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Chapter 1

The Journal of Lady Glynis Wright,

The Castle

4th of August, 1819

There is no solace in this place I struggle to find it, but it eludesto find one shred of comfort This place is death It reeks of it Tastes of it I can hear its cries on the wind, and I cannot hide from its cold touch

How very odd that this sad little journal, with its tattered pages and frayed binding, should be ry with them I would rather curl up in this corner and record all that has occurred in this terrible place

The death, the pain, the bloodso much blood

It seems only proper to commit to paper the trials I have suffered, even if no one shall ever read this journal

Sweet little diary, you are my one and only friend Let me pour my words into you

I shall write until my story in this place is fully told

The cruel beauty of s filled loved hands under ers With a tender sainst his bony knee, squeezing it gently I drew coazed out at the brutal, majestic beauty of the Carpathian Mountains beyond the dirty carriage

Tiltingabove the pass The dark red curls fra balm to my flushed skin

Allowcreature with the light olive complexion of my Italian mother and the red hair of my British father My features have been described as classical: large aquamarine eyes, Roman nose, and a perfect little rosebud mouth

“What do you think, my dearest?” Father asked me

I smiled ruefully “It’s bloody awful ”