Into The Darkness

Lily hummed a gentle tune as she carefully pruned a rose bush. Her touch was light yet firm, each snip deliberate and purposeful. Despite the dirt smudged on her cheek and the ache in her knees from kneeling, she felt a strange sense of peace amidst the fragrant blooms.

Mr. Henderson watched her with a smile tugging at his lips. The greenhouse, usually filled with a quiet hush, was alive with the soft sounds of Lily's care. It warmed his heart to see the roses, once neglected and forgotten, receiving such tender attention.

"You have a way with flowers, Miss Lily," he finally said, his voice gruff but kind.

Lily straightened up, a blush creeping up her cheeks. "Thank you, Mr. Henderson. I just want them to be happy," she said softly, her voice as delicate as the rose petals she cradled.

Mr. Henderson chuckled. "Happy roses make a happy greenhouse," he said. "Tell me, Miss Lily, have you always loved tending to flowers?"

Lily shook her head, her eyes taking on a distant glint. "Not really. Back home, I used to help my grandmother in her garden. She taught me everything I know."

A flicker of sadness crossed Mr. Henderson's face. "Your grandmother sounds like a kind soul."

Lily nodded, a wistful smile playing on her lips. "She was. She used to say that flowers are like people, they need love and care to truly bloom."

Mr. Henderson looked around the greenhouse, his gaze lingering on the neglected corners. "This garden certainly hasn't seen much love in a while," he remarked. "It was like this when I first arrived at Volkov Manor many years ago."

Lily's brow furrowed. "You've been here… that long?"

Mr. Henderson chuckled again. "Yes, Miss Lily. I'm afraid I'm the oldest resident here, aside from the spiders in the attic, perhaps."

Lily's eyes widened. "Wow! You must have seen so many changes."

Mr. Henderson nodded, a flicker of sadness crossing his face. "Indeed, Miss Lily. I have seen laughter turn to silence, joy turn to sorrow. This manor… it used to be a different place."

Intrigued, Lily ventured a cautious question. "Have you ever seen Master Niklaus' mother?"

Mr. Henderson's smile vanished, replaced by a solemn expression. "No, Miss Lily. I was new here when… when she passed away. It was a very sad time at Volkov Manor."

Lily's breath hitched. Niklaus' mother wasn't alive. He never spoke of her, and now she understood why.

Mr. Henderson continued, his voice low. "And these roses… they haven't bloomed a single flower since that time. Not until you arrived, Miss Lily."

Lily's heart skipped a beat. Could it be a coincidence? Or was there something more to the neglected roses mirroring the grief that hung heavy in the manor?

As Mr. Henderson began to explain a new technique for rose propagation, Lily couldn't shake the feeling that a connection, subtle yet profound, existed between her, the roses, and the secrets of Volkov Manor. She had only just begun to scratch the surface, and the answers, like the rosebuds themselves, were waiting to unfold.

The afternoon sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the greenhouse. Lily's hands, once soft, were now calloused and smudged with dirt, a testament to her tireless efforts with the roses. Despite hours of careful pruning and nurturing, the roses remained stubbornly unyielding. Not a single bud showed any sign of life.

A faint scent of lavender announced Elowen's arrival. The kind head maid appeared with a steaming tray laden with a simple but delicious dinner. "Time for a break, dear," Elowen said gently.

Lily, lost in her work, looked up with a startled expression. "Oh, has it gotten so late?" she asked, her voice hoarse from disuse.

Elowen set the tray down on a nearby table. "Indeed, Miss Lily. The sun has set."

Lily glanced outside, finally registering the encroaching darkness. The wind howled like a lonely wolf, sending shivers down her spine. The flickering candlelight cast grotesque dancing shadows on the walls.

Mr. Henderson, his face etched with fatigue, coughed gently. "Miss Lily, it's time to call it a day. Your dedication is admirable, but rest is important too."

Lily bit her lip, torn between her exhaustion and burning desire to see a single rose bloom. These flowers, neglected and sorrowful, seemed to tug at her heartstrings.

"But the roses," she stammered, her voice filled with a desperate hope. "They haven't gotten any better. I can't just leave them now."

Mr. Henderson sighed. "They are roses, Miss Lily. They need time, sunlight, and perhaps… a bit more than just tending."

Lily frowned, the meaning of his cryptic words eluding her. But before she could ask for clarification, a sudden gust of wind blew through a broken window, extinguishing the remaining candle flames.

The greenhouse plunged into darkness, a suffocating blackness that pressed in on Lily. A shiver racked her body, not just from the cold, but from the sudden loneliness that descended upon her.

"Mr. Henderson? Elowen?" she called out, her voice trembling.

Silence answered her, punctuated only by the mournful howling of the wind. Lily realized that both Mr. Henderson and Elowen had left, and she was alone in the vast, dark greenhouse with the silent roses.

Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. Had she been so focused on the roses that she hadn't noticed the world around her fading away? Perhaps Mr. Henderson was right. Perhaps her health was more important than a blooming rose.

But as she stood there in the darkness, a strange sense of determination welled up within her. These roses, like Niklaus himself, were shrouded in mystery. Their lack of bloom mirrored the veiled secrets of Volkov Manor. And Lily, the fragile flower misplaced in a world of darkness, wouldn't give up on either.

With a deep breath, she started feeling around blindly in the darkness, her fingers searching for the remaining roses. She wouldn't wait for the morning light. She would nurture them even in the darkness, a silent promise whispered to the night and the unyielding roses.

The darkness pressed in on Lily, a suffocating shroud that stole every last vestige of light. Fear, cold and primal, coiled in her stomach. She hated the dark. Back home, she wouldn't even leave her room at night without a lantern in hand. Now, here she was, trapped in a greenhouse with no flame to chase away the creeping shadows.

A whimper escaped her lips, a strangled sob swallowed by the silence. Mr. Henderson's words echoed in her mind – "rest is important too." Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the already nonexistent image before her. Had she pushed herself too hard? Were the roses worth the fear gnawing at her?

But then, a flicker of defiance sparked within her. These roses, stubborn and unyielding, mirrored the secrets of Volkov Manor that she desperately wanted to unravel. Giving up now wouldn't do.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Lily decided to act. She knew there was a small storage room tucked away in a corner of the greenhouse, a place where Mr. Henderson kept spare tools and gardening supplies. Perhaps, within its darkness, she could find something – a lantern, a candle, anything that would banish the oppressive shadows.

With trembling hands outstretched before her, Lily began to navigate the greenhouse floor. Her fingers brushed against rough stone walls, cold and damp with the night air. She shuffled forward, her steps tentative, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Every rustle of leaves in the wind, every creak of the old greenhouse frame amplified into a terrifying monster in her imagination.

Tears streamed down her face, blurring the darkness further, but she didn't stop. She had to find the storeroom, a tiny haven of light in this suffocating blackness. Minutes stretched into an eternity as she explored every corner, her fingertips tracing every nook and cranny. Just as despair threatened to consume her, her hand brushed against a smooth, cool surface – a doorknob.

Relief flooded through her in a wave so powerful it left her breathless. It was the storeroom door! With trembling fingers, Lily fumbled for the handle, turning it with a soft click. The door creaked open, revealing a sliver of darkness within darkness.

Lily, her eyes stinging with tears, took a shaky step forward. The unknown beckoned, but even the unknown held a flicker of hope, a chance to escape the terrifying embrace of the night. With a silent prayer whispered to the darkness, she squeezed through the doorway, leaving the oppressive darkness of the greenhouse behind.

Relief washed over Lily as she squeezed through the creaking storeroom door. But the feeling was short-lived. The darkness inside the room was as thick and oppressive as the greenhouse itself. A whimper escaped her lips, the silence broken only by the ragged sound of her own breathing.

Fear, once again, coiled in her stomach, but this time, it was laced with a steely determination. She wouldn't let the darkness win. Somewhere in this room, there had to be a lantern or some candles. And somewhere, there had to be matches.

Taking another deep breath, Lily stretched out her hands into the darkness, her fingers blindly exploring the cluttered space. Boxes and tools shifted under her touch, sending shivers down her spine with every unexpected bump. The air grew thick with the scent of dust and forgotten things, a testament to the room's long-unused state.

As she continued her search, her hand brushed against a rough wooden surface – a shelf, perhaps. With newfound hope, she ran her fingers along its edge, feeling the outline of various objects. There! A small, rectangular shape – a box! Her heart pounded with anticipation. It could be matches.

Lily carefully removed the box from the shelf, her fingers fumbling in the darkness. Cradling the box in her hand, she felt around its edges, searching for an opening. A sharp pain erupted in her shoulder as she collided with something hard and unyielding. She flinched, a gasp escaping her lips. It seemed she'd hit a metal tool with enough force to break the skin.

A tiny bead of blood welled up, staining her fingertips crimson. Tears welled in her eyes, not just from the pain, but from the frustration that gnawed at her. Here, in this tiny storeroom, even the inanimate objects seemed determined to thwart her.

But Lily wasn't one to give up easily. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, ignoring the sting of the cut. With renewed focus, she fumbled with the box, her fingers finally locating a seam. Pushing down with her thumb, she managed to pry it open.

A wave of relief washed over her as a faint, familiar scent filled her nostrils – sulfur. Matches! Her fingers brushed against the rough tips, a tiny spark of hope igniting within her. With trembling hands, she extracted a single match, its rough texture a comforting presence in the darkness.

Now, all she needed was a way to light it. But before she could search further, a sudden creak echoed from the greenhouse, sending a fresh wave of terror through her. Had someone heard her cry out? Was she alone in the darkness?

Lily froze, her heart hammering against her ribs. The darkness outside seemed impossibly vast, filled with unseen dangers. Clutching the box of matches in one hand, she pressed her back against the cool storeroom wall, her pulse a frantic rhythm in the suffocating silence.