Dark Sonata
Fai Roberts 2015
Dark Sonata
Prologue
England, was it?
How in God’s name did she know that?
She flinched as she gazed around the darkened land with uneasy breaths, mindful to not disturb her delicate train of thought. One false move and she could lose this faint grip on her sanity. Her mind seemed to be running on fragmented memories as if they truly were shards of glass ready to cut deep into her emotional sense of calm. Her eyelid twitched, her knuckles were white, clenched, wanting to let the monster inside free.
“Victoria,” she breathed as if it were an oath, not knowing what possessed her to say this.
It was her own name.
This revelation didn’t shock her in the least, but what did was a sense of overwhelming anger, this penetrating fury that had her joints trembling with an unknown vengeance. Her eyes were narrowed, tight. She was teetering on the edge of something intense. Ferocity flickered like an ethereal flame in the depths of her irises, showing no signs of compassion, her sympathy—gone. The crimson haze that blurred her vision was now mimicking the grief that weighed down her soul, her sanity.
No, Victoria didn’t see the great estate that she stood upon, nor did she even know where she was. The dead grass around her went unnoticed; the crash of thunder went unheard.
Only the screaming in her mind grew louder.
Make it stop.
She placed her hands on her temples and suddenly screamed, the sound reminding her of a wounded animal caught in the grip of pain. Something had happened that was life-altering, soul shattering. She held out her shaking hand and felt the raindrops that began to beat down on her. As if the rain could deter her.
She raised her strained gaze and took a deep breath and felt every vibration around her when something familiar flashed through her body. Bloody hell. She knew this place now. It came to her in painful flashes, visions discombobulated. Basingstoke.
She was in England.
Victoria closed her eyes and knew it was so.
The darkened skies of Basingstoke cracked again, assaulting the dead silence that drifted throughout the land. Victoria started to take in her surroundings; everything seemed completely foreign but in the back of her broken memories she knew this place meant something to her. Victoria knew she was in the right place, at the very beginning of everything. If she could think of a swear word that would define the confusion, the pain and anger she felt, she would scream it to the heavens above.
Yes, this was once her beginning.
This place was where her misery started, this very spot, on which she stood.
Her memory wasn’t completely gone, no. She still knew what she had done. This knowledge both confused her and scared her. Victoria had jumped through time, traveled through a damning window of time for what reason she didn’t know. Her mind, memories in ruin. But, she would never, could never, forget the pain that now consumed her soul, for it branded her. That could never be erased.
She must take in every detail for every second could mean dire consequences.
In her dark cloak she felt something hidden and instantly knew it was important, so she pulled it out.
Odd. It was a thick black book without a title.
It felt as though time had slowed down as she opened the book with care and hesitation. Blank … Blank? The pages were blank? And they seemed deliberately that way. Questions rushed up from her subconscious mind … Why? What for? Who?! She knew that she was about to find out.
Victoria hissed through her teeth, feeling an odd sensation of longing when holding this. “Remember,” she harshly breathed.
She closed her eyes and began tracing her fingertips over the beautiful cover, over each groove of the design, trying desperately to remember. Please remember. Opening her eyes she traced her hand back up the cover and something flashed making her snatch her hand away as if burned. Victoria took a moment while her heart slowed. She placed her palm back on the cover, and to her shock, golden words were being written as if by a ghostly hand.
Sucking in her breath she tried to calm her pounding heart as she watched at what was now being engraved into the cover.
Memoir, it read.
Victoria repeated it in her head over and over, frowning, hoping to understand its importance.
She had no idea what that meant. Opening the book without a thought she stared at the blank page. Biting her lip she held her hand over the first page, and sure enough, more golden words were being written.
Expelling a breath her green eyes frantically took in the words, like it was her lifeline, her only grip on sanity.
Dear God, it’s a story …
As her eyes skimmed over the first page she made a shocking realization, something that made her pulse accelerate to ramming speed. It was not just any story, but her story. Her hand shook as she traced over her name that was written on the first line. “Dear God,” she muttered. This was why she was here now, at this very spot.
This was the key to what had happened.
Victoria knew what she had to do.
“Chapter one,” she whispered and held her trembling hand over the page.
England, was it?
How in God’s name did she know that?
She flinched as she gazed around the darkened land with uneasy breaths, mindful to not disturb her delicate train of thought. One false move and she could lose this faint grip on her sanity. Her mind seemed to be running on fragmented memories as if they truly were shards of glass ready to cut deep into her emotional sense of calm. Her eyelid twitched, her knuckles were white, clenched, wanting to let the monster inside free.
“Victoria,” she breathed as if it were an oath, not knowing what possessed her to say this.
It was her own name.
This revelation didn’t shock her in the least, but what did was a sense of overwhelming anger, this penetrating fury that had her joints trembling with an unknown vengeance. Her eyes were narrowed, tight. She was teetering on the edge of something intense. Ferocity flickered like an ethereal flame in the depths of her irises, showing no signs of compassion, her sympathy—gone. The crimson haze that blurred her vision was now mimicking the grief that weighed down her soul, her sanity.
No, Victoria didn’t see the great estate that she stood upon, nor did she even know where she was. The dead grass around her went unnoticed; the crash of thunder went unheard.
Only the screaming in her mind grew louder.
Make it stop.
She placed her hands on her temples and suddenly screamed, the sound reminding her of a wounded animal caught in the grip of pain. Something had happened that was life-altering, soul shattering. She held out her shaking hand and felt the raindrops that began to beat down on her. As if the rain could deter her.
She raised her strained gaze and took a deep breath and felt every vibration around her when something familiar flashed through her body. Bloody hell. She knew this place now. It came to her in painful flashes, visions discombobulated. Basingstoke.
She was in England.
Victoria closed her eyes and knew it was so.
The darkened skies of Basingstoke cracked again, assaulting the dead silence that drifted throughout the land. Victoria started to take in her surroundings; everything seemed completely foreign but in the back of her broken memories she knew this place meant something to her. Victoria knew she was in the right place, at the very beginning of everything. If she could think of a swear word that would define the confusion, the pain and anger she felt, she would scream it to the heavens above.
Yes, this was once her beginning.
This place was where her misery started, this very spot, on which she stood.
Her memory wasn’t completely gone, no. She sti
ll knew what she had done. This knowledge both confused her and scared her. Victoria had jumped through time, traveled through a damning window of time for what reason she didn’t know. Her mind, memories in ruin. But, she would never, could never, forget the pain that now consumed her soul, for it branded her. That could never be erased.
She must take in every detail for every second could mean dire consequences.
In her dark cloak she felt something hidden and instantly knew it was important, so she pulled it out.
Odd. It was a thick black book without a title.
It felt as though time had slowed down as she opened the book with care and hesitation. Blank … Blank? The pages were blank? And they seemed deliberately that way. Questions rushed up from her subconscious mind … Why? What for? Who?! She knew that she was about to find out.
Victoria hissed through her teeth, feeling an odd sensation of longing when holding this. “Remember,” she harshly breathed.
She closed her eyes and began tracing her fingertips over the beautiful cover, over each groove of the design, trying desperately to remember. Please remember. Opening her eyes she traced her hand back up the cover and something flashed making her snatch her hand away as if burned. Victoria took a moment while her heart slowed. She placed her palm back on the cover, and to her shock, golden words were being written as if by a ghostly hand.
Sucking in her breath she tried to calm her pounding heart as she watched at what was now being engraved into the cover.
Memoir, it read.
Victoria repeated it in her head over and over, frowning, hoping to understand its importance.
She had no idea what that meant. Opening the book without a thought she stared at the blank page. Biting her lip she held her hand over the first page, and sure enough, more golden words were being written.
Expelling a breath her green eyes frantically took in the words, like it was her lifeline, her only grip on sanity.
Dear God, it’s a story …
As her eyes skimmed over the first page she made a shocking realization, something that made her pulse accelerate to ramming speed. It was not just any story, but her story. Her hand shook as she traced over her name that was written on the first line. “Dear God,” she muttered. This was why she was here now, at this very spot.
This was the key to what had happened.
Victoria knew what she had to do.
“Chapter one,” she whispered and held her trembling hand over the page.
Chapter one
Basingstoke, England 1841
Victoria Orpha Leslie gracefully knelt on the open field and let her maroon skirts swell around her. Being out here alone made her forget, to pretend that she was another more respectful young lady of perfect breeding. Ah yes, another unreachable dream upon a long list of disappointments. She supposed someone like her would be used to the most unfortunate of circumstances. If anyone could cope with misfortune it would undoubtedly be her. She wasn’t complaining but was merely stating the truth.
The ominous sky flashed brightly bringing her back to her bland, gloomy reality. She blinked rapidly as her light blue eyes gazed up into the angry sky. Her glassy stare reflected the full moon as if her pupils were no longer black but were shining opals.
So it would rain again.
Victoria peered over the dark grasslands of the estate and tried to imagine how it would look with sunlight, if there ever was such a thing. It was night, yes, but the outlook always consisted of dark blues and silvers, the sun no longer blessed the land with its golden rays of life. She was told that the grass had once been green and soft, not straw-like. It was quite unappealing, prickly to the touch. The sky had been cloudy and gloomy since she was born some twenty years ago.
So, as rumor had it, she was the cause of this darkness. Victoria grabbed some dead grass and ripped it out, disgusted with their ignorance. That was a ridiculous claim. London’s elite were nothing more than gossip scavengers preying on other’s misfortune as if it were the essence of longevity. The scandal sheets had the audacity to claim that her father’s renowned sins had angered the mighty God into declaring punishment onto the unsuspecting population of England, cursing the land with darkness.
Though she was not formally labeled as a bastard, everyone thought her as such. She was cursed from birth being the aftermath of her father’s sins.
Lady Victoria was the legitimate daughter of Lucian Isaiah Leslie, the Duke of Basingstoke. At the time in which her father was still alive not one soul questioned why she didn’t look anything like the Duchess. It was well known that her father was a rogue of the highest degree, not minding his reckless reputation of late night gambling halls and an abundance of questionable women. She was told her father was feared, seeming to have no soul or any hint of moral principles. God forbid anyone look at her and wonder why she had silver hair and pale skin when both parents were the complete opposite, Italian decent. Did her father have a bastard child then try and cover it up, claiming his wife had conceived her? She had not a clue which was completely disheartening.
Thus, she was now labeled as the White Witch, the spawn of sin. Depression, she figured, was merely concealed anger without enthusiasm.
A shiver licked its way down her spine as she glanced around warily.
Why did tonight feel so different? She felt it from the moment she walked outside. It was as if Mother Nature were playing a different harmony tonight, singing such a haunting and tragic tune. The moon lit the fog that splayed over the lifeless landscape and slowly swayed back and forth even though there was no breeze. The trivial movement almost reminded her of something that was living and breathing, trying to make its way to her, praying not to be noticed.
Her waist-length tresses shimmered as if they were diamonds, sparkling brightly in the moonlight. A slight gust of wind ruffled her unbound hair sending her skin pickling in sudden awareness. The breeze oddly felt like a caress rather than the normal shifting of wind currents. Her blue eyes narrowed as she scanned the darkened land unable to shake this feeling of being watched, something observing her from afar. Victoria touched the choker that clung to her neck like a security blanket and she took a steady breath. She told herself that the sudden drop in temperature was just her imagination. Victoria exhaled seeing her breath in small visible puffs and knew it was real. Her fingers worked nervously at her choker while her gaze still scanned the shadowed night.
A streak of lightning sliced across the sky followed by a crash of thunder, feeling the ground rumble from its power. Her attention immediately went to the shadowed trees again, half expecting to see something lurking there, ready to pounce.
She saw nothing, just the billowing trees and the ominous darkness.
But that didn’t mean anything; she knew there were evils that the naked eye couldn’t see or understand and she sensed it. Victoria held out her hand, feeling the slight vibrations that drifted throughout the air. Since she was little she possessed this sixth sense, feeling things others could not. It was not long after that she found out that her senses went beyond just being able to feel.
Whenever she removed her rare choker odd and unexplainable effects happened to the objects around her. Victoria had screamed in fury after her dear cousin accused her of stealing priceless jewels and the mirror next to her shattered violently. Displaying any extreme emotion when she was not wearing the choker always ended in chaos. Thinking that the oddities in her life could not get any worse was always a letdown. Victoria realized that she just lacked a sufficient imagination.
Movement caught her eye as she jerked her head to the left. It was impossible to tell anything in the dark of the night for it could have been anything. Her pulse leapt to life as the shadows within the trees seemed to move of their own accord. Just my imagination.
This felt wrong.
Whatever it was, it was not emitting welcome vibes. God, it seemed to draw nearer the longer she stood in this spot.
Her mind was screaming at her to back up
slowly and run. The deep vibrations she was sensing rattled her to the core. Her fingertips tingled and her knees threatened to buckle as if the Gates of Hell just opened on this very estate. The energy around her was malevolent, frightening her for she never felt anything quite like it. Victoria backed up, her pulse beating in her throat. She prided herself on not being easily shaken and she was actually trembling. And trembling not from the sudden chill but from whatever was invading this calm night.
The rising wind was as cold as death, robbing every ounce of her warmth and sense of comfort. Turning on her heel she took off into a sprint knowing that she was giving whatever it was lurking in the trees a reason for a good chase. She glanced back but saw nothing, but she still felt it. She brought her fingers to her lips and whistled, hoping her mare would for once in her life come when called.
Her gray mare seemed to glow in the darkness making her easy to spot from a distance. Victoria whistled again as she drew near. “Bratt!” She hoped the horse wouldn’t live up to her name and dash off without her like she was notorious for. But to her relief the mare was focused on the darkness behind her, as if seeing something she could not. Victoria warily glanced back praying nothing would be standing there. Seeing nothing again did not ease her escalating fear; it only heightened it.
She mounted Bratt and pulled the hood of her cloak over her head. The horse pounded the ground nervously making Victoria pull back on the reins in an attempt to gain control. “Yes,” she whispered as she eyed the darkness, “you feel it too.” Within seconds they were galloping back towards the Manor as if the Devil himself chased their heels. The feeling of being hunted was overwhelming. Bratt’s powerful strides tore up the ground as her hooves crushed the land with urgency. Victoria's hood flew back and her hair temporarily blinded her as she glanced back, making sure that nothing was following.
Urging her mare to go faster was all consuming.
The bitter cold wind cut into her face as they neared the great manor that seemed to emit an eerie glow tonight. The massive house was ghostly, alive with its glowing gas lanterns lighting the perimeter. The dark stone of the grand house gave an appearance of an old world castle complete with gargoyles and towering walls. Steering the mare to the back of the manor towards the stables was not easy for Bratt did not want to slow her neck-breaking pace.