Ravens Loft perched on the Yorkshire moors like a predator. All sharp spires and brooding stonework that caught storm clouds the way a spider catches flies. The manor itself was determined to drive away visitors.

November winds howled through gaps in the masonry, carrying with it the scent of decay and—something sweet and cloying that reminded Evangeline Miranda of funeral flowers. She inherited more than just property. She inherited a burden that pressed against her shoulders with every step through the shadowed halls.

She had been at Ravens Loft Manor for less than one day now and couldn't forsee keeping it. Three elderly lawyers' warnings echoed in her mind like funeral bells.

"You must spend at least one night in the house before making any decisions about its future," they had insisted. Their pale fingers drummed nervously against their mahogany desks. "Your great-aunt was... particular about that stipulation."

Particular? As if Great-Aunt Cordelia had been merely eccentric rather than the woman who chose to live alone in this Gothic monstrosity for fifty years. Alone here, never married and never had visitors. She died under mysterious circumstances. Even Doctor Ramsey preferred not to discuss it in detail.

The east wing had called to her from the moment she'd arrived. While the rest of the manor merely felt abandoned, this section felt deliberately sealed. As if something had been locked away rather than simply left behind. The heavy oak door had resisted her attempts to open it. Its ancient lock refusing every key on the massive ring the lawyers had pressed into her hands.

Until…

A rusted key finally surrendered to her persistence with a sound like something dying.

The door swung open with a groan that echoed through dimensions. It revealed a corridor thick with dust and secrets. Evangeline's candlelight wavered in the disturbed air and cast dancing shadows on wallpaper that had once been elegant. Now it hung in tatters like dead skin. Her footsteps on the warped floorboards sounded unnaturally loud in the oppressive silence.

The mirror dominated the room. What reflections it must have held. Generations of secrets, if only it could speak them. Evangeline was drawn forward.

It was magnificent and terrible. A towering looking glass easily eight feet tall and framed in silver that had somehow remained untarnished despite the decay around it. The frame was a masterwork of craftsmanship. Roses and thorns intertwined in patterns so intricate they seemed to move in the flickering candlelight. But it was not the artistry that made Evangeline's breath catch in her throat.

It was the fact that her reflection was not alone.

A man stood behind her in the glass. Though when she spun around, heart hammering, the room was empty save for dust motes dancing in her candle's glow. She turned back to the mirror with trembling hands, and there he was again. Tall, aristocratic, dressed in clothes that belonged to another century entirely.

He was watching her?

"Dear God," she whispered. Her voice shattered the silence like breaking crystal.

The man in the mirror moved. He stepped forward until he stood directly behind her reflection. His pale hands coming to rest on what should have been her shoulders. She felt nothing, but in the glass, she could see his lips moving.

"You can see me."

The words seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. A whisper that bypassed her ears entirely and spoke directly to something deeper. Evangeline's rational mind, the careful, scholarly mind that had made her reputation as a book restorer, screamed at her to run. Flee this place and never look back. Insist the lawyers sell Ravens Loft to whoever was fool enough to want it.

But her heart. Her foolish, lonely heart, recognized something in the stranger's eyes. A loneliness that matched her own. A hunger that spoke to needs she never dared acknowledge.

"Who are you?" she breathed.

In the mirror, the man's lips curved in what might have been relief or despair. "Adrian Blackwood. Lord of Ravens Loft. Though I suppose that title means little now." His voice was cultured. Educated. Refined with an accent of England's upper classes. "And you are the new mistress of this cursed place."

"Evangeline Miranda. I inherited the manor from my great-aunt." She found herself speaking to his reflection as naturally as if he stood beside her in flesh and blood. "How is this possible? How are you..."

"Dead?" Adrian's laugh held no humor. "I wish I were. Death would be a mercy compared to this existence."

"But you're here. You're speaking to me."

"I am trapped, Miss Miranda. Caught between worlds by a curse that has held me for two centuries." He moved in the mirror, pacing like a caged wolf. She found herself turning to keep him in view. "Your great-aunt was the only person who could see me. She was the only one who knew of my existence."

The mention of Great-Aunt Cordelia sent a chill through Evangeline that had nothing to do with the November cold seeping through the manor's walls. "What happened to her?"

Adrian's reflection stopped pacing. When he looked at her through the glass, his eyes held such profound sadness that she felt her throat constrict. "She died loving a man who could never love her as she deserved. Died knowing that her emotions were her doom."

"I don't understand."

"The curse that binds me here is... particular in its cruelty." Adrian pressed his palm against the glass from his side, and Evangeline found herself mirroring the gesture without conscious thought. The mirror's surface was cold beneath her fingers, but she could swear she felt warmth radiating from where his hand would be. "I can exist only in reflections, save for one hour each night when the veil between worlds grows thin enough for me to cross over."

"Cross over?"

"At midnight, this mirror becomes a doorway. For one hour, I can step into your world, can touch and be touched, can pretend I am still among the living." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "It is the most wonderful and terrible hour of my existence."

Evangeline's pulse quickened. "When is midnight?"

Adrian's eyes widened slightly, as if her question surprised him. "In twenty minutes. But Miss Miranda, you mustn't—"

"Why not?" She stepped closer to the mirror, drawn by something she couldn't name. "You've been alone here for two centuries. Surely you want company."

"Want?" Adrian's reflection laughed bitterly. "I have wanted companionship so desperately that there were years I nearly went mad from the longing. But wanting and having are different things entirely, and the price of my company is higher than you know."

"What price?"

Before Adrian could answer, the air in the room began to change. It grew thick, almost viscous, and the temperature dropped until Evangeline could see her breath misting in the candlelight. The mirror's surface began to shimmer like water disturbed by wind.

"It's time," Adrian said, and his voice carried a mixture of anticipation and dread that made Evangeline's heart race.

The grandfather clock in the hallway began to chime. Its deep notes echoed through the manor like a funeral dirge. Evangeline counted each strike. Eleven, twelve. On the final tone, the mirror's surface rippled and transformed, becoming liquid silver that reflected not the decrepit room around her, but something else entirely.

Through the transformed glass, she could see the same room but restored to its former glory. Rich velvet curtains hung at windows that gleamed with polish. A fire crackled in a marble fireplace that in her world was cracked and cold. The walls were lined with books bound in leather so supple it seemed to glow in the firelight. Crystal chandeliers cast warm light over furniture that spoke of wealth and refinement.

And stepping through the liquid mirror like a man walking through water came Adrian Blackwood himself.

He was even more striking in person. Tall and lean, with the kind of aristocratic bearing that spoke of generations of breeding and privilege. His dark hair was longer than modern fashion would dictate, brushing his collar in waves that caught the light. His face was all sharp angles, high cheekbones, a straight nose, a jaw that could have been carved from marble. But it was his eyes that held her captive. Dark as midnight and ancient beyond his apparent years.

He wore the formal attire of a bygone era. A perfectly tailored black coat over a white shirt and cravat, fitted breeches, and boots that gleamed despite their obvious age. He looked like he had stepped out of a Regency novel, all elegance and restrained power.

"Miss Miranda," he said, and his voice was rich and warm in the flesh. It carried none of the ethereal quality it had possessed when filtered through the mirror. "You are even more beautiful than your reflection suggested."

Heat flooded Evangeline's cheeks. No one had ever called her beautiful. Pretty, perhaps, or handsome in a scholarly way, but never beautiful. She was too serious, too bookish, too content with dusty libraries and ancient texts to inspire poetry in men's hearts.

But the way Adrian looked at her, as if she were something precious and rare, made her feel beautiful for the first time in her life.

"You're real," she whispered, reaching out to touch his face before she could stop herself. Her fingertips traced the sharp line of his cheekbone, marveling at the warmth of his skin, the slight roughness of stubble along his jaw.

"For one hour," he said, catching her hand and pressing it more firmly against his face. His eyes closed as if her touch caused him physical pain. "For sixty minutes, I am as real as you are. And then..."

"Then you return to the mirror."

"Then I return to my prison." Adrian opened his eyes, and she saw centuries of loneliness reflected in their depths. "This is why your great-aunt died, Miss Miranda. This is the curse that claimed her heart and eventually her life. She fell in love with a man who could only exist for her one hour out of twenty-four."

The words should have frightened her. Should have sent her running from this place and its impossible occupant. Instead, they sent a thrill through her that she barely recognized. A blended mixture of excitement and terror that tasted like lightning on her tongue.

"Tell me about the curse," she said.

Adrian's hand covered hers where it still rested against his face. His fingers intertwined with hers. "It's a long story, and we have only an hour."

"Then tell me while we have time."

He smiled then, the first genuine smile she had seen from him, and it transformed his austere features into something breathtaking. "Would you like to see the manor as it was meant to be? During this hour, Ravens Loft remembers its former glory."

Evangeline nodded, not trusting her voice, and let him lead her through the mirror into his world.

The difference was staggering. Where her world showed decay and abandonment, his revealed opulence and life. The hallways gleamed with polished wood and crystal sconces. Paintings in gilded frames covered the walls. Thick carpets muffled their footsteps. Through the windows, she could see gardens in impossible bloom. Roses climbed every available surface in shades of red so deep they were nearly black. Their petals gleamed like scattered rubies in the moonlight.

"It's magnificent," she breathed.

"It's a memory," Adrian replied softly. "A echo of what once was, sustained by magic and longing." He gestured to the restored grandeur around them. "During my hour of freedom, the manor lives again. But it is hollow, Miss Miranda. Beautiful but empty. Like a stage set waiting for actors who will never come."

They walked through corridors lined with portraits of his ancestors. Generations of Blackwoods with the same aristocratic features and dark eyes. Adrian told her their names, their stories, the loves and losses that had shaped his family's history. His voice carried the weight of someone who had lived with these memories for far too long, who had replayed every detail until they had worn grooves in his soul.

"And then there was me," he said as they paused before the final portrait. A younger version of himself, painted in oils that captured the arrogance of youth alongside his natural elegance. "The last Lord Blackwood, and the one who brought ruin to his entire line."

"What happened?"

Adrian was quiet for a long moment. His gaze fixed on his painted self. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "I fell in love with the wrong woman. A creature of darkness who wore beauty like a mask and whose kiss carried damnation."

"A vampire?"

"You know of such things?" He looked at her with surprise.

"I restore old books. Medieval texts, Gothic novels, folklore collections." Evangeline shrugged. "You learn to recognize the patterns in stories."

"This truth cost me everything." Adrian turned away from the portrait. He led her deeper into the restored manor. "Isabella came to Ravens Loft during a winter storm. She claimed to be a traveler seeking shelter. She was beautiful beyond description, charming, sophisticated. I was young and foolish and completely besotted."

They entered what had once been a library. Its shelves stretched from floor to ceiling and filled with books that seemed to glow with their own inner light. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across leather spines and gilt lettering.

"She stayed for weeks," Adrian continued. He settled into a chair that faced the fire and drew Evangeline down beside him. "We talked for hours about literature, art, philosophy. She was brilliant, well-traveled, more educated than any woman I had ever met. I thought myself the luckiest man alive."

"But she wasn't what she seemed."

"No. On our wedding night, she revealed her true nature. The kiss that should have sealed our union instead sealed my doom." Adrian's hand found hers in the firelight. His fingers cold despite the warmth of the room. "She made me what she was, a creature of shadow and hunger. And then, having damned my soul, she abandoned me to face my new existence alone."

"How horrible."

"The worst was yet to come. My mother was a powerful woman, Miss Miranda. She came from an old family. One with knowledge of forces beyond the natural world. When she discovered what I had become, she couldn't bear the thought of me spreading the curse. Damning others as I had been damned."

The fire crackled, and somewhere in the distance, a clock began to chime the half hour. Adrian's grip on her hand tightened.

"So she bound me here, to this mirror. To this house. I cannot leave. Cannnot touch the living world save for this one hour each night. She thought it was mercy, preserving my soul while preventing me from destroying others."

"And you've been trapped here ever since."

"For two hundred years. Until your great-aunt inherited Ravens Loft and discovered my existence." Adrian's voice softened. "Cordelia was kind to me. For fifty years, she visited me during my hour of freedom. We talked, and played chess. We pretended that I was simply an old friend rather than a cursed soul bound to her family's estate."

"She loved you."

"And I cared deeply for her. But I could never love her as she deserved. Could never give her the life she wanted. She was mortal. She grew older each year while I remained unchanged. The knowledge that her love for me was slowly killing her..." Adrian's voice broke. "It broke something in both of us."

The grandfather clock chimed again, marking the three-quarter hour. Their time was running short.

"The curse can be broken," Adrian said. His dark eyes fixed on hers with desperate intensity. "There is a way to free me from this existence."

"How?"

"True love." The words fell between them like stones dropped into still water. "Someone must choose to love me knowing what I am, knowing that such love comes with a price beyond imagining."

"What price?"

Adrian released her hand and stood. He paced to the window where the impossible roses bloomed in eternal midnight. "Whoever breaks the curse must take my place. Must become bound to Ravens Loft as I am bound. Exist only in reflection save for our shared hour of freedom."

Evangeline's heart stopped. "They would be trapped with you."

"Forever." Adrian's reflection in the window glass looked back at her with infinite sadness. "Your great-aunt discovered this truth in her final years. The knowledge that freeing me would trap someone else in this existence destroyed her. She died of a broken heart, Miss Miranda. Torn between love and conscience."

The clock began to chime the hour, its deep notes counting down the final moments of their stolen time. Adrian turned from the window, his face a mask of controlled despair.

"This is why you must leave Ravens Loft," he said urgently. "This is why you must forget you ever saw me. The curse feeds on love. It grows stronger with every heart it touches. I will not be responsible for destroying another innocent soul."

But as the final chime faded and the restored library began to fade around them, as Adrian's solid form started to become translucent, Evangeline realized with crystal clarity that it was already too late.

She was falling.

"I'll come back tomorrow night," she whispered as he dissolved back into reflection.

"Please don't," came his voice through the glass, already distant and ethereal. "Please forget me, Miss Miranda. Forget this place. Live the life you were meant to live."

But as Evangeline stood alone in the decrepit room, her hand pressed to the cold mirror where moments before she had touched warm flesh, she knew she could no more forget Adrian Blackwood than she could forget her own name.

Outside, the wind howled through Ravens Loft's ancient stones, and in the gardens, dead roses stirred as if touched by ghostly fingers.

Twenty-three hours until midnight.

She would count every one.

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