomingly and unkindly, and so it mirrored in her actions and words.

Evie strode towards the mirror. Her eyes were greeted by a tangled web of her scarlet curly locks of hair cascading down to her waist. She picked up a brush, neatly brushing her morning hair to settle into a fitted pattern.

Evie's voluminous red hair had always attracted unwanted attention wherever she went, and the fact that it couldn't be concealed with a scarf or head tie was even more problematic.

She reached for her quilt and dirty clothing, ready to take them for a wash, when a knock suddenly erupted on the front door.

"Who could it be?" she internalised. "Strange, this early in the morning?"

Visitors were rare during mornings, and it couldn't be Uncle Thomas, as he had left with her cousin Simon for work before the sun rose.

She set aside the clothes and headed for the door. Opening the front door, Evie was unexpectedly greeted by the sight of a gentleman. Considering the vast letters he held, she deemed him to be a mailman.

"Miss Willows, are you?" he asked precisely. Nodding affirmatively, he handed a letter to Evie, triggering her curiosity.

Shutting the door closed, her eyes scrutinised the brown sealed parchment, countless thoughts running through her mind.

A letter?

Who had deemed her so important as to personally send her a letter?

A thought clicked within her. Could it be one of those jobs she had applied for several months ago—which she had lost faith in ever securing?

Hastily, she tore off the unknown seal that seemed too regal to be from a mere source. Her eyes flew to the page to read its content, and in that moment, Evie froze, disbelief writhing through her.

It was a job offer!

Not just any kind of job offer—but one where she had been explicitly offered to serve in the very manor of the lord.

The sovereign lord of Valeria.