Isabelle stood in the dimly lit study, her fingers brushing against the spines of old, leather-bound books that lined the shelves like silent witnesses to the past. The historian's office, tucked away in the quiet corner of Canterbury's oldest district, smelled of aged parchment and dust, a scent that clung to the air like the memories of the dead. This place had always felt more like a tomb than a place of learning, as if the books were holding onto secrets too dangerous to be shared.
Across the room, an old man with silver hair and sharp features sat hunched over his desk, scribbling notes on a piece of paper. His spectacles glinted in the low light, but his gaze remained distant, as though he were looking far beyond the walls of his study, into some long-forgotten past. Professor Alden. Isabelle had come to him seeking answers, but now she was beginning to wonder if she had made a mistake.
When she first arrived, he had seemed welcoming, offering her tea and speaking kindly about the history of Canterbury and the Bellamy family. But something about him had changed. The warm facade he had put on when they first met had begun to crack, revealing something far colder beneath. Isabelle had noticed the way his hand trembled slightly when he reached for his pen, the way his eyes darted nervously around the room whenever the conversation turned to Evelyn Bellamy or Margaret Elwood. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and the professor's entire demeanor had shifted.
The door clicked behind her, and she turned to see the professor standing, his posture suddenly rigid, his expression more severe than before. He had heard the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway, but when he spoke, his voice was low, almost conspiratorial.
"Isabelle," he said, his tone now laced with something she hadn't heard before—caution. "You've been asking the wrong questions."
She felt a chill run down her spine. "What do you mean?"
The professor moved toward her, his gaze never leaving hers. "There are things in this town, in this history, that should remain buried. It's not a matter of interest or curiosity anymore. You're stepping into dangerous territory."
Isabelle's heart quickened. She had been searching for the truth for months now, following the trail of Evelyn's journal and the mysterious symbols in the attic, but she had no idea just how far it went. She had suspected that something far larger than a simple murder mystery lay beneath the surface of the Bellamy family's past. But hearing these words from the professor, seeing the fear in his eyes, made her realize that she had underestimated how deep the secrets ran.
"Professor," she said, trying to steady her voice, "I need to know the truth. About Evelyn. About Margaret. About what really happened."
Professor Alden shook his head slowly, his expression darkening. "Some truths are not meant to be uncovered, Isabelle. You think you're searching for justice, but you're only opening doors that should never be opened. Some of us were born into this history, and some of us—" He hesitated, his gaze flickering toward the shelves of books behind him. "Some of us are bound by it."
Isabelle's brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached into a drawer of his desk, pulling out a thick, ancient-looking ledger. The pages were yellowed with age, and the cover was cracked with years of use. He set it gently on the desk between them, but he didn't open it. Instead, he looked up at her, his eyes grave.
"You're not the first to seek the truth," he said softly. "But I can tell you this—every person who has gone down this path has paid a price for it."
Isabelle's pulse raced. "What happened to them?"
The professor's lips tightened into a thin line, and he finally opened the ledger, revealing rows of names and dates. "This is the ledger of those who have sought to uncover the Bellamy family's secrets. Some of them were… not fortunate enough to escape unscathed."
Isabelle leaned closer, her curiosity piqued, but before she could ask further questions, the professor slammed the book shut with an unexpected force. His voice was low and urgent as he spoke, his eyes narrowing.
"You don't understand the danger you're courting, Isabelle. There are people—powerful people—who have spent their entire lives keeping these secrets. They will do whatever it takes to protect them. And you? You're just a pawn in their game. They'll use you, and when they're done, they'll cast you aside."
Isabelle felt a knot tighten in her stomach. She had known that the truth about Margaret's death was buried deep, but she hadn't realized how far-reaching the consequences would be. She had thought that uncovering the truth would be a matter of piecing together forgotten memories, decoding cryptic symbols. But now, standing in front of the professor, the weight of his words hung heavy in the air.
"I'm not afraid," she said, her voice firm despite the fear that crept into her chest. "I have to know what happened to Evelyn. I have to know what happened to Margaret."
The professor studied her for a long moment, his gaze measuring. Finally, he spoke again, this time with a resigned tone. "You're determined, I can see that. But let me warn you—once you step into this world, there's no turning back. The Bellamy family's legacy is more than just a tragic love story. It's a curse, Isabelle. A curse that has claimed more lives than you can count. And you're now a part of it."
Isabelle felt a chill run through her, as if the walls of the room were closing in around her. But still, she refused to back down. She had already come too far, had already uncovered too much. She had to finish what she started, no matter the cost.
"Then tell me what you know," she demanded. "Tell me everything."
Professor Alden sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the world had just fallen upon him. "I wish I could, Isabelle. But some things… some things are better left forgotten."
He turned his back on her, moving toward the window and gazing out at the quiet street beyond. Isabelle remained standing by the desk, her mind racing. She had expected resistance, but this… this was something different. The professor wasn't just warning her—he was trying to keep her from uncovering the truth. And that only made her more determined to press forward.
"I'll find out the truth," she whispered to herself, her resolve hardening. "One way or another."