Disclaimer: Crimson Peak is Guillermo Del Toro's property, Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke, The Lodgers to Brian O'Malley. Melodie, Melanie and myself are self inserts. The old lady from Camden Market belongs to Chibimelodee.

Summary: Ghosts are real and everything happens for a reason. Is this why Marina and her friends find themselves trapped in Allerdale Hall a few days away from Christmas?

Author's note: This story was written for me by Chibimelodee as an Advent Calendar two years ago. Please note that all three of us are french and while we do know our way around english, we might still make some mistakes. Feel free to let us know!

At the candlelight

Prologue: Sweet memories are made of this…

Ghosts are real. They fade away, along with the past, like mist in the daylight… Leaving only small lessons behind... Small certainties... They are things that tie a ghost to a place, very much like us. Some remain tethered to a patch of land or a time and date, the spilling of blood… A terrible crime…. But there are others that hold to an emotion, a drive : loss, revenge, or love… Those, they never leave.

The blood of Alan McMichael on the floor. The broken baluster where Edith had fallen. The chimney in the library, raising as the house took a deep breath of poisoned air. And the ghost of Lucille Sharpe, alone, all alone forever, seated at the piano in the unforgiving cold. Playing the first note of a lullaby, their lullaby…

Let the wind blow kindly
In the sail of your dreams
And the moon light your journey
And bring you to me…

Her bony fingers brushed the keys of the old piano, moving effortlessly at the slow rhythm of the lullaby. She didn't remember how long she had been playing the dreadful instrument. A minute ? An hour ? Or a century ?

Time moved differently when you're on the other side of the veil of Death. It stretched, it fastened, it slowed, it stopped... It didn't matter. A second lasted an eternity, a year ended with a blink of an eye. Time is indeed a funny thing.

One may think that ghosts don't feel. It's not true. The wind can still tickle their skin. Cold air can bite their non-existent flesh. Fire can burn them. Of course, you can't really hurt a ghost. But the mere memory of these simple things suffices to make a ghost feel.

It was still cold inside the mansion. For all that Lucille knew, no one had fixed the huge hole in the ceiling. No fire had been lit in the fireplace.

Some small snowflakes fell inside, freezing the air further, making the lady of the house shiver. The snowflakes seemed to dance with elegance in the night air, rocked by the soft piano song.

But Lucille was blind to such a beauty. She remained on the hard small bench, playing the same song again… and again… and again. Thinking about all of the events which had led her to such a state, all the things she had done for the love of her brother.

Sure, her actions had been reckless and at times cruel. They may have lacked some finesse. But she had done them out of love. Thomas, sweet little Thomas, had always been the reason why she had done it. Thomas with the blue piercing eyes. Thomas with his well-mannered gestures. Thomas with his shy expressions. Thomas with his skillful long fingers. Dear young Thomas whom she had been forced to kill.

The strength of her grief and sadness hit her again, knocking the air out of her lungs, a single tear escaping her dead eyes but soon vanishing in a black mist. Her emotions had heightened in death but Lucille remained still, her face unreadable. Always the lady her mother forced her to be. Sentiments were for fools. Conceal. Don't make them know what you feel. Better yet, don't feel. Feelings were the cause of everything. More particularly, love. If Lucille hadn't loved Thomas... If Thomas hadn't loved Edith...

Edith... Blonde, beautiful, innocent Edith... The origin of her situation. Memories invaded her mind : Thomas and Edith entering the ballroom, the both of them dancing together so perfectly, Thomas who had came to see Lucille to ask for her ring so he could asked Edith to be his wife, the jealousy she had felt when he had brought his new bride to Allerdale Hall, the first time Thomas had put poison in Edith's tea, the way he looked at Edith, the night when Thomas had left Lucille alone, the night when he had betrayed his promise, his joy when his machine had finally worked and his will to share it with Edith, his wife's shocked expression when she had discovered their monstrous secret, Thomas's confession about his love for Edith, the way the knife had sunk so easily in his cheek, how his eyes had lost the sparks of life...

All these memories were harassing her again and again... playing forever in her tortured mind... Lucille had finally seen it as a work-in-progress, a riddle she had to be solved. Maybe if she could find the particular moment where everything was not upside-down... The moment when Edith was still prey and not a loving wife... Then maybe she could bring him back... But had she ever been prey for him ? Why ? Why had he chosen her ?

All of this made no sense... Thomas couldn't have done that to her ! Dear Thomas, so perfect, so handsome, so pure ! Still an innocent child she had to protect... And that's what she had done, protecting him against their parents, against this Edith he thought he loved, against himself...

Once dead, no one could hurt him. Once dead, he was safe... Poor Thomas... Dead... But she was dead too. They could be together at last. Two souls united in the same love, bonded forever by the horror they had committed.

Where was he ? She had been waiting for him for long, so long... But he won't be long now. He always loved travelling... Yes, it must be that, he must be certainly travelling... Without her, despite his knowledge of her hatred of being alone in this house... Ah, mean Thomas ! So broody, so dreamy... She won't scold him for that... No ! He would soon be back... They needed money... He would do what needed to be done... He would come back to her !

We can't live in the mountains,
We can't live out at sea.
Where, oh, where oh, my lover,
Shall I come to thee ?

Lucille's heart sank a little at the realization she will have to share him again with another stranger. Another innocent woman. Another meaningful wife. Or would it be another Edith ? Another bride who would steal his heart ? No, this couldn't be… Thomas's heart was hers, only hers… It had always been ! This young scatterbrained had only just been an illusion… Surely, he must have been wrong about his feelings, he couldn't have really loved her. All of this had just been an unfortunate mistake, nothing else… He had sworn he would only love her… Forever together… Never apart… He had promised !

Had Thomas always be true to her ? Had Thomas ever loved her and her only ? Her who had given him everything, that had done the unforgivable for him. She had tended to his wounds, had stood against their parents… She had killed his wives when their money was theirs. Thomas had always been afraid of death so Lucille had done the dirty work. She had witnessed as his wives took their last breath because Thomas was too weak to be there. He had tried to stay until the end for Margaret, to hold her hand when she was choking on her own blood but he had been so shaken he had wanted to stop everything, to find another way for the money they lacked. As if they ever had a choice… Poor Thomas who couldn't stand the sight of blood. Naive little Thomas revolted by a life that ends. Forever her baby brother. But what if...

What if he hadn't been there for his wives' deaths because he had also loved them ? What if he had betrayed her before Edith ? Had his love from her ever been real ? Had he been using her for the very beginning ? When had he turned his genuine self to the heartless traitor he had become ?

Lucille could still feel his hands on hers, the way he used to brush his sinful lips on hers, the feeling on his soft dark curls entangled in her hands, the weight of his body on hers. Lucille could almost hear his voice still speaking of love through wonderful poems. She could still see, just like it was yesterday, how they used to dance in her bedroom... Did Thomas ever do the same to Edith ?

She remembered quite well how Thomas had danced with Edith at the McMichael's party. How their eyes locked, just like he used to lovingly look at her when they danced and twirled. Thomas had always been a great dancer. Everytime they were celebrating, he used to wrap his lean arms around Lucille's body, taking her into a slow and promising dance. The day she had learnt she was pregnant was the happiest memory she had. Lucille could remember every detail, from the sparks of glee in Thomas's eyes to the way he had kissed her knew she could still have it with Thomas. She knew, deep in her heart, that he still had to feel something for her, despite that petulant Edith. All his words, all his touches, all his kisses should have meant something... Once he would be back home, she would soon get rid of this new wife of his and be back in his arms.

Thomas was hers…

Forever hers…

Only hers !

To Be Continued