She was the rose with dewy complexion and peach kissed cheeks. Her moist green eyes were mesmerizing to the man lurking in the shadows. Furtively he followed her into the park, snatching her from behind and hurling her to the ground. Plucking her petals one by one, he disrobed the whimpering woman, exposing her creamy white skin. He pulled his stiletto and took care of his prey. When he was finished with his job, the beautiful rose was left wilted and limp on the grassy slopes.

He smiled slyly to himself, knowing that his rose would fertilize the ground along with the others and new life would form.

The Mystery of Harmville was the worst manuscript Daniel had ever read and, as a literary agent, he had read many poorly constructed novels. Set in the bleak landscape of Dartmoor, the story was a thinly veiled copy of Doyle’s Baskervilles though it lacked the charm and character of the Sherlock classic.

To make matters worse, it had been written by Daniel’s most successful client. J. E. Henshaw had found critical acclaim with her Bonecleaver saga, a fantasy epic spanning thirteen books. When she tried her hand at horror, Universal Pictures snapped up the rights for her first offering, A Gentle Undoing, and commissioned three further screenplays. Already a well-known figure in reading circles, Henshaw’s name was getting known in the film industry.

Daniel knew Henshaw could write. She had crafted characters which resonated as truly human – flawed, hopeful, passionate – and weaved tales which were relatable to all, whether set on the mountains of Virginia or within her constructed land of Aberresal. Awards littered her drawing room and her deft use of language and brought tears to his eyes on more than one occasion.

So why would her foray into the thriller genre be such a bust? Daniel could not work it out. The only silver lining was that no-one else had read the offending work. Henshaw was very protective with her writing, only sharing with Daniel once the piece had been completed in its entirety.

Knowing he had to speak to her to discuss the dramatic change her talent had taken, he had emailed, called and texted her a hundred times in the past week but had received no reply. Finally, concerned with her well-being, Daniel knew he had no option but to call upon her home.

Pulling up on the drive of her five-bedroom detached home, Daniel spotted the Mini Cooper parked by the garage entrance. At least she was home, he thought with relief.

He used the antique doorknocker to announce his presence and waited. Before too long, he heard a faint voice approaching. Although muffled by the thick wood, the tone sounded as though the speaker was cursing.

The sound of a lock disengaging preceded the opening of the door. A young woman in her mid-twenties looked up at him. Daniel knew Henshaw lived alone with her cat and dog, and his suspicion was immediately roused.

‘Hello,’ Daniel said brightly. ‘I’m here to see Juliet.’

‘Sh’ain’t ’ere,’ the woman answered frostily.

‘Pardon?’ he asked, not understanding.

’She. Ain’t. ’ere.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Gesturing Henshaw’s car, he added, ‘Well, she can’t have gone far and I’m happy to wait.’

The woman’s brow creased in annoyance.

‘I’m Juliet’s agent,’ he introduced himself. ‘I’ve been here many times before. I’ll just help myself to a nice Earl Grey while I wait.’

Before the door could be closed, Daniel pushed his way in and began walking to kitchen. As he went, he cast furtive eyes though the open doors to the lounge and dining room, looking for signs that something was amiss. Everything seemed in place.

‘Do you want a drink while I’m making one, Miss…?’

‘Parker,’ she answered gruffly. ‘No.’

‘And did Juliet say how long she would be?’

‘Five foot six.’

Daniel uttered a small laugh to humour Parker. Her demeanour and aloof attitude were ringing so many alarm bells in his head, he was having trouble hearing himself think. He was worried Henshaw had fallen foul of this uncouth woman.

As he waited for the kettle to boil, he wandered over to the breakfast counter. Henshaw’s laptop was sitting next to a heavy looking heptahedron. About eight inches in height, the seven sides of the object were unequal. Getting closer, he noticed white line drawing on the dark surface.

‘This is interesting,’ he said as he picked it up. It was cooler than he expected, perhaps made from jet. Parker bristled as he lifted it.

On the first plane, the silhouette of a man held aloft a thin-bladed knife. Beneath him was the Roman numeral I. Twisting it around, he saw the head and shoulders of a woman behind a steering wheel, long tresses cascading from under her cap. The legend bore III. Face IV showed the image of a queen wearing a garland of garlic and flowers, her expression heartbroken. It took Daniel some time to figure out the next picture, V; the small cat was immediately obvious, but he couldn’t fathom the strange protuberance on its head. Image VI displayed a young man sobbing over the body of a dying fawn.

At the next turn of the object, Daniel was presented by nothing but the numerals II. He held it out to Parker, and asked, ‘Why this there no picture on this one?’

The woman shrugged. ‘Dunno. Guess there’s no romance left in t’world.’

Having inspected six of the seven sides of the unusual piece of art, Daniel began to turn it around to seek out the final face. Parker shot forward and clutched his wrists.

‘Don’t,’ she hissed. Her eyes pleaded with him and Daniel felt a sudden pang of sympathy for her.

‘Why?’ he whispered. ‘What is this?’

‘Don’t,’ she repeated. She tightened her grip, her nails digging into Daniel’s flesh.

With a yelp of pain, he pulled his arms back sharply and broke free from Parker but in doing lost his purchase on the prize. In slow motion, he watched it tumble from his fingertips and spin around as it fell.

Before it hit the floor, it turned enough to reveal the seventh plane. A moment’s clarity was all he was afforded before his world fractured apart.

I chose 4) “The dark depths seemed to...” as my prompt :) Though, they are all super prompts! I had to read through them several times, trying to decide which one XD

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The dark depths seemed to swallow me whole. I stared out at the darkness, my eyes ached for any hint of light. I shivered as a howling breeze blew past my face. I cautiously took a step out, further into the dark cave. Suddenly, the floor broke through and I fell, plummeting into the dark depths. I screamed as I falled, flailing to grab onto anything.

"Heeeelppp!" My scream echoed off the dark, harsh stone walls surrounding me.

I suddenly hit a hard surface, I smacked onto the flooring, hard. I laid on my back, unconsciousness just slipping around the corner of my mind. I fought it away, but soon I slipped into the darks of unconsciousness.

My head pounding I forced my eyes open. I squinted as light was shining near me. A lamp stood next to me, along with a nightstand, carpet, and other small furnishings. I slowly pushed off the bed I was lying on. My legs swung over the edge, dizziness overcame my senses and I groaned as I closed my eyes, fighting off pain and dizziness.

"So, you're awake?" A deep male voice startled me.

My eyes snapped open, a tall man stood in front of me, his tan skin shone in the light. His dark brown eyes studied me.

"Who are you?" I screeched, scrambling off the bed and over to another corner of the room.

"More like, who are you?" He turned, following my movements.

The pounding in my head increased, causing my thoughts to cloud together. "I asked first." I mumbled as I shook my head, trying to clear the pain and brain fog.

"I'm Johanno, most people call me Jo for short." He took a step closer to me. "You had quite a fall, young lady."

I closed my eyes, trying to remember what happened. I packed my bags in the morning, waved goodbye to my parents, stopped at Kyle's house, came to the cave, then we both traveled deeper into it. My flashlight plummetted down some steep cavern, Kyle wandered another direction... "And I fell down into the darkness." I whispered under my breath.

Dark spots clouded my vision as I brought my gaze up to Johanno. "Where am I?" I asked. He stepped closer and knelt down next to me. His dark eyes flashed at me, held some sort of evil glint. "You entered by abodes, you tell my why you are here."

"I-I was just cave hunting with a friend." I stammered. A strange smell wafted up to my nose, it smelt like garlic and flowers. I cringed slightly, a sleepy feeling overtook my senses.

The man's eyes flashed red for a split second. "You enter here, you never leave." He spoke, touching my forearm with his finger. I stared at him, confused, suddenly everything fell back into darkness.

I woke up, chains rattled against stone as I moved my arm. Once again, my head was pounding. My eyes glanced around the dimlit area. A man with blonde hair was busy at a table. I lifted a hand to rub my eyes, startled to see my wrist chained. "What is going on?" I screamed.

The blonde man turned. In a calm voice he spoke. "You entered the master's abodes. You will never leave his abodes." His voice sounded robotic, like he was a recording.

"He's right, Angela." The man who had talked with me earlier appeared in front of me. His hand held a bowl.

"How do you know my name?" I screeched, scooting against the wall, fear built up in my chest.

"I know everyone's name, especially if they enter here." He seemed to glide across the floor. He knelt next to me and grabbed the chain, shaking it slightly. "You will never escape."

"Why are you doing this?" I asked, tears building in my eyes.

"Because." He set the bowl down and grabbed a pair of scissors from it. "I can."

He reached towards my head with the scissors, I drew away. "Leave me alone!" I screamed at him.

His hand shot to my throat, choking me. "You entered here, you will never leave here. You will forever be my slave." His eyes once again flashed red.

I gasped for air as his hand tightened, cutting off my air supply. "I... will... never... be... your... slave!" I spat at him.

He released me and I drew in air, coughing. He pulled something else out of his bowl. "Then, if you will not be my slave, I no longer have need of you." A knife laid in his hand. "I will cut you to pieces, and use your heart for those who have none." His words hissed through the air.

"You monster!" I screamed and cowered. The blonde man turned to face me. "Kyle?" I asked, in shock.

Johanno flashed an evil smile. "The one and only Kyle you know." His hand retrieved the scissors. "Now, you either let me change you, or Kyle will die."

"I thought you were going to kill me." I stared at this confusing man. "Change me?" I watched as he grabbed a lock of my hair.

"I wouldn't." His hand pecked my cheek. "You'd make a lovely addition to this realm. A lovely queen of mine." His eyes stared deep into mine.

My mind wandered away, as if being hypnotised by this man, this monster. "Your queen?"

"Why of course." He smirked at me. "You would rule this whole kingdom, this whole.. realm."

"No!" I screamed, my heart pounded hard in my chest. "I will never be your queen! I would never become a queen to a monster, a-a villain like you!" I yelled in his face.

Johanno's face morphed into anger. He smacked me in the face. I fell back from his blow, the pain adding to my already pounding head. Once again, the smell of garlic and flowers assulted my nostrils and I slipped into unconsiousness.

I woke up, unable to move any muscle in my body. Then I realized why - I was buried in a cave in. The dark cave echoed my calls for help.

"Angela?!" A call replied.

"Kyle!" I screamed. "Over here!"

A shadowy figure appeared. "Ah, there you are." Kyle squatted next to me. "What happened?" He rolled a few stones off my arms.

"I-there was this-" I stared at Kyle, something seemed different about him.

"Angela, what is wrong?" He pulled more stones away from me.

"There was this man, Johanno.. he-he threatened to kill you." I moved my arm, shaking off dust.

"Did he have tan skin, dark eyes... maybe red?" He helped me stand.

The pounding in my head returned, this time worse. "Yes." I glanced around.

"I know who he is." Kyle helped me walk away from the rubble of the cave in.

"Kyle, he told me we entered his abodes and we'll never leave." I whispered, fear pricking my voice.

"I know, I was there." He walked to the stone wall. "And I think he was right."

"How do we get out?" I sat against the wall, grimacing as every muscle ached.

"We don't." His short reply came.

"But you can get out." A small voice echoed from above us. "There is a way." It's voice sounded sweet, kind.

"Let's hear it." Kyle grabbed my hand. "We'll do anything to get out."

"You have to do exactly as he says." The voice returned. "Even if it seems difficult."

"You mean-" I started.

"I mean, you might have to acquiese to his demands about becoming his queen.

"No, please, no." I whispered. It seemed like nightmare, one that I would never wake up from.

“My lord, I advise you to take this seriously. A man does not make death threats and not follow through with them. I think...”

“Hush! You are not paid to think, you are paid to keep me company.”

Lord Finnick Vreshtom’s young face is stern as he gazes out the window at the awakening world.

“Sir, I want to speak boldly, if you will allow me.”

“Yes, Marcus?” Finnick turns to the man.

“Sir, I do not want to go on a hunt with you if there is such a great possibility that I may perish. I value my life and I have things that I want to accomplish in my life before I one day...”

“The deer are galloping around in the woods, Marcus. No one may hunt them except those who are given permission. Soon,” Finnick pauses for effect. “Soon, some may die because the weeds and grasses are not abundant enough to feed them all. Just think,” He puts his arm around Marcus’ neck before wiping away a fake tear. “Just think... if some helpless, young deer is left... without his mother and he wanders around in those dark and merciless woods. And then! Then a dog, or worse, a wolf jumps out from the bushes and that poor, helpless, lonely, grieving... uhm... young, and handsome deer is doomed to death. You would not desire such a fate upon any animal. Right, Marcus?”

“So, you want to go and hunt the poor, helpless, lonely, grieving, young, and handsome deer’s mother before she perhaps die of hunger, sir?”

“Yes... precisely.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

The sun rises slowly over the trees, but it is greeted with scoffs from the two bandits lurking in the coverage.

“When will he be here?” The one asks while continuing to sharpen his dagger.

“Our friend said that Sir Finnick is going to come hunting and we should expect him at sunrise.”

“You don’t have to call him’Sir Finnick’.” The bandit answers gruffly. “Also, that other man that hired us is not ‘our’ friend. I only have accomplices, foes, allies, and those who hire me, not friends.”

“Have it your way, but just remember that I do not appreciate it when someone is unfair in dividing the loot.”

“What do you take me for? A vagabond?”

The other bandit opens his mouth to answer, but decides that it is wiser to keep it shut.

“Hurry along, lad! We do not have the whole day to reach our destination.” Finnick laughs as he kicks his horse in its sides and it gallops even further ahead.

“My lord! I beg of you not to leave me here alone!”

Marcus waits for an answer, but a deadly silence has suddenly fell upon the forest.

“My lord, where are you?!”

His eyes sparkled with anticipation from the shadows where he lingered, waiting for her, the blueness of them deepening to a near black.

Adrienne stepped onto the veranda. It was an unseasonably warm evening in February, and she needed to catch the breeze that came off the water. She had not yet danced, but her face behind the mask was still finely misted with perspiration from both the warmth of the evening and her anxiety, and she could feel small rivulets of the same running down between her breasts beneath the heavy eighteenth century costume dress that she’d worn this evening.

The masquerade ball was hosted by her eccentric but good friend, Angelique, this night in honor of Fat Tuesday or the conclusion of Mardi Gras. Adrienne knew the party would continue long into the wee hours of the morning, leaving many a drunken and weary individual in its wake. At the moment, she was happy to have escaped both the heat and the drunken revelry housed inside by seeking the seclusion of the veranda, and was enjoying the quiet and crisp coolness of the river’s breeze floating in over the veranda.

Adrienne had been in a bit of self-induced seclusion and had not been out for several months or since the break from her former fiancé, but tonight was a fabulous night of Mardi Gras celebration in the city, and Angelique had insisted she participate in the masquerade ball, convincing her that it would be both fun and good for her to venture out. Adrienne had not been so sure but had reluctantly agreed. She had sought refuge with Angelique after she’d caught her former fiancé cheating, and, although a bit unusual in her ways, Angelique was a lovely and loyal friend. She had welcomed Adrienne with open arms, telling her she could stay at her home for as long as she liked. That had been six months ago.

Tonight, Angelique had insisted upon arranging a blind date for Adrienne with someone named Jean-Luc, but he had not yet manifested into a reality, so Adrienne would enjoy a few moments alone on the veranda. In her eccentric, playful way, and since it was a masquerade ball and everyone would be wearing a mask, Angelique had insisted that Jean-Luc must seek her out and ask if she’d like another glass of Merlot to both reveal himself and discover her identity. Adrienne sighed. Chances were slim that he would find her amidst the throng of guests. Perhaps it was simply not meant to be. What difference would one more failed attempt at love make at this point, she mused to herself as she glanced out on the nearly empty street?

Of a sudden, the hairs on Adrienne’s arms and the nape of her neck rose, and she realized she was not alone. Turning sharply and glancing about the darkened area of the veranda, she stifled a gasp as a tall, lone figure emerged from the shadows.

“Excuse me. I did not mean to frighten you,” a deep voice issued forth on the night air. The stranger wore a mask, but Adrienne could not help but see the semblance of a smile beneath it – one of irony if she was not mistaken. How strange, she thought to herself. What could he possibly find ironic in this moment?

“It’s fine – you just caught me off guard,” she said a bit nervously. “I was just attempting to catch the breeze from the river.” While also avoiding the crowd of drunken people inside, she added mentally.

He casually drew nearer, choosing to stand only steps away from her along the wrought iron fencing that ran the length of the veranda. “Yes, me, as well,” he said, and then quietly added, “But alas, I fear it was also to escape so many unfortunate and drunken souls.”

She nodded slightly, aware that his presence seemed to permeate the entire space. And had he just read her mind? It would be impossible for him to do that, wouldn’t it? A room of drunken souls was an easy observation to make on this night of celebratory endeavors during Mardi Gras.

Taking a large sip from the glass of Merlot that she held, she inadvertently took notice of the fact that he had also chosen to wear the requested costume attire of the eighteenth century to this masquerade ball. However, his had surely cost a small fortune it was so splendid and believable. Nervously, she tugged at the skirt of her own dress, very self-conscious that what she wore was not nearly as authentic.

“You look like you stepped off the pages of a French novel,” he said, his deep voice melodic as if he were teasing her.

She glanced up, surprise etched across her brow. That was twice now he’d easily discerned that about which she’d been thinking. Was it all real or was the Merlot she was drinking wreaking havoc with her thought process tonight?

“You can’t be serious,” she said adamantly. “At least, not while you look as though you’ve stepped off the pages of an Anne Rice novel,” she softly laughed and then added, “That’s a very handsome costume you’re wearing. You, sir, are the epitome of a French nobleman.”

The stranger arched a brow at her comment, but the semblance of a smile tugged at his lips. “I assure you I do not jest. You look lovely and divinely French,” he said. “I, on the other hand, am just wearing an old piece of fabric I pulled from my dusty attic.”

In response, Adrienne eyed him with curiosity before being briefly distracted as she turned to watch a rowdy group of people pass by the house situated on Laurel Street. When she glanced back up, she noticed that, even though it was only minimal, the stranger had drawn a bit closer. She could now see intense blue eyes behind the mask along with strands of thick, dark hair that were tied back from his face in a neat, single queue at the nape of his neck. He also held a glass of what looked to be Merlot from which he drank. The wine seemed to momentarily stain his lips as he took a large swallow. So close, it was easy to see that he was quite handsome. She wondered what he’d look like without the mask. There was little doubt he would be very attractive, and thus far, there was a nice allure to his conversation as well.

“Are you from New Orleans?” he asked casually, taking another sip of his wine, his blue eyes penetrating her as he spoke.

“Yes, I’ve lived here all my life. And you?”

“I’m originally from Paris,” he replied.

“Paris? But you have no accent,” Adrienne observed.

“I’ve lived here for many years now,” the stranger said while looking into his drink. “And as a result, I’ve lost my accent over the years.”

Adrienne eyed him a bit skeptically but decided he did very much embody a French nobleman despite having no accent, at least at the moment anyway.

“How long have you been in New Orleans?” she asked, genuinely curious as to his response.

“For many long years, I assure you,” he replied. “And what do you do when you’re not looking like you leapt from the pages of an eighteenth century French classic?” he teased before adding, “I am in the business of antiquities.”

Was it just her or was he dodging her questions with more questions posed for her?

“Well, I am in the business of writing,” Adrienne said with a faint laugh. “Or at the very least, I attempt to write.”

“I am sure that what you’d write would be well worth reading,” he said.

Adrienne was about to laugh and retort that she wouldn’t be so sure, but the look in his intense blue gaze stopped her. He was serious. His blue eyes left little doubt as to his belief that what he said was fact. Embarrassed for some odd reason, she looked down at her own drink to gather her thoughts. This stranger was making her more self-consciously aware of herself than any other man had in a long while. Despite the heat of the night and for reasons unknown to her, she shivered.

Beneath her mask, he watched the stain of a blush creep across her cheeks and felt the shiver that ran through her body as if it ran through his. She was lovely, he thought to himself. Angelique could have paired him with any of her silly, vapid female acquaintances, but she’d obviously known that this one was quite special in more ways than one. And Jean-Luc was all too anxious to learn those ways. To see if she would be someone with whom he could share his darkest secrets. His secrets derived from living many centuries as a vampire, created from the dark streets of Paris in the mid-eighteenth century. He was tired of being alone. Indeed, he was ready for a new beginning of sorts. And this one was no silly, vapid female creature, but someone astute and perceptive beyond even her own awareness.

Despite the shiver that ran through her body, Adrienne nervously fanned her face with the beautiful, yet dainty porcelain fan that had come with the rented costume. She lifted her glass of Merlot and nearly drained it as the man who had emerged from the shadows stood near her and closely watched every move she made. She could feel the heat and warmth of the French Merlot sensuously move through her and ease a bit of the nervousness as she felt him continue to peruse her like a book. She knew she should be alarmed, but strangely enough, she was not. Instead, she was much more intrigued and drawn to him than even she could understand. He was definitely not the usual type of man she attracted. No, without a doubt, he was much different. And she was interested in learning what those differences might entail. She instinctively knew he likely had stories to tell that could keep her interested for years.

“Are you all right? Or may I get you something?” the stranger asked, knowing full well why she was suddenly so nervous.

“No, I am fine,” Adrienne said while still gathering her wits. Was it her imagination or had he drawn even closer than only moments earlier?

“I just want to be sure you’re all right,” he said reassuringly, lightly touching her forearm. At his touch, her response to him was instantaneous and moved through her like a bolt of lightning, and without a doubt, they both felt it.

Suddenly, she realized that he’d done it again and drew back ever so slightly. “Am I so easy to read?” she quietly asked, eyeing him with a bit of skepticism.

He cocked his left brow in question. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he lied, feigning ignorance.

She reached up and touched his left temple lightly, feeling the thickness of his hair beneath her slim fingers. His skin was decidedly cool despite the heat of the night and the costume he wore. How did he manage to appear so cool, calm, and collected amidst all the revelry and on this unusually warm night? Indeed, how did he manage to exude such confidence and also read her thoughts, she wondered?

If he could have shivered, he would have done so at the moment of her touch. Instead his blue eyes turned crystal blue and then deepened in response to both her touch and her question. She was undeniably easy to read, and it was as though he’d known her all the many years he’d spent on this earth.

“You seem to be able to pull my thoughts from my head and into that handsome head of yours. How is that so? Are you real? Or some figment of my imagination?” Adrienne questioned him, her voice only above a whisper.

He watched her closely, and he was sorely tempted then and there to make known to her what creature of the night he was, mayhap tossing caution aside and by tasting of the sweet richness of her blood. But of a sudden, their thoughts were interrupted.

“Oh, Adrienne, dear. There you are,” Angelique’s voice rippled from the doorway across the length of the veranda. “I see you’ve already met Jean-Luc. You two look just as lovely together as I always knew you would.” And with a look of satisfaction, Angelique turned on her heel and disappeared once again into the crowded ballroom.

Stunned, Adrienne looked at Jean-Luc, who simply stared at her with a more confident interest in his crystal blue eyes than he had only moments earlier.

“Jean-Luc?” she whispered, nearly afraid that he would reply in the negative. Could the world suddenly have aligned itself and gotten this date thing right?

Jean-Luc continued to watch her with an intensity to which Adrienne was already becoming very accustomed. His lips slowly formed a beautiful hint of a smile at the surprise in her green eyes. “Yes, my dear, Adrienne. The night is young. Would you care for another glass of Merlot?”