Published at 9th of September 2026 12:46 pm

Chapter 1997: Imprisonment

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The castle stood perched atop a desolate hill, looming over the dark lands below like the remains of some long-dead giant.

Once, it had been the seat of power for the Edevane Kingdom. Now, it belonged to Jacob de Vile.

Its towering spires pierced the crimson sky, while jagged battlements stretched across the hilltop like broken teeth. Black banners hung from the ancient walls, fluttering weakly in the cold wind. The stone itself had darkened with age, stained by years of rain, blood, and evil.

There was something deeply unsettling about this place. The castle was far too silent.

No servants moved through its halls. No guards stood watch upon its walls. Only the occasional cry of some unseen creature echoed through the darkness before fading into the night.

Beyond the towering gates lay a labyrinth of shadowed corridors, vast chambers illuminated by flickering torchlight, and long passages lined with faded portraits of the castle’s owner himself.

At the very heart of it all sat the Vampire King.

Jacob de Vile.

And far beneath his castle, hidden deep within its cold and ancient foundations, lay the dungeons.

There, it was damp and frigid. Water dripped slowly from the ceiling. Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

The sound echoed ominously through the darkness. Rows of iron cells stretched along the narrow corridor, their interiors hidden behind thick metal bars. The walls were covered in deep scratches, while rusted chains hung from the ceiling like the remains of forgotten prisoners.

All of the cells were empty.

All except one.

In one of the deepest chambers of the dungeon, a young woman sat alone in the darkness.

Genevieve was imprisoned.

In the beginning, however, she had not been treated as one. Far from it.

Jacob had given her all the luxuries the castle could provide. She had been given a spacious chamber with a warm bed, expensive furniture, fine clothes, and meals fit for royalty. Servants had attended to her every need.

She was allowed to walk through certain parts of the castle under supervision. She was given books to read, music to listen to, and anything else that might make her stay more comfortable.

After all, she was important. Far too important. Jacob de Vile needed her alive. And Genevieve eventually learned why.

She had discovered that she was meant to become a crucial piece in whatever ritual the Vampire King was preparing. That she would no longer be herself once the ritual was complete. And that changed everything.

The moment she realized that Jacob intended to use her for his schemes, Genevieve made a decision.

She would rather die.

The first attempt came during dinner. She had taken the knife that had been placed beside her plate and tried to drive it into her own body before the servants could stop her. The second attempt had been with a fork. Then came another. And another.

Every object that entered her room became a potential means of escape. Eventually, even the bedsheets became dangerous. Genevieve had tried to use them to strangle herself.

She would rather embrace death than allow herself to become a tool for that evil creature.

But Jacob would never allow her to die. And so, eventually, the luxurious chamber was taken away. The warm bed, the books, the beautiful clothes, the muted sunlight filtering through the windows, all of it had disappeared.

Genevieve was dragged into the deepest dungeon of the castle and locked inside a cell where there was nothing she could use to end her own life. There were no sharp objects, no sheets, no furniture, nothing. Only cold stone, iron bars, and darkness.

To make matters worse, Jacob had placed her under a powerful hypnotic spell.

Genevieve barely remained conscious. Her mind existed in a strange, suffocating haze where she could neither properly sleep nor fully awaken. Thoughts came slowly. Time lost all meaning.

Sometimes, she would open her eyes and stare into the darkness, unable to remember how long she had been lying there. Maybe hours. Days. Months, perhaps. She had no way of knowing.

The only time the heavy prison door opened was when someone came to feed her. Even then, she was barely aware of what was happening. A pair of cold hands would lift her. Food would be forced into her mouth. Then the door would close again with a clang.

Genevieve would be left alone once more.

There was something especially horrifying about her imprisonment. She was not chained, beaten, or tortured in the conventional sense. Jacob did not need to do any of those things.

Instead, he had taken away the one thing Genevieve had desperately tried to claim for herself.

Her own death.

She could not escape. She could not fight. She could not even kill herself. Her body no longer truly belonged to her. Even her consciousness had been reduced to little more than a flickering ember buried beneath the weight of the hypnotic spell.

And yet, somewhere within the darkness, she continued to resist. Her body had become weak. Her thoughts had become slow. Her eyes had lost much of their light. But the hatred within her heart had not disappeared. Nor had her resolve.

Even as her consciousness drifted through the endless nightmare, one thought continued to echo deep within her mind:

I will not help him.

No matter what Jacob did to her. No matter how long she remained trapped in this darkness. No matter what ritual the Vampire King intended to perform.

Genevieve would not willingly become a part of it. She would resist. Even if all she could do was remain conscious for one more second. Even if the entire world believed that she had already broken.

Deep within the cold darkness of the dungeon, Genevieve’s eyes slowly opened. For a brief moment, a faint trace of clarity returned to them.

Beyond the iron bars, the shadows stirred and took a humanoid form. Crimson eyes emerged in the darkness, and they stared right at Genevieve with a hint of approval.

"Very nice, my dear." Jacob de Vile smiled. "You have not given up. And your resistance to my spell increases with each passing day."

His lips parted into a grin, revealing his sharp canines.

"As expected of my bride-to-be."

Genevieve’s cerulean eyes flashed with hatred, or at least the sparks of it. She took a slow and deep breath before replying:

"I... will... never... help... you!"

Jacob de Vile did not mind her words and manners at all. Instead, he said with a gentle smile:

"Now that you’re awake, shall we have a little chat, my dear?"

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