tw: light description of gore

It is only this first section so feel free to skip to the line if you find it upsetting. :)


Blood. Dark red blood spilled over the edges of the bed, soaking the slate floor below. Its root-like fingers crawled to the far corners of the small room, seeping into the plaster walls. In the midst of the mess, with her diaphanous gown saturated with gore, she stood. Still. Waiting. Listening. Her breaths coming in soft pants from the exertion.

She had been afraid at first. Afraid the sound of metal on bone would alert someone to the heinous occurrence, but nothing stirred. All was silent save for the faint plopping of blood as it dripped onto the floor.

Her shaking hands stilled as the realization slowly dawned on her. She had done it. A large, glinting grin split across her face. Vengeance. Oh, how sweet it was. It had consumed her, given her power, delivering her from her anguish, its crimson cipher covering her bare arms. Oh, how delicious it was! Retribution was hers. Power was hers. Freedom was hers.

Her grin vanished as she remembered that she was not yet delivered. There was still one more who had to pay. Once again that intoxicating feeling of vengeance coursed through her veins, calling, beckoning. She would have her recompense. With that thought, she hastened towards the door. Her hand on the knob, she glanced back, the sight making her eyes gleam. Upon the bed, features eternally frozen in bloodied horror, lay what once had been a devil disguised as an angel. But it was concealed no more. She had carved the villain from its virtuous dressing, exposing it to the world. With a triumphant smile, she slipped into the dark hall, bloodied dagger clutched tightly in her hand.

Through darkened corridors, she marched, her filmy gown billowing around her as though she was a ghostly apparition. Nearer and nearer she drew to her target, the mantra of 'Death, Death, Death' chiming in her ears with each beat of her heart. A crack of lightening flashed her eldritch shadow onto the wall, the light glistening off of her sanguinary knife. Vengeance. Death. The words sent exhilarated shivers down her spine. Only vengeance would free her from the agony that tormented her every moment. Only death would satisfy the ravenous beast betrayal had birthed within her.

She slipped into the room. It was dark, the fire having long died out. Wind whipped against the castle, its scream auguring the murderous intent. She crept on silent feet over to the bed, her grip tightening on the blade, her blood soaked hand slick against the hilt. The nervous shaking returned. But she ignored it. There was no turning back. She had to be free from this. She must absolutely be free. Carefully, she placed her empty hand over his mouth. It wouldn't do for him to scream before she had a chance to strike. He stirred under her hand, but the movement merely served as encouragement. Let him see, she thought, let him see the punishment he had called upon himself. Slowly, she raised her dagger and then…


"CRACK!" exclaimed James, the fireplace poker in his hand clapping against the marble fireplace.

Cora jumped in her seat, a soft yelp escaping her lips. Her after dinner coffee sloshed against the porcelain and spilled onto her gloved fingers.

"The blade cut through bone." His face was cast in shadow, his eyes gleaming against darkness as he gleefully recounted the macabre tale. "Her victim stared up at her with eyes frozen in terror, unable to make a sound as the knife plunged again and—"

"I do believe that is quite enough, James," scolded Patrick. He stood across the drawing room beside the drinks table, pouring more amber liquid into his glass. "I hardly think this is appropriate after dinner conversation. Especially in front of the women."

"Oh, come now, Uncle," whined James. "I was merely telling family stories for Cousin Cora's benefit. She is unaware of the illustrious tale of the first earl and his wife."

"Oh yes, I'm sure Cora has an extreme interest in the story of a scorned woman enacting her revenge a century ago," Rosamund remarked dryly, her eyes rolling. "The woman didn't completely succeed anyway. The earl didn't die."

"Which is why her ghost haunts Downton forevermore, seeking and searching for her next victim."

James turned back to face Cora, slowly inching towards her, his lips curled into a vicious grin. She watched with an unamused expression, wishing, not for the first time, that he would leave her alone. But her lack of reaction didn't seem to matter, James was determined to have fun at her expense.

"The shadow slinks along the wall of darkened corridors," he continued, towering over her, "blood soaked dagger clutched in its hand, wailing and shrieking chants of 'Die, Die, Die' ."

"Leave her alone, James," growled Robert, his eyes threatening.

James straightened, but didn't move away. He looked at Robert, his expression amused. "I hadn't realized you lost your sense of humor, Robert."

"I hardly see how tormenting a young woman requires a sense of humor," remarked Robert, glowering.

"Tormenting?" scoffed James. "I was merely telling stories."

"Really James," Violet cut in from her place on the pink settee, "I would have thought you were past the age of believing in ghost stories."

He whirled around to face her, mischief dancing in his eyes. "Don't tell me you don't believe the tale, Aunt Violet," he stated, incredulous.

"Certainly not. And I find the topic, as well as your posturing attempts, quite childish."

"Forgive me," James mocked, bowing at the waist. He placed the poker back in its holder and moved across the floor to get a drink. "I was only trying to provide some entertainment on this night of All Hallow's Eve, when ghosts return to walk the earth."

Now alone by the fire, Cora released a sigh and relaxed her shoulders. Only one more week, she reminded herself. She could stand anything for seven days. Glancing down at her hands, she inwardly groaned with dismay. Her coffee had indeed stained her brand new gloves. Rather ruefully, she hoped her maid would be able to remove the spots.

"I hope James hasn't upset you too horribly."

Cora raised her eyes to find Robert standing beside her concern etched across his face and she smiled at his solicitude. In truth James had irritated her into exasperation, but his fables didn't frighten her.

"No," she answered, "he didn't."

"Are you certain? You look a little pale."

"Just a slight headache, nothing more. But I think I'll head up for the night before it becomes worse." She placed her cup and saucer on the nearby table. Rising to her feet, she turned and faced everyone in the room. "I'll say goodnight."

"I dearly hope it isn't on my account, Cousin Cora," stated James, with enough insincerity dripping from his words to water an entire cricket pitch.

"Not at all," she replied stiffly. She pasted a smile on her face and bobbed her head. "Goodnight."

Her smile dropped as soon as the door clicked shut behind her. Since James' arrival, he had taken it upon himself to tease her at every opportunity and, now that it was the last day of October, he had decided it would be amusing to attempt to upset her with gory tales. Cora had always prided herself on her ability to find something good about everyone, but with James she came up short. There wasn't a single facet about him that garnered praise.

The Great Hall was empty and dark, the sun having set several hours before. Candles had been lit to allow for some light, but most of the room was shrouded in shadow. Cora began to move across the hall, but suddenly paused, the dancing flames catching her attention. There was something strange in the way they moved. Their rounded silhouettes visibly sharpened, jagged edges cutting into the side of the flames, shaping and molding them into daggers.

Cora blinked. Once. Twice. By the third time they had returned to their normal shape. Sighing, she continued on her way to the staircase. They were just regular shadows and she scolded herself for letting her imagination run away with her.

As she placed her foot on the bottom step, a curious sensation overwhelmed her. Cora froze, her hand on the banister as a chill ran down her spine and the skin on her arms prickled. She shivered visibly, her heart beginning to thump violently. She could feel eyes on her, someone watching her every movement. Whirling around, she scanned the hall, but saw nothing. She was entirely alone. Annoyed with herself for letting James upset her so, Cora huffed and marched up the stairs.

When she reached the top of the staircase, she turned right and walked down the corridor to her room. As she neared her door, she caught movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning her head, she audibly gasped. A shadow danced along the wall, its shape distorted and movements indistinguishable. Her mouth dried as her mind returned to James' tale.

The shadow slinks along the wall of darkened corridors blood soaked dagger clutched in its hand, wailing and shrieking chants of 'Die, Die, Die'.

Cora watched, waiting with bated breath as her heart beat began to thunder in her ears. It drew closer and closer, becoming larger and larger with each step. Slowly, Cora began to move backwards, her body tensed in anticipation, preparing to run at a second's notice.

A furry head poked around the corner and Cora sighed, the tension flooding out of her body. She felt incredibly foolish, reacting so strongly when it was only Hathor. The yellow labrador trotted over to her and stared at her with curious brown eyes. Cora felt a reprimand build on her tongue, but she forced it back and instead satisfied Hathor's want for attention. After all it was not the dog's fault she had lost control of her imagination. If anyone deserved a rebuke it was James.