Bound by Midnight's Spell

Chapter 2

As the wintry months stretched into December, the festive spirit that usually enveloped Elena's heart felt distant, a ghost of the joyous celebrations she once knew. Christmas had always been a time of cherished memories with her mother—a time filled with laughter, warmth, and the comforting embrace of family. But this year, it loomed before her as a stark contrast, a harsh reminder of the new reality she faced.

In the weeks leading up to Christmas, Elena walked on eggshells, striving to appease her aunt's unattainable expectations. She scrubbed, cleaned, and toiled, hoping that if she perfected every task, she might earn her aunt's elusive approval. Yet, her efforts seemed futile, each act of obedience met with scorn and derision.

The day before Christmas dawned, the air heavy with an ominous foreboding. Elena was rudely awakened from her restless sleep by a splash of cold water, her aunt's voice dripping with cruel irony.

"Get up, lazy girl! We have a lot to do. Peter will arrive from boarding school, and I want everything spotless for him," her aunt sneered.

Stifling a gasp, Elena struggled to rise, the shock of the cold water still clinging to her skin. With trembling hands and a heart heavy with exhaustion, she grabbed the cleaning supplies and began scrubbing the floors.

Hours passed in a blur of frenzied activity, Elena's fingers raw and injured from the relentless cleaning. But her aunt's demands knew no respite. With each task completed, a new command followed, a constant barrage of orders that left Elena drained and depleted.

Suddenly, the entrance door creaked open, and Elena's aunt's delighted scream shattered the tense atmosphere. With unnerving speed, she rushed towards the figure that entered the room, her face aglow with a rare display of joy.

"Peter!" her aunt exclaimed, wrapping her arms around the newcomer.

Elena's heart sank as she witnessed the reunion, a stark contrast to the cold treatment she had endured. Her aunt's affectionate embrace and the radiant smile she reserved for Peter highlighted the chasm between Elena's existence and the life her cousin was welcomed into.

"Mother, it's good to see you," Peter greeted warmly, his voice ringing through the house.

"Peter, my dear, everything needs to be perfect for you. Elena, hurry up and make yourself invisible, don’t spoil the atmosphere and complete your tasks," her aunt barked, her tone shifting back to its usual harshness as she gestured toward the cleaning supplies.

Elena's chest tightened, a mix of bitterness and resignation settling within her.

“Yes Aunt Iva.”

Summoning the last reserves of her strength, Elena rushed to fulfill her aunt's orders, her heart heavy with an ache that cut deeper than any physical exhaustion.

As the day drew to a close, the house gleamed with a deceptive façade of perfection, yet Elena's spirit lay shattered. She had labored tirelessly, hoping to earn a shred of approval, but in the end, she remained an unwelcome outsider.

On Christmas Eve, the dining table was set for four, a stark contrast to the usual atmosphere of tension and strain that lingered within the walls of Elena's aunt's home. Her aunt Iva beamed, her face illuminated by a rare smile that adorned her features, while her uncle George's usual aloofness seemed to soften slightly, a glimmer of warmth in his eyes.

Elena, cautious and silent, stole glances at her cousin Peter. He was a handsome teenager of 15, with striking brown eyes and tousled dirty blonde hair. His presence at the table seemed to transform the ambiance, casting a temporary illusion of familial bliss.

Peter's curious gaze drifted towards Elena. "Mother, who's Elena?" he inquired, his tone tinged with genuine interest.

A flicker of annoyance flashed across Aunt Iva's face before she composed herself, maintaining an air of cordiality. "Elena is your cousin. She's lost her parents and is living with us now," she explained, her words measured and restrained.

Peter's eyes shifted to Elena, a smile gracing his lips. "Nice to meet you, Elena." he said, his voice filled with an unfamiliar glint of curiosity.

For a brief moment, an alarm seemed to echo within Elena's chest—a warning bell that urged caution. In that fleeting moment, she felt a wave of insecurity wash over her, a sense of vulnerability that made her lower her gaze, avoiding Peter's direct gaze.

She nodded in response, a slight tremor in her voice as she managed a small, hesitant reply. "Hello," she murmured softly, her eyes fixed on her plate, unable to meet his gaze.

Peter's expression remained friendly, but there was something in his eyes, a glint that made Elena feel unsettled, as if there were depths to his curiosity that went beyond simple family interest.

"Enough of this. How's the boarding school treating you, Peter?" Aunt Iva inquired; her tone surprisingly gentle.

Peter swallowed a bite of his dinner before responding, "It's going well, Mother. I've made a few friends, even managed to befriend a couple of dragons."

Elena's heart fluttered with a mix of fascination and envy. She had heard in the past about Dragons from her friends at school; Dragons were at the top of everything and the supreme rules of their realm. Even now she remebered the stories her mother told her. After the Supernatural War from 500 years ago, the dragons emerged as the supreme rulers—majestic creatures of unmatched strength, sharp intellect, and lethal beauty. With their dominance, they restored order to the realms, reigning over humans, vampires, werewolves, and faes alike. To hear that Peter had befriended them added an air of mystique to his tales.

"That's quite an achievement," Uncle George remarked with a nod, his usually impassive expression revealing a hint of interest.

Peter shrugged with pride. "It is not easy to enter their circles unless you are from an upper-class family. I had to use all my tricks to get close to their circle."

As the dinner continued, Elena's unease lingered. She couldn't shake off the feeling of being scrutinized, as if Peter's friendly demeanor masked a deeper probing, a silent questioning that she couldn't quite decipher.

Exhaustion dropped heavily over Elena's small frame as she retreated to her room after the Christmas dinner. Tears streamed down her cheeks, silent witnesses to the anguish that swelled within her. The void left by the absence of her parents seemed to widen, and she was really missing them.

After this Christmas night, the years slipped away like sand through an hourglass, yet for Elena, the passage of time only deepened the chasm of her suffering. Her aunt Iva's cruelty, instead of waning, grew more intense, a relentless storm that battered the shores of Elena's fragile existence.

Her aunt and uncle kept her imprisoned within their walls, a captive to their cruelty. Isolated from society, her world had shrunk to the confines of their house—a suffocating reality where glimpses of the outside world were rare and fleeting.

The few moments when Elena ventured outside were limited to accompanying her aunt for groceries, brief glimpses of humanity amidst the vast expanse of her isolation. Yet even these outings offered no respite, as her aunt's watchful eye ensured Elena's complete detachment from the world beyond their doorstep.

In secret, she stole fleeting moments with the remnants of literature within the house, but these stolen glances were a double-edged sword. When discovered, her aunt's wrath descended upon her with a ferocity that left her trembling, a harsh reminder of the consequences of her curiosity.

Her attempts to read or write in secrecy were met with severe retribution, the lashes of her aunt's cruelty branding her spirit with scars that ran deep.

The true nature of Peter was also unveiled in time; she was maybe ten years old when he was alone with her in the house, when her new torment began.

“Elena, do you want some ice-cream?” he asked her on one of the days that he was home.

A bowl of rice, a mere semblance of nourishment, was the only sanctioned sustenance for her, along with some occasional scraps, and the temptation of the sweet treat was mouthwatering.

“I know you want it. It is so good. Come on, have some.” Peter lured her.

Giving up on temptation, she took the spoon and started eating the sweet. In her entire life she hadn’t tasted anything more delicious. But, after some few more spoons, she suddenly felt Peter’s hand on her back, and she froze in place.

She wanted to leave, but his hand held her in place.

“Don’t move and behave. Or I will tell mom that you stole the ice-cream and that I found you eating it.” Peter added smiling, while continuing his exploration, touching her hair, her neck, her ears.

She felt her body trembling in fear. When she could not take it anymore, she ran away into her small room, closing the door, and crying. She felt dirty and scared.

Peter's laughter lingered in the air, a cruel symphony that accompanied her escape. The facade of Peter's friendly visits crumbled, exposing the true depths of his malevolence.

His touches, which with time transformed in slaps and kicks, and became constant, each time becoming more and more intrusive, and she was dreading his returns. On his last visit, he entered during the night in her room, and he hugged her tight, while rubbing his body into hers.

She learned to let him do whatever he pleased, sitting like a ragdoll, as she knew that his punishments were 100 times more vicious and wicked than those received from her aunt.

He would pinch her, bite her, slap her, and his favorite, chocking her until she fainted every time. With each encounter she believed that she was a step closer to death, and maybe it would be better.

At least she would be with her parents again; but her prayers were never heard.

But after she turned 17, things were about to become even worse for her.