Thawingtide 14th, Lunaris, Year of the Shattered Moon

I found young Asethanna pacing the eastern halls again tonight. She insists it is merely the stress of her studies, but I fear there is more to her restless energy. I overheard her speaking with Cassian earlier—a hushed argument that ceased when I approached. He is colder than ever these days, his gaze empty yet burning with some inner torment.

This family carries more secrets than the books I tend. Even the walls seem to listen.

Brighthearth 22nd, Embriday, Year of the Shattered Moon

There was a visitor tonight, a woman cloaked in scarlet. She stayed for hours, speaking only with Cassian. When I passed by the study, I heard raised voices—a clash of fury and desperation. She left in haste, her face pale and eyes glistening as she brushed past me. I dared not question her.

Cassian looked... haunted. He clutched something close to his chest—a letter, perhaps? He locked himself in the chapel soon after. I fear for him, though I do not trust him.

Harvestfall 17th, Hearthday, Year of the Veiled Star

An unusual event today. A traveling midwife visited the manor, summoned in secret, though I doubt anything stays hidden here for long. She stayed in the east wing for hours, and when she departed in the pre-dawn hours, she carried a bundled babe tightly to her chest. The mother’s identity remains unspoken, but the whispers among the staff point to Fulvia Nostraema.

As for the father, I am certain. Cassian’s shadow loomed at the upper window as the midwife departed, his face like stone. What claim this child has on him, I cannot say, but the very air of the manor seems to tremble under its weight.

Frostwane 8th, Duskwane, Year of the Veiled Star

The midwife returned tonight. Her face was pale, and her steps hurried as though she carried a burden far heavier than mere news. Cassian met her in the chapel, their voices raised but muffled behind thick doors. What passed between them, I do not know, but she left empty-handed and shaken. I fear for whatever darkness ties her to this place.

The east wing grows colder. I have avoided it for weeks now, but the shadows there feel heavier, more watchful. There are whispers that I dare not repeat—not even here.

Verdantwave 22nd, Eirunday, Year of the Veiled Star

Curiosity got the better of me today. I ventured into the east wing, drawn by some nameless pull, as though the very house willed me to go. There, I discovered an empty cradle tucked into the far corner of a room. At first glance, it seemed ordinary, but when I drew closer, I noticed faint glyphs carved into its base. They shimmered faintly in the dim light, pulsing like a heartbeat.

I cannot explain the feeling that overcame me. It was as though the cradle itself exuded sorrow, longing, and something darker—a hunger, perhaps? I left quickly and have not returned.

Goldleaf 30th, Hearthday, Year of the Veiled Star

There is something Cassian guards in the chapel. I have seen him enter late at night, his robes stiff with cold and his expression grim. The door remains locked, but faint sounds escape—a low hum, almost melodic, but discordant enough to make my skin crawl. I wonder if it has something to do with the child that was taken. Fulvia has grown increasingly erratic since that night, her mutterings sharper and her presence more unsettling.

She stares at Cassian now as though he were both her savior and her executioner.

Snowveil 3rd, Duskwane, Year of the Veiled Star

Fulvia confronted Cassian in the chapel tonight. I do not know what words passed between them, but the air was charged with such tension that I could feel it from the hall. I dared not linger. When she left, her face was pale, and Cassian’s gaze followed her like a predator’s.

I have long suspected that she blames him for the child’s fate, though what truly became of the babe remains a mystery. Cassian’s cruelty knows no bounds, but I sense there is something else at play—something larger than either of them. The shadows in this house grow ever darker.

Final Entry (Date Illegible)

The weight of this place has become unbearable. The chapel door remains locked, but I hear whispers from within—soft, insidious murmurs that speak not to my ears but my mind. Cassian spends hours in there, as if guarding some unspeakable secret.

I am certain now that the child Fulvia bore was not simply cast away. It is tied to this place, to Cassian, to all of us. Whether the babe lived or perished, its legacy festers here still, like a wound that refuses to heal.

If anyone finds this journal, beware. The truth of this family lies buried beneath layers of deceit and sorrow, and unearthing it may cost more than you can bear.