Page 13 of Bound By Crimson
She read the words again, certain she had misunderstood.
Gravemoor Castle.
The name stirred old memories.
The castle had loomed at the farthest edge of town. It had stood long before the town ever existed—an ancient, grey-stone monolith wrapped in shadow and ivy. Gargoyles peered down from the highest turrets. Cracked iron gates kept out curious trespassers.
As kids, they’d all dared each other to sprint past it. Some said vampires lived there. Others swore it was abandoned.
But cars had always come and gone. Tinted windows. Strangers no one knew. No one ever moved in, but someone was always watching.
No one she knew had ever been inside.
And now, apparently, she was invited.
Lyric frowned, confusion knitting between her brows.
Before she could think further, the chimes above the door jingled.
Velora swept in, arms full of wildflowers, a scarf trailing behind her like a comet tail. “Sorry I’m late! There was a deal on eucalyptus and I—”
She paused, eyes narrowing playfully. “What’s with the confused look?”
Lyric didn’t speak. She simply held out the invitation.
Velora set the flowers down and unfolded the black cardstock carefully. Her eyes widened. “Gravemoor Castle?”
Lyric nodded.
Velora let out a breath. “I’ve always wanted to see what’s inside that place. No one ever talks about it, and I’ve lived here longer than most. If those walls could talk…”
She shook her head in wonder, still studying the invitation. “I’ve heard rumours of parties there lately,” she said softly, eyes narrowing. “But no one I know has actually ever been invited…until now.”
Lyric swallowed. “It’s this Friday.”
Velora glanced at her.
“And it’s… my birthday.”
Velora’s face lit up. “Then it’s a sign from the stars. Youhaveto go.”
“I don’t even own a dress. Or a mask.”
“Not true.”
Before Lyric could protest, Velora was already moving.
First, she crossed to the glass case near the window—the one filled with antique jewelry, watches, and forgotten treasures. She opened it carefully and lifted out a crimson masquerade mask edged in black lace.
The satin ribbons trailed like streams of wine.
Then Velora crossed to the opposite end of the shop, pulling aside the beaded curtain that hid her private vintage rack—dresses she hadn’t yet decided to sell. She rifled through the hangers until she found what she was looking for.
She pulled out a gown.
Deep, rich crimson—the color of ripe cherries and fresh sin.
Off-the-shoulder. Corset-laced bodice.
