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"Covert - Archives" by rs_rbn
It began with a letter, crisp and regal, the envelope a milky white; I read the writing multiple times just to make sure it was not mistakenly delivered to me. Yet there it was, my name, in the most pristine and smooth handwriting I had ever seen:
Sir Vorack of Neovia
You have been summoned to dine at Cedar House, this very evening.
Wear your Sunday's best. No guests.
And at the bottom, instead of a signature, was a stamp of an upside down question mark.
How odd it was that I, a lowly archivist, getting such an invitation - and to an estate, no less! Quickly, I cleaned up, dressed in my finest silk suit, top hat and my good pair of glasses. Grabbing my bag, which carried my notebook, ink, quills and keys, I headed out into the fog.
The night was colder and darker than it usually is at this time, and the fog was as thick as the moon was bright. The silence was eerie; not a noise could be heard other than the shuffling of my own feet. I couldn't tell where I was nor how long I had been walking, but I continued to head west, in the direction of the estate. Suddenly, a chill crept up my spine as a warm and shuddering breath spread across the nape of my neck.
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