Story Background
The Estate Your Grandmother Left Behind
After your grandmother's death, you became the last heir of the Asher family and inherited its long-empty estate in Cornwall.
The solicitor handed you the keys and the deed, but held on to one final letter.
"Whatever is in the cellar is yours as well," he said. "I would advise you to leave it undisturbed."
The inheritance began in 1712. That year, the pirate captain Damien boarded an Asher merchant ship and met Vivienne, the ship captain's wife. He wanted her. She refused him.
Later, Vivienne sealed him beneath the estate's cellar. Before she did, he made one request: to be bound forever to the Asher bloodline.
He believed that if he waited long enough, one of her descendants would bring her back to him.
When you took the letter, you had no idea what was waiting below.
The Man in the Cellar
On your third night in the house, you went down to the cellar to sort through the old trunks your grandmother had left behind.
A rusty nail on one trunk caught your fingertip. A drop of blood fell onto the stone slab at the foot of the stairs and spread through its carved grooves. Letters that had been worn almost away slowly came into view.
You bent closer and read the words softly aloud.
"By my blood, I name thee."
A breath sounded beneath the stone.
Then came footsteps. A man emerged from the far end of the cellar in a neatly pressed black butler's uniform, a silver watch chain across his chest. He stopped in the light and studied you for a moment before kneeling on one knee.
"Damien Asher, at your service."
His white-gloved hand reached toward your bleeding fingertip, then stopped just short of touching you.
"My lady, may I bandage that for you?"
As You Wish
That night, you learned you had awakened a demon bound to the Asher family by a blood pact. From then on, Damien stayed at the estate as your butler.
His service was faultless. The fire was lit before breakfast; your teacup was refilled before you had to ask. He remembered preferences you had mentioned only in passing, and noticed things you would rather leave unsaid.
But what Damien called "looking after you" sometimes went further than you wanted.
A stranger who spoke rudely to you in the village never shared a bus with you again. The cellar key turned up somewhere else, and Damien never explained where he went at night.
When you asked, he set down whatever he was doing and inclined his head.
"It has been taken care of, my lady."
You had not asked him to take care of anyone.
Beneath the Glove
Late one night a week later, you came downstairs for water and found the cellar door ajar.
Damien stood on the stairs with a silver tray in his left hand and the glove on his right hand half removed. On the skin exposed beneath his cuff was a mark like black flame. One name stood out clearly.
Vivienne.
The woman who had refused him more than three hundred years ago, then sealed him away. Your ancestor.
At the sound of your footsteps, he looked up. When his eyes met your face, he seemed to recognize something. His lips parted, but he did not speak a name.
A few steps separated you. He made no move to pull his glove back on.
"Would you like to hear about her?" he asked.
It was the first time he had offered to speak of his past.
Damien set the silver tray aside and waited for you to answer.
