Page 19 of Grotesque Love

Ready for him.

J

It’s torture being locked inside a weather-beaten prison, unable to move, unable to blink or look away while she suffers at Carver’s hands. My stone heart bleeds for her as I watch her suffering, day in day out, unable to do a damn thing about it.

As I strain my immovable gaze towards her window, a soft, warm breeze caresses my stone face. Summer is almost here.

The scent of flowers fills the air, the sweetness intermingling with her faint cries. It tugs at something deep within me, a dormant longing that has been buried for centuries. I won’t fail this time.

In a sudden surge of determination, I summon every ounce of strength I possess. With great effort, my limbs crack and groan, slowly inching forward. Dust swirls around me as ancient joints awaken from their slumber. It’s an agonising process, but the pain is inconsequential compared to what she endures.

Finally, as the sun sets, I break free from my petrified state, stumbling forward with unsteady steps. My body creaks and protests against the movement, but my will drives me onward. The glow of dusk illuminates my path as if guiding me towards her as I spread my wings and take flight.

I reach her window, my hand trembling as it extends towardthe glass pane. A whisper escapes my lips; a wordless promise filled with solace and compassion. Placing my palm flat against the invisible barrier between us, I feel a flicker of warmth radiating from within.

She stirs in her slumber.

CHAPTER SEVEN

ARIANWEN

“Ari, darling, are you awake?”

My eyes flutter open at the sound of Carver’s voice. I groan softly, my body revolting after another night of deep slumber. I should be feeling better with all the sleep I’m getting, but my nights are long and fraught with nightmares.

They’re not as bad as the days though.

“Ari?” His tone is sharper now, impatient.

I nod in response to his question, trying to focus on his words as he informs me about his next trip to London. I watch as he talks about his duties, his angular features partially hidden in the dim light filtering through the curtains.

I always feel a mix of relief and unease when he returns to London, leaving me under the supervision of the groundsman. There are no other staff here besides Mr Danvers, although Carver must have someone to stock the pantry and clean – but I’ve never seen them. It’s always uncomfortable having strangers around, especially when I can’t stay grounded, but Carver seems to trust Mr Danvers.

Nodding again, I assure Carver that I’ll be good and behave forthe groundskeeper. He leans down to press a gentle kiss to my forehead, making me shudder, before leaving the room.

As the door clicks shut behind him, I sink back into the pillows, pulling the covers tighter around me. There’s a sudden chill in the air despite the warmth of the room and the lingering scent of Carver’s cologne clings to everything.

Closing my eyes, I try to shake off the sense of unease that lingers at the edge of my consciousness. The groundsman will be here soon, and while he’s taken care of me a few times on Carver’s previous trips back to the city, we’ve never actually spoken.

I wonder what type of person he is? Is he lonely, living out here all alone? Had he known Carver as a child? Had he ever met my mother? She’d been here a few times over the years. Where was his cottage? I knew it was on the edge of the property, but I hadn’t seen it. Was it tucked away inside the forestry?

I push my unusually noisy thoughts away, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of my breathing as I drift back to sleep.

When I wake, there’s a soft knock on the door. The groundskeeper.

The old door creaks as it swings open slowly, the hinges crying in protest. With soft steps, he enters my room and stands at the foot of my bed.

I can barely make out his features, just the outline of a tall, looming figure that seems to blend into the darkness of the room.

My stomach tightens as I remember Carver’s warnings about staying in bed and resting. His stern commands to take my medication from this man who now watches me silently.

I clear my throat, trying to dispel the heavy silence that hangs between us.

“Hello,” I manage to say, swallowing past the lump of fear in my throat.

The groundskeeper doesn’t respond, only nods curtly in acknowledgment. His presence feels oppressive, suffocating almost, like I’m under surveillance as he looms over me.

I shift away under the covers, suddenly aware of how vulnerableI am trapped alone in this house with a stranger without another soul for miles.

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