When Thalia awoke from the stupor that had overtaken her after leaving the church, she found herself lying on a velvet in an elegant, spacious room.
Two silver lamps hung from the ceiling, their aromatic oil filling the air with a sweet fragrance. The walls were adorned with paintings—scenes from far-off lands.
As Thalia slowly regained her senses, the handsome stranger who had carried her from the church was gently bathing her forehead with water from a crystal vase on a marble table.
Her eyes fluttered open, and as they met his, memories of the recent events rushed back to her.
"Where am I?" she asked, her voice trembling as she looked around wildly.
"In the home of one who will not harm you," the stranger answered softly, his voice soothing.
"But who are you? And why am I here?" Thalia demanded. "You spoke of my grandfather—the shepherd of the Black Forest..."
"You will see him soon. You will be returned to him," the stranger assured her.
"But will he receive me? Will he not turn me away?" Thalia's voice cracked with emotion, her breath coming in short gasps.
"The voice of pity cannot refuse your fall," the stranger replied. "You may have abandoned one who loved you dearly, but he too needs your forgiveness. He forgot you, Thalia. Traveled the world and never searched for you. Your image faded from his memory. But when an accident..."
"No, you don't understand. The old man I abandoned couldn't have traveled. He was too frail!" Thalia interrupted, her tone filled with bitter disappointment. "If he's still alive, I can hardly believe it…"
She burst into tears.
"Thalia," the stranger said gently, "the shepherd you speak of, despite his ninety winters, journeyed far and wide. He is alive and in Lumea."
"Alive?" Thalia's eyes widened in disbelief.
"He lives and he is near," the stranger affirmed. "Did I not tell you so in the church?"
"Yes, I remember now, but my mind is muddled," she murmured, pressing her hands to her forehead. "If he's alive, then take me to him. He is the only one left who can offer me solace."
"You are already beneath your grandfather's roof," the stranger replied, his voice heavy with meaning.
Her heart skipped a beat. "Here? This is his home?" She clasped her hands together, her gratitude evident. "But how can it be? He was poor when I left him. How could he have come into such wealth? Speak, Sir! All you've told me seems so strange, so mysterious. The wanderings of a man so old, and then this palace, this splendor..."
"All of this belongs to your grandfather and may one day belong to you," the stranger said, his voice somber.
"Blessed Virgin!" Thalia cried, sinking back onto the velvet. "I thank you for bestowing such blessings on my grandfather in his old age. But still…" She faltered, doubt creeping in. "It's too romantic to be true! Are you sure you are speaking of my grandfather?"
"Give me your hand, Thalia. I will show you," the stranger urged.
She placed her hand in his, and he guided her to the portrait of the elderly man.
Agnes's breath caught in her throat as she gazed at the face. She would have collapsed had the stranger not caught her in his arms.
Tears filled her eyes, and wiping them away, she extended her hands toward the portrait. "Oh! I understand now. My grandfather does live here, but only in that painting! This is how he must have been when I abandoned him—the poor, forsaken old man. Alone in his home, burdened with the grief of my betrayal. If only I had never seen this portrait... It is a cruel reminder of my guilt."
She fell to her knees before the painting, overcome with sorrow, her cries raw and desperate.
The stranger remained silent, letting her anguish run its course. When her sobs finally slowed, he approached, lifting her gently. "Despair not. Your grandfather lives."
"He lives!" Thalia repeated, a flicker of hope returning to her face, like sunlight breaking through clouds.
But as she spoke, her eyes caught the inscription beneath the portrait, and she froze. She read aloud, her voice shaking.
"... His last day thus..." Her face went pale, and her emotions surged once more. "Holy Virgin! I have been deceived!"
She turned sharply to the stranger, her voice hoarse with pain. "Why are you playing with my feelings? Who are you? What do you want from me? Why is this portrait here?"
"Thalia, please!" the stranger urged. "Calm yourself. I do not deceive you. Your grandfather, Elias Roderick, is alive and in this house. You will see him soon, but first, you must listen."
Thalia's finger trembled as she pointed to the inscription, her voice wild. "Can you explain this? 'His last day thus!' A week after I left him. Could this be…?"
"You don't understand the inscription," the stranger said urgently, grasping her shoulders. "There is a dreadful mystery, Thalia—a mystery connected with Elias Roderick, with me, and with these portraits. And that other painting..."
His eyes flickered toward the black cloth covering the nearby frame, his body stiffening with fear.
"A mystery?" Thalia repeated. "Yes, all of this is a mystery. And it terrifies me!"
"You shall soon understand," the stranger said softly, his voice tinged with sorrow. "But look at that other portrait. Understand the face of a man who gave your grandfather a terrible gift—one that bound him to an unbreakable fate."
Thalia turned her gaze to the other portrait—a tall man with striking features, his face a mixture of beauty and torment. She studied it for a long moment, a strange mixture of disgust and fascination pulling her in.
"There is yet another terrible memory," the stranger said. "But are you ready to hear a story so dark that even nurses would hesitate to tell it?"
"I am ready," Thalia replied, her voice steady but heavy with dread. "There is a mystery here, connected with my grandfather, with you... and perhaps with me. I would rather know the truth than remain in this torturous uncertainty."
The stranger led her back to the velvet seat. He sat beside her, and after a long pause, began the tale that would unravel their fates.