Anita found herself once again in the dimly lit room within Harrow Hall for a third time. Only now, the room was in disrepair. The wallpaper peeled away in places, and cobwebs hung from the corners, adding to the eerie atmosphere.

Instead of the two children or the pregnant maid in the chair, a young man in his 20s with bright red curly hair and freckles languished drowsily in the huge chair. He seemed to drift in and out of sleep as if he had been drugged.

Anita’s attention was drawn to a teenage boy of sixteen or seventeen standing near a seat at the table, his face etched with a look of terror. Vance! His grandmother Hyacinth sat across the table from where he stood.

“Roll the dice, Victor,” Hyacinth ordered, her voice cold and unyielding, ringing out over the chanting that was echoing through the room. It rose and fell, disembodied, as if replaying voices through dead centuries.

Victor shook his head, stepping back from the table. “I can’t,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I don’t want to.”

The dolls’ eyes glowed in the dim light, and the ghost of Victoria Harrow materialized beside Hyacinth. Victoria’s presence was both ethereal and terrifying, her translucent form radiating a cold, supernatural energy. Her visage wavered between different ages, all melding into one and staying unique at the same time.

“You must,” Victoria said, her voice echoing with a ghostly resonance. “The ritual cannot be stopped. The Harrow will not allow it.”

Vance’s hesitation grew, but as he stood frozen in fear, the dolls and Victoria exerted unseen power. The dolls’ eyes gleamed brighter, and an invisible force began to move Vance’s hands toward the dice. He struggled against it, straining to pull away, but his efforts were futile as the supernatural power compelled him toward the table.

“No! I won’t do it!” Vance cried, his teenage voice breaking as he fought against the invisible force. His resistance was strong, his body trembling with the effort, but the unseen power was stronger.

He finally grasped the bone dice. The chanting fell silent, the tension thick in the air. Vance’s eyes were wide with fear as he cast the dice onto the table. They clattered across the surface, coming to a stop with symbols that seemed to pulse with a weak, smoky blue light.

One of the seated dolls calls out the roll, “Light meets light, the Harrow will take the results of the Blight.”

The smoky, blue haze was much weaker than in the previous dreams, barely illuminating the intricate carvings on the table. However, as the light crept across the table, it snaked its way toward the red-haired man in the chair. The moment the light touched him, it surged and seemed to gather energy, glowing with an intense, eerie brilliance.

The young man’s body convulsed as the light enveloped him; he awoke from his drugged stupor with cries of pain and fear. The chanting grew louder, filling the room with a haunting melody.

Anita watched in horror, unable to move or speak. The air was thick with malevolent energy, and the chanting’s crescendo soon drowned out the young man's cries. The smoky blue light pulsed and throbbed, its eerie glow filling the room and casting long, flickering shadows on the walls. The ritual continued, the light growing ever brighter and more intense as it fed off the young man's agony.

Vance fell to his knees with repulsed shock and awe as he watched the young man suffer. Hyacinth and Victoria looked on with calm faces.

***

The peace Anita sought eluded her. The nightmare came, more vivid and more terrifying than the ones before. The pain was even worse this time, and the dull thrum of the chanting sent an ache through her bones she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy. The sense of dread was overwhelming, a suffocating presence that made her feel utterly helpless.

Anita jolted awake, her heart pounding in her chest. Light spilled in from the hallway, and she could hear Logan’s voice. It took her a moment to realize that he was kneeling beside her bed in a T-shirt and boxers, shaking her and calling her name.

She shot off the mattress, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her heart galloped as she gasped for breaths between sobs. He pulled her close and held her, sitting down on the bed.

“The nightmare…Vance! What did they make him do?”

“Tell me about it.” Logan leaned up against the headboard and Anita curled into him.

Anita took a shaky breath, then began to recount the dream in detail. As she spoke, Logan listened intently, his brow furrowed in concentration.

“I’m no expert, but it sounds like something in the Hall’s history is weighing heavily on you for some reason.”

“History? As it those dreams really happened?”

“Anita, you and I are living proof that something…some kind of power…whatever you want to call it—supernatural, other worldly—can go on at the Hall.”

“What am I supposed to do with it though?”

“You keep seeing that same room? Three times now?”

She nodded.

“Well, I think something is trying to tell you to figure out what happened there. What did the Harrow family do to those people through the years?”

“And until I do, I’ll keep having the nightmares?”

“Like I said, I’m not an expert, but it could be logical to think so.”

“There’s nothing logical about this. If you could just see them or that room or those dolls or Vance…” Anita shivered, and Logan tightened his hold on her. “Even if I go back to California, I’m afraid the nightmares will keep coming.”

Logan put a gentle hand under her chin and lifted her gaze up to his, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and admiration. “You’re stronger than you realize, Anita. Whatever the Hall holds—the nightmares, the stuff about your husband—I believe you can handle it.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “You’re not alone in this. I’m here with you, every step of the way.”

The intensity of the moment hung between them, charged with unspoken emotions. Anita felt a surge of gratitude and affection for Logan, a sense that he was the missing piece in her tumultuous puzzle.

A sense of calm washed over her. The nightmare still lingered in her mind, but its power over her had diminished. She felt he was right. It was part of the Hall’s story, a story that seemed to be her responsibility to uncover and possibly set right.

“Will you stay with me, Logan? Just for a little while?”

In answer, he eased off the headboard from their seated position, settling them down against the pillows, still holding her close. She pulled the comforter up around them. He took his free arm and rested it behind his head. Anita admired the definition of his triceps and the way the sleeve of his t-shirt seemed hard pressed to contain the hulk of his upper arm.

She nestled into the hollow of his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart, feeling her own slow and her muscles relax. “You’re some kind of a saint,” she murmured.

He gave a quiet snort as he ran his hand gently through her hair. “Not hardly.”

As Anita drifted back to sleep, her thoughts were filled with visions of the Hall’s potential. It could become a place of warmth, love, and new beginnings. And in those dreams, Logan was always by her side, a steadfast partner in their shared journey.

The next morning, Anita awoke to the soft light of morning filtering through the window. She hadn’t heard Logan leave, but she was alone in the guest bedroom. A sense of clarity and purpose that had been missing for so long infused her. “I’ve made my decision,” she said out loud to make it official even if no one else was listening. “I’m going to stay and take on Harrow Hall. For good.”

A chill hit her and made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Perhaps someone had heard her after all.

***

Logan's pickup rumbled down the highway toward Hartford, the early morning sun casting long shadows on the road. He had a list of supplies to pick up for the orchard at Harrow Hall, and the drive gave him plenty of time to think. Lately, his thoughts seemed to circle back to one person: Anita.

She was different. There was a strength in her, a quiet resilience that drew him in. She was dealing with her own grief and challenges, yet she faced each day with a grace that Logan admired. More than anything, he wanted to be there for her, to help her find peace and happiness in Harrow Hall.

As the miles rolled by, Logan found himself smiling at the memory of the night. Her nightmares worried him, but he seemed to truly be able to calm her down from the terror. There was a connection between them, something deep and real. He hadn't felt this way in a long time, and the realization that he was starting to fall in love with Anita filled him with both excitement and a touch of anxiety.

Logan switched his line of thought to the task at hand as he pulled into the parking lot of the nursery in Hartford. Even at this early hour, the place was bustling with activity, landscapers and homeowners alike loading up their trucks with plants, soil, and various gardening supplies. Logan parked his pickup and headed inside, his mind still occupied with thoughts of Anita, no matter how hard he tried to set them aside.

He was in the middle of selecting some black cherry tree saplings when a familiar voice called out to him. "Logan! Long time no see!"

Logan turned to see Bill Hansen, the owner of a Marionville landscaping company, headquartered a town over from Harrowsburg. Bill was a large man with a friendly demeanor, and he approached Logan with a broad smile. "How's it going?"

"Hey, Bill," Logan replied, shaking his hand. "I'm good. Just picking up some supplies for the estate. How’s your work going?"

Bill's smile faltered slightly. He sighed, scratching the back of his head. "I hate to say it, but we've got some issues. That Vanessa of yours put some restrictions on our small business loan. Any work with the Harrow estate is now off the table. I’ve got work lined up on the acres that Jansens rent from the estate. It was supposed to be a heck of a project, and they’ve put half down already for a deposit."

Logan's eyes widened in surprise. "Vanessa did that? I didn't even know she could."

Bill nodded grimly. "The power of money I guess. I don’t know how you handle her."

Logan shook his head. "We broke up. It's over."

A look of relief crossed Bill's face. "Well, that's a good thing if you ask me. She was always too hoity-toity for my tastes. High maintenance, that one."

Logan forced a smile, though inside he was seething. Vanessa's actions were petty and vindictive, a move clearly meant to hurt him, Anita, and future work at Harrow Hall. "Thanks for letting me know, Bill. I'll talk to Charlton and Dodd. See if something can be figured out."

Bill clapped him on the shoulder. "I’d sure appreciate it, Logan. Just keep doing what you're doing. And if you need anything, you know where to find me."

Logan nodded. As he finished up his purchases and loaded the truck, his mind raced with worry. Vanessa's vindictiveness was unsettling, and he couldn't help but think about how it might affect Anita. The last thing she needed was more trouble, especially from someone as spiteful as Vanessa.

The drive back to Harrow Hall was filled with a mix of anger and concern. Logan gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white. He needed to protect Anita, to make sure she wasn't caught in the crossfire of Vanessa's spite. He knew Vanessa well enough to understand that she wouldn't stop at just causing financial trouble. She could make life difficult in many ways, and Logan needed to be prepared.

As he approached Harrow Hall, the sight of the grand estate calmed him somewhat. The Hall stood tall and proud, a symbol of resilience and history. Logan parked his truck and began unloading the supplies, his mind still churning with thoughts of Vanessa and Anita.

***

Hyacinth Harrow’s Diary

October 13, 19__

It has been a harrowing day, one that will be etched into my memory for as long as I live. Today, my daughter, Collette, returned to Harrow Hall, bringing with her a storm of emotions, a little boy of three, and another child ready to be born at any moment. The air around the Hall thickened with anticipation and an underlying sense of foreboding, as if the house itself knew what was about to unfold.

Collette's arrival was unexpected, yet not entirely surprising. She has written to me only once in the past year, a brief letter that hinted at the trials she was facing, but it appears she withheld many details. When she arrived today, I saw the exhaustion etched into her face, her eyes shadowed with worry and fatigue. Her little boy, Victor, clung to her skirts, wide-eyed and silent, taking in the vastness of Harrow Hall with a mixture of awe and fear.

We have not seen each other in years, and the reunion was bittersweet. I embraced her, feeling the swell of her pregnant belly pressing against me, and I could sense the urgency in her movements. She had traveled far and under duress, that much was clear. She barely had time to catch her breath before the first pains of labor began.

I led her to the room that had been hers as a child, thinking it would bring her comfort. But as soon as we crossed the threshold, a chill enveloped us. The temperature dropped noticeably, and I saw my breath mist in the air. Collette shivered, and Victor began to cry, his wails echoing eerily off the walls.

The Hall has always had its quirks—doors that open and close on their own, whispers in the corridors, shadows that move without a source—but today, it felt different. Malevolent. As if the very walls were rejecting us. I tried to calm Collette, to ease her into the bed, but the room seemed to close in around us, the shadows deepening, the whispers growing louder.

Collette’s labor pains intensified quickly. It was clear that the child was eager to enter the world, but the Hall seemed determined to prevent it. The lights flickered and went out, plunging us into darkness. The air grew thick with a suffocating presence, and the whispers turned to low, menacing growls. Collette was frightened, and so was I, though I tried not to show it.

I gathered my wits and decided we could not stay in that room. With great difficulty, I helped Collette to her feet and guided her out of the oppressive atmosphere and into the hallway. Victor clung to his mother’s skirt, his little face pale with fear. As we moved, the very structure of the Hall seemed to protest our passage—doors slammed shut, windows rattled violently, and an unearthly howl echoed through the halls.

We made our way to the kitchen, hoping to find some refuge there. But as we entered, the stove erupted in flames, and the room filled with acrid smoke. Coughing and gasping for breath, we fled again, this time towards the only place I could think of that might be safe—the orchard.

The orchard had always been a place of peace, a sanctuary from the manor's darkness. As we stepped outside, the oppressive atmosphere lifted slightly, and I could feel the fresh air filling my lungs, giving me strength. Collette's contractions were coming faster now, and she could barely walk. We reached the edge of the orchard, and I helped her down to the ground, under the shade of the old apple trees.

The labor was swift and intense. Collette screamed in pain, and I did my best to soothe her, but the house's influence was still palpable, even out here. The wind picked up, howling through the trees, and the branches swayed and creaked ominously. It was as if the manor's dark presence was trying to reach us, but it was weaker, less focused.

Victor sat nearby, watching with wide, frightened eyes. I prayed silently, begging for strength and protection. And then, with one final, wrenching scream, Collette gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. The child’s cries pierced the air, strong and defiant, and I felt a surge of relief wash over me.

We wrapped the baby in a blanket, and I held him close, feeling his warmth against my skin. Collette was exhausted, but she smiled weakly, her eyes filled with tears of both joy and sorrow. The wind died down, and a strange calm settled over the orchard, as if the house had finally relented, accepting the new life it had tried so hard to reject.

As we sat there, catching our breath and marveling at the new arrival, Collette whispered something to me that I could hardly believe. The father of her new baby, she confessed, was a priest. My shock must have shown on my face, but Collette continued, her voice trembling.

"He was kind to me, Mother. He showed me compassion when I had nowhere else to turn. We fell in love, but he couldn’t leave the church, and I couldn’t stay with him. It was impossible, but we found solace in each other, even if only for a short time."

I held her hand, squeezing it gently. "You’ve been through so much, my dear. We will get through this together."

As we sat in the orchard, the shadows of Harrow Hall looming in the distance, I felt a sense of hope amidst the darkness. The manor had tried to prevent this birth, to assert its malevolent will, but it had failed. Collette's son had been born, and with his arrival, a glimmer of light had pierced the gloom.

This day will be remembered as a turning point, a moment when we defied the blight of Harrow Hall—perhaps the only time I’ve stood against it my life long. And though the road ahead will be fraught with challenges, I believe we have the strength to face them. For the sake of Collette, her children, and the future of our family, we must hold on to that hope and never let it fade.

Hyacinth Harrow

***

**Anita**

Hey Doreen! I have some big news.

**Doreen**

Hey Anita! What’s up?

**Anita**

I’ve decided to stay in Connecticut and not come back to California.

**Doreen**

Wow, that’s huge! What made you decide?

**Anita**

I have a strange connection to the Hall. I’ll explain more when you’re here. Plus I really think I can make a difference here with the money I’ll be in charge of. There’s so much potential here, and I feel like I’m meant to be a part of it.

**Doreen**

That sounds amazing, Anita. I know how much you care about making an impact.

**Anita**

And there’s another reason too. Logan. I feel so close to him, and I want to give whatever we have a real chance to develop.

**Doreen**

Are you sure? Is it too soon after Vance?

**Anita**

No. I’m sure this is my new start.

**Doreen**

I can’t imagine the locals are too welcoming.

**Anita**

Well not yet. But it’s still early.

**Doreen**

I was hoping we would pack you up when I got there and bring you back to LA.

**Anita**

I thought you’d be happy for me.

**Doreen**

I am but it’s complicated.

**Anita**

Why? Are you having some trouble again?

**Doreen**

No of course not. But I just want the best for you.

**Anita**

Well, I think I’m going to have that.

**Doreen**

I miss you. Can’t wait to be there in person with you. Just be careful, please.

**Anita**

Don’t worry. I will.

***

Anita stepped out of Charlton and Dodd’s Law Office feeling like it was the first time she was able to take a full breath of Connecticut air. Mr. Charlton hadn’t been exactly surprised at her decision. He hadn’t seen any other path forward for the estate or the Hall without her acceptance of the inheritance.

She wanted to tell Logan in person that she was staying, but he wouldn’t be back for another couple of hours. She decided it was time to delve deeper into the history of Harrow Hall and the Harrow family. Although she thought the trunks in the attic, stacks of letters, and the photo albums would be perfect sources, she knew the local library would be the best place to give her some context and to start her research. Then she would at least know more about the major players of the family, in addition to Victoria Harrow, and she would be able to connect whatever personal items she found to a person and time period.

First, Anita walked to the hardware store in the hopes they might have a notebook and pen. She was still not ready to return to the grocery store after the butcher’s outburst. She perused the store, which was relatively well stocked with lots of variety, and she was happy to see it. She imagined she would become a regular customer with all the work she was taking on.

Anita had just found a stack of notebooks and some basic office supplies when the clack of stilettos approaching drew her focus. Vanessa’s presence in the store was like a predator on the hunt. Impeccably dressed in a black pencil skirt, blazer, flowing red blouse, and towering heels, she stood out against the backdrop of dusty shelves and supplies. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun, and her eyes were fixed on Anita with a fiery glare.

Vanessa came to a halt in front of her. Anita was not going to be the one to speak first. Vanessa was obviously geared for a fight, and Anita hadn’t been the one to seek it out.

“Stay away from Logan,” Vanessa finally said, crossing her arms over her chest, each word laced with venom. She took a step closer, invading Anita’s personal space.

“No.” Anita said it with cold disdain, steeling her posture.

Vanessa blinked rapidly. Obviously, she hadn’t accepted pushback. “He has no business associating with someone like you.”

Anita’s eyes narrowed. “Someone like me? What exactly do you mean by that?”

“A greedy California bimbo trying and failing to pose as someone who matters. You have no business at Harrow Hall. Go back to LA before you drive another man to shoot himself.”

Anita’s stomach hit the floor, and she took an involuntary step back as if she’d been struck.

Vanessa took advantage of the effect of her blow. “Vic was miserable with you, and you couldn’t see it. You were so wrapped up in your own little world that you didn’t even notice his pain.”

Anita felt a wave of guilt wash over her, but she pushed it aside. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Vanessa. You weren’t there. You have no idea.”

“I know enough.” Vanessa took a step closer, her voice low and vicious. “Las Vegas. Last October. He told me everything.” She drew out the last word.

Anita remembered Vance had attended a tech convention last fall. He had left the day before Halloween. Dressing up, handing out candy to trick-or-treaters for a few hours, and then hitting one or more wild costume parties was one of their favorite holiday rituals. He had never missed it before, but he had insisted that he be early to the convention in order to be ready for an important pitch of a new system he’d been the lead on.

“Then you’re the one who told Charlton that he was still alive.”

Vanessa ignored her. “Face it, Anita. You’re nothing but a selfish, delusional woman who destroys everything she touches. Vic couldn’t handle it, and Logan won’t be able to either. Do him a favor and leave him alone before you ruin his life, too.”

She turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving Anita standing there, shaking with the intensity of the confrontation. As she watched Vanessa disappear around the corner of the aisle, Anita finally took a deep breath in. The panic hit her with terrible force. She grabbed for the nearest shelf to steady her as the sobs came. She shoved her free hand against her mouth trying to muffle them.

What if what Vanessa had said was true? God! Anita had had no indication at all that Vance was miserable or depressed before his suicide. Vanessa had been right about his presence at the tech convention in Las Vegas. Had he really confided things in her?

Anita felt like she was going to vomit. She removed her hand from her mouth trying to take deep breaths through the sobs.

“Oh my dear! What’s wrong?” Martha, Logan’s mother, turned the corner of the aisle with a small cart half filled with miscellaneous items. She left the cart and rushed to Anita’s side.

Anita tried to regain her composure. She was embarrassed about her breakdown in public. But the waterworks would not turn off, and she couldn’t catch her breath. Martha guided her by the shoulders toward the back of the store and into the women’s bathroom.

Somehow, Martha managed to form a few paper towels into a makeshift bag that she instructed Anita to breathe into. “There you are now. Just like that. Deep breaths.” Martha rubbed her back as Anita leaned against the sink counter. Martha deftly drew another paper towel, dampened it with cool water, and wiped it across Anita’s forehead and then the nape of her neck. The motion was so gentle and kind that Anita lost it again.

“Oh, you’re just beside yourself, hon.” Martha gathered her into her arms and hugged her, holding her tight, letting Anita cry herself out like a child.

When Anita’s sobs finally settled, and her labored breathing returned to near normal, she leaned back out of the embrace. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Emmerich.” She said through the sniffles that remained. Martha handed her a dry paper towel, and she wiped her face.

“No apology needed, dearie. And it’s Martha.”

“Thank you, Martha,” Anita said, pulling a paper towel for herself and blowing her nose.

“What could have you so worked up? Anything I can help with?”

“Not unless you’d consider poisoning Vanessa’s next coffee order.”

Martha laughed. “Oh my dear, you wouldn’t be the first to wish that sort of thing on that willful woman.”

“She is horrible.” Anita blew her nose again. “What in the world can Logan see in her?”

“Didn’t he tell you?”

Anita shook her head.

“They broke up a few days ago.”

“Really?”

“Yes and weren’t we glad to hear it.” Martha adjusted her purse on her shoulder. “The troubles she put our dear Logan through.” She let out a huff. “She, of course, has already taken the rumors by the horns and made herself the victim of the story, but I know my son. His torch had fizzled out for her a while ago. It was only a matter of time really.”

Martha pulled out a tube of lipstick from her purse and turned to the mirror to apply it. “There. Nothing like a touchup.” She smacked her lips. “Now you, my dear, are coming to our house for dinner tonight, and I won’t take no for an answer. You are in dire need of some home cooked comfort food, if I do say so myself.”

Anita considered refusing for just a moment, but Martha had such a calming presence and had been so kind to her. “That would be wonderful.”

“Good. It’s the large green house with the white gingerbread trim on the corner of Flax and Greenhow. You can’t miss it.” She wrapped her arm around Anita’s shoulder giving her a final squeeze. “We’ll compare poison recipes for you-know-who,” she joked.

Anita laughed. “I’ll bring my cauldron.”

“Perfect! See you around six?”

Anita nodded. “Thank you, Martha.”

She blew a quick kiss and pushed out the swinging door. Anita composed herself and returned to the aisle to pick up the notebook and pens. She completed her purchase and left the hardware store without any further drama. If the employees had witnessed any part of her meltdown, they gave no indication.

As she walked down the street, trying to remember where she had seen the library sign, her mind began to buzz with the news about Logan and Vanessa. Martha had said a few days ago. She wondered exactly when it had transpired and what had triggered it. After they had discovered that their dream meeting was somehow real, did he feel obligated to tell Vanessa they had been together—perhaps sparing the unusual details. He was certainly the type to have that kind of honor. But if they truly weren’t going to act on things right now, and since the situation was such a one-of-a-kind experience, would it have been more honorable to shoulder the guilt and save Vanessa the pain of being cheated on? Could someone really even consider their encounter cheating? They had both believed it to be a dream while it happened. Could that be held against someone?

Anita arrived at the library. She knew no matter how much she pondered the situation, she wouldn’t know the truth of it until she spoke to Logan. For now, she could be thankful that such a kind and generous man was free of that horrible woman.

Anita turned her curiosity to what she might discover in the library about the Harrows. The library was a squat red-brick building with large windows that let in plenty of natural light. The smell of old books and polished wood greeted her as she stepped inside. Anita approached the librarian, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a warm smile.

“Good morning,” Anita said. “I’m looking for information about Harrow Hall and the Harrow family. Can you help me?”

“Of course,” the librarian replied. “We have quite a collection of local history archives. Follow me.”

She led Anita to a special section in the back, where rows of neatly organized binders and books awaited. The librarian pulled out several volumes and placed them on a large oak table in the center.

“These should be a good start. Let me know if you need anything else,” she said before returning to her desk.

Anita sat down and opened the first volume, which contained records and copies of documents dating back to the 18th century. She quickly found the entry for Oswald Harrow and his wife, Victoria. The Harrows had immigrated from Scotland in 1790, bringing with them a lineage that could be traced back centuries. The name “Harrow” itself was steeped in history, stemming from both early agricultural workers who harrowed, or worked, the land but also from the word hearg which referred to a pagan shrine. Looking deeper into the word, Anita even found references to writings from early Christian monks in ancient Scotland whose writings translated hearg to heathen shrine.

Oswald and Victoria Harrow were visionaries, determined to build a grand estate that would reflect their ambitions and secure their family’s future in America. They purchased a vast tract of land in Connecticut and began constructing Harrow Hall. The Hall was completed in 1794, a grand structure with stately columns and expansive gardens. The couple’s hard work and determination paid off, and the estate became a symbol of their success and influence.

As Anita continued to read, she came across entries for notable members of the Harrow family. Aldous Harrow, Oswald and Victoria’s eldest son, took over the estate after his father died. He was known for his shrewd business acumen and played a significant role in expanding the family’s wealth through various enterprises, including mines and tobacco crops that Logan had mentioned.

Emmiline Harrow, Aldous’s daughter, was another important player. Born in 1832, she was known for her charitable works and involvement in social causes, though her efforts were often overshadowed by the family’s more controversial activities. Emmiline was a complex character, balancing her desire to help the less fortunate with the ruthless business practices that had become synonymous with the Harrow name.

Gabbert David Harrow, Emmiline’s grandson, also stood out. He was a businessman and politician who wielded considerable influence in Connecticut during the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Gabbert was instrumental in securing lucrative contracts for the family’s enterprises, but his methods were often questioned, and he was known to use underhanded tactics to maintain the Harrows’ dominance.

Melusine Harrow, Gabbert’s niece, was a woman of mystery. Born on New Year’s Eve 1899, she was known for her beauty and intelligence. Melusine never married, and rumors about her love affairs and possible involvement in the disappearances that plagued the Harrow estate swirled around her. She maintained a reclusive lifestyle, and her death in the mid-1900s was shrouded in secrecy. A grainy newspaper clipping copy caught Anita’s attention. Melusine in a feathered and pearl headband looked over her shoulder at an intrusive camera. Melusine was the second woman from her dream that first night. She had guided Anita to Logan in the orchard.

Anita found herself engrossed in the stories, each page revealing more about the Harrows and their complex legacy. The final entry was about Hyacinth Harrow, the last of the Harrow lineage to live her full life at the estate and manage the Hall. Born in 1922, Hyacinth grew up during a tumultuous time, but her early years seemed untouched by the woes of the Great Depression. A photograph of her as a young girl in the 1930s caught Anita’s eye. Hyacinth was petite and beautiful, with an air of innocence and grace that seemed at odds with the dark history of her family.

As she studied the photograph, Anita couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of connection to Hyacinth. Despite the family’s troubled past, there was something about the young girl’s expression that spoke of resilience and hope. She wondered what Hyacinth’s life had been like and what had led to her being the last of the Harrows to reside at the Hall.

In so many of the pictorial references, Anita could see Vance’s likeness. Strong jawlines, dark eyes and hair, as well as expressions seemed to be coded well in Harrow genes.

Anita continued to pour over the documents, piecing together the history of the estate and its inhabitants. She learned about the grandeur of the early days, the scandals and tragedies that had befallen the family, and the efforts of the more recent generations to rebuild not only grandeur but goodwill with the town. The more she read, the more she understood the weight of the legacy she had inherited.

Closing the final volume, Anita leaned back in her chair, her mind swirling with the stories she had uncovered. The history of Harrow Hall was rich and complicated, filled with moments of triumph and deep shadows. She felt a renewed sense of responsibility to honor this history, to acknowledge the darkness while also seeking to bring light and new life to the estate.

“Excuse me, Mrs. Harrow,” the librarian softly padded into the local history room. “We’re closing for the lunch hour.”

“Oh! I didn’t realize. Thank you so much for your help. I’ve found what I need for now.”

“Glad to hear it. You can leave the volumes out. I’ll reshelve them when I return.”

Anita thanked her again and gathered up her notebook, numerous pages filled with facts and theories, and made her way for the exit. She felt a mixture of emotions—gratitude for the opportunity to learn more about the Harrows and their legacy but also a deep sense of sadness for the lives touched by the family’s actions. She knew that her task ahead was not just about restoring a grand old house, but also about addressing the history it carried and finding a way to create a positive future for Harrow Hall. She had the basics, but there was still much more to uncover, more to understand about the place that had become her home. She was ready to face the challenges ahead, to honor the legacy of the Harrow family, and to forge a new path for Harrow Hall.

As Anita returned to her car, she allowed herself a smile in anticipation of seeing Logan at the manor soon. She did her best to shove down the razor-sharp scratches that still lingered from Vanessa’s attack. Anita believed she could address it all in time. She was beginning a new chapter in her life, but its details would help to fill in so many blanks in the last one.

***

Anita pulled into the driveway of Harrow Hall, feeling a renewed sense of purpose and determination. The afternoon sun cast bright, compelling light over the sprawling grounds, highlighting the grandeur of the Hall. As she parked her car and stepped out, she saw Logan’s pickup already there, its bed filled with new trees and bags of landscaping supplies. He was busy unloading them into one of the outbuildings, his strong, capable hands moving with practiced efficiency.

She walked over to him, her stomach fluttering at the sight of him. “Good morning,” she called out, her voice carrying a hint of excitement.

Logan looked up and smiled, his face lighting up with genuine pleasure. “Morning.” He set down the load he was carrying on the edge of the pickup box. They shared a loaded gaze with one another. Neither spoke for a moment, but the silence was not awkward.

Anita took a deep breath, feeling a surge of confidence. “I’ve decided to stay in Harrowsburg and take over the Hall.” For some reason, the announcement finally felt official.

Logan’s smile widened. “Good. The Hall needs someone like you, and I’m sure you’ll do an amazing job.”

Anita felt a warm glow of satisfaction at his words. “Thank you.” Anita jumped in and began to help him unload.

His eyes filled with warmth. “You’ve got it, Anita. Whatever you need, I’m here to help.”

As they worked together to unload the supplies, she decided to leave out the details of her encounter with Vanessa. There was no need to burden Logan with that negativity. Instead, she focused on the positive developments.

“By the way,” she said, lifting a small tree from the pickup bed, “I’ve been invited to your parents’ house for supper this evening.”

Logan’s expression brightened further. “That’s great! I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to have you. I can give you a ride into town if you’d like.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Anita replied, grateful for his offer. “Thank you.”

They continued working side by side, the physical labor providing a comfortable backdrop for their conversation. As they moved bags of mulch and young trees, Anita felt the familiar sense of intimacy with Logan that had grown stronger over the past week.

“I’ve also found out quite a bit of information about the Harrow family at the library,” she said, setting down a bag of soil. “I plan on going through a few chests in the attic this afternoon to see what else I can uncover.”

Logan’s eyes lit up with interest. “I’d love to help you with that, if you don’t mind. We need to get to the bottom of those nightmares as fast as we can. I’m concerned about you.”

She felt a surge of gratitude. “That would be great.”

He gave her a reassuring smile. “It will take me about 45 minutes to finish up out here, and then I’ll join you in the house.”

“Sounds good,” Anita replied, feeling a sense of anticipation for the afternoon’s work.

Logan returned to unloading the supplies, and Anita took the opportunity to walk back to the Hall. She found a quiet spot in the sitting room, where she started a list of the cleaning and repairs she wanted to tackle first in the house. As she wrote, her mind wandered to the romantic tension that seemed to hum in the air whenever she and Logan were together. It was an undeniable presence, but she knew they had to focus on the tasks at hand.

She listed the rooms that needed immediate attention: the grand foyer with its dusty chandeliers, the library with its towering shelves and scattered books, the kitchen that, despite her initial efforts, still required a thorough overhaul. The list grew longer with each passing minute, but instead of feeling overwhelmed, Anita felt a sense of purpose.

Time passed quickly, and before she knew it, Logan appeared in the doorway, wiping his hands on a rag. “All done out there. Ready to tackle the attic?”

She looked up and smiled. “Absolutely. Let’s see what we can find.”

***

Anita stood in the attic, breathing in air filled with the scent of old wood and dust. Logan was beside her, his presence comforting in the vast, dimly lit space. The attic was a treasure trove of the past, filled with trunks and boxes that had likely not been touched in decades.

“Let’s start with that trunk. It looks like it might be the oldest,” Anita suggested, pointing to a large, ornate chest in the corner. “Maybe it belonged to Victoria Harrow.”

Logan nodded, and they carefully moved some boxes out of the way to get to the trunk. It was heavy and intricately carved, showing signs of age but still sturdy. Together, they lifted the lid, revealing a collection of items from the 18th century.

Anita gasped as she gently lifted a portion of Victoria’s faded blue silk gown. The brocade fabric was extremely delicate. Some of the golden tobacco leaves were still intact but large sections of the silk gown were crumbling to a fine dust.

Logan picked up a book of pressed flowers, its pages yellowed but the flowers still detailed and colorful. “She must have loved the gardens,” he said softly. “It’s incredible to think she helped design the Hall and the grounds.”

Anita continued to sift through the contents, finding more clothing, a few letters written in script so elegant as to be almost illegible, and a small, ornate box.

They carefully repacked Victoria’s trunk, ensuring everything was returned to its rightful place before closing the lid. Next, they moved on to a trunk marked with the initials G.D.H.

“This must have belonged to Victoria’s great-great-grandson, Gabbert David,” Anita said, opening it with a sense of anticipation.

Inside, they found notebooks filled with accounting figures written in faded ink. Logan flipped through one of them, marveling at the meticulous records.

“Gabbert was known for his business acumen,” Logan said. “These must be some of his ledgers.”

Anita pulled out a relatively fine top hat, still in good condition despite its age. “I think this would look nice in the foyer,” she said, setting it aside.

They continued to explore Gabbert’s trunk, finding more 19th-century items, including a walking cane with a silver handle and a few personal letters. The trunk was a testament to Gabbert’s role in expanding the family’s wealth and influence.

Moving on, they opened a trunk filled with toys from the early 1900s. Anita’s eyes lit up as she picked up a small, intricately painted toy horse.

“These must have belonged to Hyacinth’s generation,” she said, examining the toys with a smile. “Maybe she even played with some of these.”

As they surveyed the attic, Logan spotted another trunk tucked away behind a couple of dress forms and some old quilts and drapes. They had to move several items out of the way to reach it, but finally, they pulled it into the light.

“This one belonged to Melusine,” Anita said, reading the label in the corner, her voice tinged with excitement and curiosity. “She was the one who led me to you in the orchard that night.”

Logan knelt down next to her. “I don’t remember Hyacinth talking about her.”

“The little bit I read about her today painted her as kind of a black sheep.”

Opening the trunk, they were greeted with the sight of gorgeous gowns made of rich fabrics and adorned with intricate beadwork. Logan held one up, marveling at its beauty.

The dazzling dresses evoked the opulence and audacity of the Jazz Age. The first, a shimmering silver sheath, was intricately adorned with swirling beadwork that caught the light, creating a hypnotic dance with every movement. The fringed hemline would have daringly skimmed the knee line, adding a playfulness to the ensemble, while long black gloves and a string of pearls completed the look, exuding an air of sophisticated mystery. Delicate headpieces matched each dress. Melusine would have played the part at a Gatsby soirée, ready to revel in the night’s decadence.

Another dress, in a rich crimson hue, exuded a fiery passion tempered by its geometric patterns of gleaming sequins and beads. The V-shaped neckline was framed by sheer, draping sleeves that lent an air of ethereal grace, cascading like soft flames down the arms. The beaded fringes below would sway with each step, creating an entrancing rhythm for a sultry femme fatale dancing in the speakeasies of yesteryear.

“These are incredible,” he said. “Melusine must have been quite the fashionista.”

Anita carefully lifted out a jewelry box and opened it, revealing an array of expensive jewelry—necklaces, rings, and brooches that sparkled even in the dim attic light. She decided to set the jewelry aside with the intention of putting it into a vault or a safe deposit box.

At the bottom of the trunk, they found an album of old photographs. As Anita flipped through the pages, she was struck by the haunting beauty of the images. The photographs would have been considered risqué in the 1920s and 30s, with Melusine posing in various states of undress, her expression bold and defiant.

“Look at her eyes,” Anita said, pointing to one of the photographs. “They’re so piercing and intense. It’s as if she’s demanding to be seen, to be acknowledged.”

Logan nodded, his unease growing as he looked at the photos. “There’s something about her... a mix of vulnerability and power. It’s like she’s inviting you into her world but also warning you to keep your distance.”

Anita closed the album, feeling a deep connection to the woman in the photographs. Melusine’s life had been shrouded in mystery, and these images were a rare glimpse into her private world.

“We should keep these safe,” Anita said, adding the photo album to the pile of items to be taken downstairs. “There’s so much history here, so many stories waiting to be uncovered.”

Logan and Anita continued to explore the attic, finding more trunks and boxes, each filled with relics of the past. They discovered letters, diaries, and more personal items, each piece adding to the tapestry of the Harrow family’s history. She certainly felt like she knew the family better, but nothing explained the events of her nightmare.

“I wonder what’s in this one.” Logan pulled a strange looking chest out from under a pile of old curtains. It was sturdier than the others, almost like it was armor coated, and it was locked. “Have you come across any keys in the house yet?”

Anita shook her head coming to kneel beside him. He examined the hinges on the trunk. “I think I could pop these off with a few tools. I’ll be right back.”

Anita looked through stacks of letters and journals while he was away. Returning with his tools, he made short work of the hinges. He lifted the lid, back to front, only to find four dolls, eerily lifelike, nestled inside.

Anita’s blood ran cold. "Logan," she whispered, her voice trembling, "these dolls... I've seen them before. In my nightmares." Her eyes widened with a mix of fear and realization. "Three times now, they were around the table, doing things that felt... powerful, almost as if they were possessed."

Logan's brow furrowed in concern, but he tried to reassure her. "They're just dolls, Anita. Old and creepy, sure, but just dolls." But the unease running through Anita was palpable, and Logan couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to her words.

Anita's dreams had been disturbingly vivid. In the first, the dolls had moved of their own accord, their lifeless eyes following her every step. In the second dream, they had spoken to her in hushed, sinister tones, whispering secrets that made her blood run cold. But it was the third dream that had left her truly terrified. The dolls had seemingly come to life, their porcelain and wooden faces twisted into expressions of malevolent glee as they orchestrated events around her. Each time, she had awoken with a sense of dread about them that lingered long after the nightmare had ended.

Logan, though skeptical, couldn't deny the genuine fear in Anita's eyes. "Alright," he said, "we'll make sure they stay in the trunk." He looked at the hinges he had removed to open it. They were old and fragile, but he would replace them with stronger ones to ensure the trunk remained sealed. As he worked, Anita watched anxiously, feeling a strange mix of relief and apprehension. She couldn't shake the feeling that the dolls were watching her, even now, their silent presence a constant reminder of the nightmares that plagued her.

Once the new hinges were in place and the trunk securely locked, Logan stood back, wiping the sweat from his brow. "There," he said, "they won't be getting out now." But Anita remained uneasy, her eyes lingering on the trunk. "We need to keep it that way," she insisted, her voice firm despite the fear that lingered beneath. "I don't know what those dolls are capable of, but I do know I never want to see them again." Logan nodded, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

As the afternoon turned late, they finally descended from the attic, their arms filled with treasures. Anita felt a sense of fulfillment, knowing that she was beginning to understand the legacy of Harrow Hall and the people who had lived there.

“We’ve barely scratched the surface,” Logan said as they placed the items on a table in the study. “There’s still so much more to discover.”

Anita nodded, her mind racing with thoughts of the future. “I know. But I feel like we’re on the right track.”

They spent the next forty-five minutes cataloging their finds, making notes of their discoveries, and reviewing her research from the library. A silence filled the room broken only by the rustle of the old letters as they both read intently. The words on the yellowed paper were a window into a past filled with loss and longing, each line more heartbreaking than the last. Anita’s throat tightened with emotion as she read the final, sorrowful words of correspondence between a Civil War era mother and her soldier son. A tear slipped down Anita’s cheek, and she wiped it away. She felt the weight of the Hall's history pressing down on her, a centuries-old sadness that seemed to seep into her soul. Just as the ache in her chest began to feel unbearable, she felt the warmth of Logan’s presence behind her, grounding her in the here and now.

His hand came to rest gently on her shoulder, a simple gesture of comfort that spoke volumes. The tenderness of his touch seeped through her, chasing away the chill that had settled in her bones. She reached up and covered his hand with her own, her fingers curling around his. When she looked up, their eyes met, and the intensity of his dark gaze made her heart skip a beat. For a long, breathless moment, the world outside the Hall ceased to exist, and it was just the two of them, connected in a way that went beyond words.

“It seems like it always went wrong for them,” she said, her voice heavy. “The wealth kept coming, but that wasn’t what they needed. Just like Vance. He couldn’t find what he needed here, and for some reason he chose a complete escape.”

Logan nodded with understanding. Sorrow lingered in the air, her own melding with that of the Hall’s and its history, but in Logan's eyes, she found something that made the weight of it all a little easier to bear—a quiet strength, a deep understanding and something more that neither of them was ready to name.

Logan squeezed her shoulder and glanced at his watch, clearing his throat. “I need to clean up a bit before we head to my parents’ place.”

Anita nodded, removing her hand from his. “I could use a little time to freshen up too. I’ll meet you back here in about an hour?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Logan agreed, giving her a reassuring smile.

Anita made her way to her room when he left, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness about the evening ahead.

***

When she returned to the foyer, Logan was already waiting. He smiled appreciatively when he saw her. “You look great, Anita.”

She had chosen a light, playful dress, its soft lavender fabric adorned with delicate purple butterflies and scattered yellow daisies. The dress, with its cinched waist and flowing skirt, hugged her figure in all the right places, accentuating her silhouette while maintaining a sense of effortless grace. The long sleeves puffed slightly at the wrists, giving it a charmingly retro touch, and the lightweight material had moved gently with every step she took, making her feel as if she were floating. The dress seemed to brighten the mood around her, a stark contrast to the heaviness she felt.

“Thanks,” she replied, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks. “You clean up nicely too.” Anita’s eyes were irresistibly drawn to Logan, his casual confidence apparent in every move. He wore a crisp white shirt, the top few buttons undone, revealing a hint of tanned skin beneath. The sleeves were rolled up just below his elbows, showcasing his strong forearms, and the shirt was tucked neatly into a pair of well-worn jeans that fit him perfectly. The leather belt cinched at his waist added a rugged touch. He held one hand behind his back, and a silver watch glinted on his other wrist, catching the light as he moved. His effortless style and the way he carried himself held her attention, making her heart skip a beat.

He brought his hidden hand forward and presented her with a pale yellow flower. The single whorled bloom with delicately furled petals offered a fragrance sweet and heady that filled the small space between them. Anita’s breath caught as he stepped closer, his warm brown eyes never leaving hers.

“This is a gardenia. Normally they only grow much farther south, but I’ve been testing some new varieties that are hardier.”

With a tenderness that made her heart flutter, he tucked the stem behind her ear, his warm fingers brushing lightly against her cheek.

“It’s one of the most delicate flowers. The petals can actually bruise when touched, and they don’t last long once you’ve cut them.”

For a moment, time seemed to slow, the world narrowing to just the two of them once again. The gesture was deep, a quiet acknowledgment of the growing bond between them as they prepared to meet his family together. Anita marveled at how something as small as a gardenia could make her feel so cherished.

“It’s an evergreen plant actually, but you have to protect it well during the winter.”

“Kind of like a California girl, then,” Anita joked quietly.

Logan grinned, catching her hand in his. “Exactly like a certain California girl I know.”

They shared a laugh, the easy familiarity between them easing her nerves. Logan led her to his pickup, and they set off for his parents’ house. The drive was pleasant, and the early evening sun cast a warm glow over the landscape.

As they drove, Anita couldn’t help but reflect on the day’s events. Despite the tension with Vanessa, she felt a deep sense of satisfaction and clarity. She had made her decision to stay, and with Logan’s support, she felt ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

Logan’s parents’ house was a charming, well-kept home nestled in a quiet neighborhood. As they pulled into the driveway, Anita felt a flutter of nerves. Logan sensed her apprehension and reached over to give her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Dinner was delightful. Martha and George welcomed Anita with open arms, their warm hospitality immediately putting her at ease. Logan’s pregnant sister Susan and her seven-year-old daughter Grace were also there, adding a lively and cheerful dynamic to the evening.

As they sat around the dinner table, Anita found herself engaging easily with Susan, discovering they had many shared interests. Grace, with her boundless energy and infectious laughter, quickly won Anita over. The meal was filled with delicious food and lively conversation, punctuated by laughter and stories.

After dinner, they moved to the living room for a game of charades. Grace insisted on being on Anita’s team, and they quickly became a formidable duo, their synergy leading to several winning rounds. The room was filled with laughter and playful banter, everyone enjoying the lighthearted competition.

At one point, Susan mentioned Vanessa in passing. “She was always terrible at charades,” Susan said with a chuckle. “She was so concerned with her appearance that she would never act silly like we are now.”

Anita felt a pang but kept her smile. Susan turned to her. “Anita, I heard that Vanessa was quite rude to you at the hardware store. I’m so sorry you had to deal with that.”

Logan’s surprise was evident. He eased next to Anita on the sofa. “What happened?”

She hesitated, but the concern in his eyes compelled her to speak. “It was nothing, really. Just some accusations she made about Vance.”

“Gracie, why don’t you go see if grandpa will make us some root beer floats?” Susan sent Gracie to the kitchen. As soon as she was out of sight, Susan said, “Vanessa is a snake. I’m so happy you’re rid of her Logan.” Susan grimaced and adjusted her position in the overstuffed chair she occupied. “Oof. I swear this kid kicks more than the Olympic swim team.”

Logan’s voice was gentle but firm. “Tell me what she said.”

Anita sighed, feeling the weight of the confrontation. “Vanessa claims to have seen and talked to Vance in Las Vegas last fall. She claims that I…well, that I destroyed him, and that you…She was just trying to get to me, but I’m not to let it.”

Logan’s expression darkened with concern. “She has no right to say those things to you. I’ll talk to her about it.”

Anita placed a hand on his arm, trying to reassure him. “I appreciate that, Logan, but I’d rather just put it behind me. The important thing is that you’re not with her anymore.”

Logan’s eyes softened as he looked at her and he squeezed her knee. “The morning after you arrived in Harrowsburg, I ended things with Vanessa. I’d been considering it for a while, and meeting you confirmed it was the right decision.”

They shared a moment of understanding before Martha, George, and Grace returned from the kitchen with tall crystal glasses bubbling with creamy floats.

As they enjoyed the treat, Anita turned to Martha and George, expressing her gratitude. “Thank you so much for a wonderful supper and evening. I had an amazing time.”

Martha bustled over from the love seat and gave her a quick hug. “I’m so glad. You’re always welcome here, Anita.”

Logan drove Anita home, the ride filled with a comfortable silence and the beauty of the setting sun. She scooted over on the bench seat, and he put his arm around her. She bathed in the warmth of him. They drove slowly, taking in the picturesque countryside bathed in the soft glow of twilight.

When they arrived at the Hall, Logan walked her to the door.

Anita felt playful. “I have one more charade clue for you.”

“Okay.” Logan raised his eyebrows.

Anita played the air guitar.

“Song title.”

She nodded and held up two fingers.

“Two words.”

She nodded and held up two fingers again.

“Second word.”

She pointed to herself.

“You…I…me.”

At the last Anita touched her nose.

“Okay. Me.”

Then Anita grasped Logan’s shirt and stood on her tiptoes, pulling his lips to hers. He slipped his arms around her waist. “Kiss Me.” He said against her lips and tugged her close against him. “The 90s hit from Sixpence None the Richer. I’m one for one. Let’s go again.”

She laughed.

“That is a beautiful sound. You should make it more often.”

“With you around, I think I will.”

“Mmm,” he leaned down and nuzzled her neck. “I am known for my comedic side.”

Anita laughed again, so happy to be seeing Logan’s playful side.

The glow of the porch light cast a warm halo around them. He eased back from her, his eyes soft and filled with unspoken emotions. The night settled around them, and he took her hand gently, his touch lingering, and smiled.

"Goodnight, Anita," he said, raising the back of her hand to his lips. His voice was steady but tender, revealing the depth of his feelings. "Sleep well."

Anita experienced more than a pang of disappointment, but she knew that Logan's gentlemanly behavior was part of what made him so special. He respected her and the boundary they had set for, even if it meant denying the powerful draw they both felt. She smiled back at him, trying to hide the yearning in her heart.

"Goodnight, Logan," she replied softly, her eyes meeting his with a mixture of warmth and wistfulness. "Thank you for today. And for everything you’ve done."

Logan squeezed her hand gently before letting it go, the absence of his touch immediately noticeable. He stepped back, his gaze never leaving hers, as if committing every detail of her face to memory. Anita watched him, her heart aching yet filled with admiration for his restraint and respect. She knew that their bond was strong, and that taking things slowly was the right choice, even if it meant moments like this—moments of quiet longing and unfulfilled desire.

Standing alone on the porch, Anita wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the cool breeze brush against her skin. She watched Logan’s pickup until it disappeared into the night. Despite her disappointment, she felt a profound sense of peace. Love was best built on a foundation of mutual respect and understanding. She knew that when the time was right, they would come together again, and that the wait would make their connection all the more meaningful. For now, she was content with the knowledge that their feelings were true, and that sometimes, doing the right thing meant holding back, even when every fiber of her being urged her to reach out and pull closer.

***

Hyacinth Harrow’s Diary

November 3, 19__

I feel the weight of extra years pressing down on me. Harrow Hall, with its ancient stones and hallowed halls, has been my life’s anchor, a testament to our family's enduring legacy. Yet today, as I look out upon the twilight landscape, I am struck by the realization that the power we have guarded so jealously is slipping through our fingers. The Covenant of Shadows, that dark pact that has defined us for generations, may be nearing its end.

Victor, my dear grandson, has always been a gentle soul. From the moment he arrived after Collette’s death, I knew he lacked the hardness, the ruthless determination required to sustain our family’s power. He is kind, compassionate, and wholly unsuited to the demands of the Covenant. As much as it pains me to admit it, Victor is not capable of continuing the legacy that has been entrusted to us.

I have tried to prepare him, to instill in him the importance of our role and the responsibilities that come with it. But his heart is not in it. He recoils from the rituals, shies away from the shadows, and questions the very foundation of our family's power. He is more interested in the arts, literature, and music than in the dark arts that have kept us strong.

The Hall itself seems to sense Victor’s reluctance. The once vibrant and pulsating energy of Harrow Hall has begun to wane. The walls, which used to hum with the power of the Covenant, are now silent. The whispers that once guided and protected us grow faint. It is as if the house is mourning the loss of its future, knowing that the line of succession is failing.

In Victor’s absence, the Hall’s power diminishes, and I find myself turning my thoughts to Logan, the child born of forbidden love, his parentage a constant reminder of the fracture within our family. His father, a priest, represented everything the Covenant stands against—purity, faith, and light. Yet, despite his parentage, Logan has shown a strength and resilience that Victor lacks.

Logan possesses a natural charisma, a quiet intensity that draws people to him. He has an innate understanding of the darkness, an ability to navigate its currents that Victor could never muster. As the Hall’s power wanes, I cannot help but wonder if Logan could be the one to take over, to restore the strength of the Covenant. But deep down, I know the truth. Logan, for all his potential, would never embrace the shadows fully. His father’s influence, even though absent, runs too deep, and Logan, too, would question the morality of our legacy.

This realization fills me with a profound sense of loss. The great power that our family has wielded for centuries is destined to end with me. I mourn not only for myself but for all those who came before me, who sacrificed so much to maintain the Covenant. Our ancestors, whose blood and toil built Harrow Hall and cemented our pact, would be devastated to see their legacy fade.

As the last matriarch of the Harrow family who truly understands and embraces the Covenant of Shadows, I feel a responsibility to ensure that the next generation, even if it is the last, carries some semblance of our legacy. I think of the next Mrs. Harrow, the woman who will marry into our family, and the burden she will bear. She will inherit a legacy steeped in power and darkness, a history that demands sacrifice and strength.

To the next Mrs. Harrow, whoever she may be, I offer my blessing. She will need it. The task she faces is monumental, and she will need all the strength and resolve she can muster. The weight of our family’s history, the expectations, and the Covenant itself will rest upon her shoulders. She must understand the importance of our legacy, even as it fades, and strive to preserve what little remains.

I pray that she will have the fortitude to stand against the inevitable challenges, to face the shadows with courage and determination. She must be prepared to make difficult choices, to sacrifice for the greater good of our family. The Covenant of Shadows is not for the faint of heart, and she must be as unwavering as the stone walls of Harrow Hall.

In my heart, I know that the true power of the Covenant will die with me. But perhaps, in some small way, the next Mrs. Harrow can keep the memory of it alive. She can pass down the stories, the lessons, and the warnings to her children, ensuring that our family's legacy is never forgotten, even if it can no longer be sustained. The walls of Harrow Hall are stained with the weight of our history, a history that I must now accept is coming to an end.

As I write these words, I can hear the distant echoes of those who came before me. Their voices, once so strong and commanding, are now faint whispers. They remind me of the duty I have carried and the legacy I will leave behind. I am not alone in my sorrow, for they too mourn the loss of what we have built.

To Victor, my beloved grandson, I leave a different legacy. He may not be capable of continuing the Covenant, but he has his own path to follow. I hope he will find happiness and fulfillment in his passions, that he will build a life free from the shadows that have haunted our family. He deserves to live without the weight of our past pressing down upon him.

And to Logan, the child of light and darkness, I offer my hope. He has the potential to bridge the gap between our world and the world beyond, to find a balance that neither Victor nor I could achieve. His journey will be difficult, but I believe he has the strength to find his way.

The sun is setting now across the grounds of Harrow Hall. As the light fades, I am reminded that even the darkest night is followed by the dawn. Our family's power may be ending, but new beginnings are on the horizon. The legacy of the Harrows will live on in memory, if not in practice, and that is enough.

In these final days of my life, I will cherish the moments I have left, the beauty of this ancient manor, and the love of my family. I will continue to guide Victor and Logan as best I can, preparing them for a future that no longer includes the Covenant of Shadows.

To the next Mrs. Harrow, I leave not only my blessing but also my gratitude. She will be the custodian of our history, the keeper of our stories, and the protector of our memory. I trust that she will honor our family and uphold the values that have defined us for so long.

And so, as I close this diary for the night, I do so with a heart full of both sorrow and hope. The shadows may be receding, but the light of our legacy will never fade. Harrow Hall will stand as a testament to our strength, our sacrifices, and the enduring power of our name.

Hyacinth Harrow