All Hallow's Eve: The Parlor

Vivian could see why Judith had fancied this man so much.

He was of tall stature, and his hair was pitch black; his eyes, a smart brown color that seemed to hold immense intelligence.

Something about him, however, did not sit well with Vivian. She felt uncomfortable in his presence; he exuded an imperial aura, somewhat condescending and other times overwhelming.

It was not only that – the dim, candlelit surroundings only added to the weight Vivian felt on her chest and shoulders.

For a few wretched moments, the young Victorian noblewoman found that she could not breathe, and did not know what induced this unsettling reaction.

The night outside was bitter and frigid, the October wind unforgiving.

The temperature was no better inside. According to all common sense (and this fair ladye had a good amount of it), a house with a blaze in the hearth should be warmer than outside.

The candle flickered, and he spoke – no, he did not. He crooned: a soft, inviting threat.

“Won’t you step into my parlor?”

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