The Mysteries of Bluestone

The dreams have started again. They're unlike anything I've experienced before. They're dark, physically and mentally. The darkness is almost palpable, as though you could reach out and grab hold of it. I feel alone, utterly alone. It doesn't matter if people are with me in the dream or not. My mind knows they aren't real, so their presence brings me no comfort. Sometimes I will be somewhere random, and others I will be in my own bedroom, as though my mind is truly trying to fool me into thinking I'm awake. Then comes the feeling of danger.

That is perhaps the strangest part. Almost as though a whisper in the dark, it feels as though a danger is nearby. I often find myself locking doors and windows, or trying to block openings into where I am. I'm trying to secure and safeguard my surroundings, but the locks don't always work, or the overwhelming fear slows my movements. Nothing ever quite happens, but the feeling is always there. It may sound utterly strange to say, but it feels as though something is letting me know it's close. It can't quite seem to reach me, but it wants me to know it's nearby.

I know, that sounds absolutely illogical. Perhaps this place is starting to get to me. Bluestone is an intriguing place to say the least. I wouldn't have imagined being somewhere that somehow feels safe and dangerous at the same time. The manor has been a sanctuary to the Ardennians for generations, and the powers that protect this place are clearly apparent. Yet there are times I feel a chill; it might be an unexplained draft, or just a single moment you suddenly feel as though you aren't alone.

It's likely my mind playing tricks, but I cannot help but think about the dark history of this place. Controlled by the Dark Esra for years, Bluestone has secrets that should never be unveiled. Magic is not my expertise in study, but I know enough about it to know it can be dangerously powerful, especially when people push the limits of what they know it is capable of. This place was home to many occurrences just like that, and its halls, its skeleton, and its core may never be rid of the darkness that was born here. I wonder how many died during those years, fallen victim to sorcerers with the worst of intentions. What horrid deaths those must have been. Do those poor souls haunt this place, trapped between worlds, desperate, helpless, angry? Are they fighting the good magic that the Ardennians have used to protect this place since they retook it? Are my nightmares a warning of dark spirits or demons inching closer to freedom, closer to the moment they burst through the defenses and can properly introduce themselves in person?

I suppose that is all silly, I even think it so, and yet, somehow the fear still grips me as though a child afraid of his shadow. It's irrational, and yet here I am. I don't think I'm alone. No one seems to talk about it, but I can sense it in the way others act. No one is out late after dark. Eyes turn and conversations silence at the mention of any strange occurrence.

I've come to call this place home, and it is our safe haven, and yet there is a part of me that wonders if it is waiting to make itself our tomb.