Heir of Wolcott Manor
Copyright© 2025 by Carlos Santiago
Chapter 12: The Next Morning
Horror Sex Story: Chapter 12: The Next Morning - After his father's passing in 1822, Silas Wolcott returns home to discover he has inherited a fortune beyond necessity. However, soon, he must uncover the secrets of his House and bloodline. With the help of his stalwart butler, a seductive vampire, and his own intellect, Silas must navigate a power FAR greater than any of mortal comprehension.
Caution: This Horror Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Heterosexual Historical Alternate History Paranormal Vampires Cream Pie Halloween Royalty Violence
“As the light gains purchase, spirits are lifted and purpose is made clear.”
— The Ancestor / Narrator (as portrayed by Wayne June), Darkest Dungeon. Written by Chris Bourassa and Tyler Sigman. Directed by Chris Bourassa. Developed and published by Red Hook Studios. Copyright © 2016 Red Hook Studios Inc. Originally released January 19, 2016.
The candles did not have time to burn low. For her, the room smelled overly sweet like honey. This Wolcott was a sweet man even if sweat and perfume mixed on his body after her exertions on him.
In his slumber, she saw that his breath was even, but his mouth was opened. He was very nearly perfect when it came to the ideal gentleman. He had rougher qualities to that of English nobility, but he was not the common clay of the citizenry of these United States. There was a promise about him.
He was generous and caring. She could see why others flocked to him. Silas was a lightning rod, but others like Jonathan were destructive in what they brought with them. As she thought, Sophia realized she could use that to her advantage.
She could stay with this pillar of nobility in Silas while discarding her contingent and sending them back to the country of her birth. After all, Honoria’s husband would not appreciate his wife making him a fool by breaking her vows with a lawyer who cared more for baubles and breasts than he did the letter of the law or the position in society.
The princess wondered if Silas could speak if he would confess this night as a sin or if he would cherish what had occurred. Might he want this to be the start of a long torrid affair or would he discard her in guilt?
The scariest realization to the princess was she did not know which answer would actually please her. She enjoyed his stalwart attitude to caring and manners. She did not need to watch this man everyday or know his every move to know that he genuinely seemed to have empathy in and for others. This was a trait long since lost on the upper class of the world. That it was alive in him was enough reason to be in proximity to him.
Even as the thought crossed her mind, Princess Sophia froze. A chill ran up her back to straighten her spine. She reached for her shift with delicate fingers, then slid her gown over pale shoulders. She made no noise, but she felt the alteration to existence. She was wondering what it was and where its origins were.
There was a pressure in her chest like a cold primal sensation that would not free her. The stirring burrowed in her bones.
While she could not wield magic (nor name or claim it), there was something older than the court of royalty pulling at her essence.
Sophia stood up to her full height. There would be answers for her to find, and she was not one to not know the truth.
No footsteps echoed as she left the chamber because she moved in silence. The house, vast though it was, had taken on an atmosphere of breathless watching. It was aware of what she was to do, and while it could not stop her, the building itself would observe.
She walked past the dying lights of the party that she saw. It did not cross her mind how foolish the rabble was in how they could find joy and comfort in such stupidity.
Descending the stairs without thought and guided not by reason, but by instinct, Sophia found that not even the draft of mildew and iron in the corridor could not dissuade her.
Downward still was the journey.
Before too long, she came to the door tot he basement. The servant of the house had dutifully locked it, but that did nothing to stop her. She pulled at it and found the lock gave with a snap to her preternatural strength.
The contents of the room were sparse. It had been cleaned. Her superior sense of smell told her that this basement had been tantamount to a morgue with dead bodies and blood everywhere. However, her journey bore fruit when she turned, and she saw it.
Then she came to the door.
It was not merely closed. It was sealed.
That did not stop the barrier from pulsing with ancient power. A twisted of vertigo began to overtake her until she came to the runes at the door.
Hebrew or Aramaic crossed with Greek, Egyptian woven with Norse runes, something that might once have been Latin. Or something ... She could not tell. It shifted while she looked until finally the words of:
“Step no further, mortal man, for your mind and flesh cannot fathom what has been locked away. All that proceed through this portal shall have their heart’s desire ... but also find madness, endless ... and despair.”
Those echoed in her mind. Why?
She stared at the glyphs. She did not need to understand the words. She was well educated as a princess to be sure, but no one understood Egyptian. Somehow, her soul had understood them and given them to her mind as a gift.
She knew, in some intimate, feminine place untouched by language or logic, that if she opened that door, she would not only die—but something within her would change so completely, the woman who entered would never again exist.
She reached out, not to touch the door, but to feel the coldness.
When her skin touched it, the door... felt her back. Somehow, it recognized her, and she did not knew how she knew it, but she did. She knew this in her blood, in her heart, in the parts she never discussed.
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