Chapter 10: The Boy Who Vanished
They say he disappeared that night.
The storm had devoured the sky, swallowing trees, stars, and the last remnants of fire that clung to the ruins of the old Abbey.
And with it vanished the boy who wore innocence like a mask—
And revenge like a crown of thorns.
Dorian Greyborne was gone.
Some say they saw him walking into the sea, arms open, as if embracing the end.
Others swear he never left Elderglen, that his soul clung to the forest where it all began—where his life was stolen, and where he stole it back with blood.
They say he watches. Judges. Protects.
But the truth?
Only Evelyn returned.
---
She came back barefoot, soaked in the storm's wrath, with nothing but his journal clutched to her chest.
Its leather was torn. The pages, stained with rain and something older—grief, perhaps. Or guilt.
She never spoke of what happened that night.
Not of the letter.
Not of the look in Dorian's eyes.
Not of the moment his silhouette disappeared into the downpour like a prayer unspoken.
Instead, she built something.
Greyborne House.
A sanctuary in the heart of Elderglen. Not grand, but warm.
A place for the forgotten. The broken. The betrayed.
She filled it with stories. Music. Safety.
And at its center, behind rows of worn books and candlelit hallways, sat a hidden library.
And in that library, behind a false shelf of dust-covered volumes, hung a single painting.
---
The Portrait.
A boy with storm-dark eyes and a smile that barely touched his lips.
He looked young—but old.
Beautiful—but burdened.
Visitors often paused before it, feeling something unspoken.
A hush.
A shiver.
A strange warmth—as if the painting itself exhaled sorrow and understanding.
Some claimed they felt a hand on their shoulder when they wept in the library.
A soft touch. A whisper:
"You're not alone."
They didn't know his name.
Evelyn never told it.
But to the wounded hearts who passed through Greyborne House, he was more than a ghost.
He was the silent guardian of second chances.
The shadow that understood their pain.
Because once, he had been one of them.
And perhaps… he still was.
---
Tucked between the pages of his journal, left open on a velvet pedestal beneath the portrait, was a poem.
It was written in ink that bled like veins through the parchment.
Untitled—
But signed by a name now spoken only in whispers.
> "The Smile I Wore Was Never Mine"
By the Ghost of Dorian Greyborne
I laughed with lips stitched from silence and pain,
While thunder wept softly against my windowpane.
The world saw a boy with light in his eyes,
But no one looked close—no one heard the cries.
I danced with my demons in suits finely sewn,
Each step a betrayal, yet I danced alone.
They called me gentle, sweet as spring air,
But inside me raged winters beyond repair.
I wore a smile carved from blood and glass,
Watched time move forward while I clung to the past.
My hands held justice, cloaked in deceit,
While vengeance whispered lullabies so sweet.
I destroyed them slowly, with kindness like fire,
Their ruins my chapel, their screams my choir.
And when all was done, I vanished like mist,
Leaving only the ghost of the boy they had kissed.
I was never your angel, though I looked the part—
Just a hollow thing with a shattered heart.
So if you feel warmth in the dark of your dread,
It's me—smiling gently—from the land of the dead.
---
Years passed.
The war ended. The town healed.
But in Greyborne House, his presence never faded.
On stormy nights, some children say they see a boy in the garden, eyes glowing like embers, coat billowing as if caught in phantom wind.
He never speaks. Never moves.
Just watches.
And if you ask Evelyn about him, she simply smiles—a sad, wistful smile—and says:
"Some souls don't leave. They stay where they're needed."
They say he disappeared that night.
But the truth is darker.
He waited.
In the rain. In the silence. In the aftermath of her lie.
Dorian Greyborne didn't die that night—he was reborn.
The boy who sought justice became the ghost who delivers it.
And love?
Love was a weapon now—twisted, sharpened, and turned back on the one who had wielded it against him.
---
Years passed.
Greyborne House stood as Evelyn's offering to the world—a penance built of bricks and good deeds.
She filled it with orphaned children, broken souls, and stories of the boy who once lived and died for vengeance.
But she never spoke the whole truth.
She never told them the cost.
Until the dreams began.
Whispers in the walls.
Cold breath on her neck.
Footsteps in her room when no one was there.
The painting changed.
Ever so slightly.
His eyes—once warm and wistful—grew sharper. Watching her.
And then, one night, the journal vanished from its case.
In its place, a note:
"You broke me.
Now I will break you slowly.
With the same kindness you used to lie."
Signed only with a symbol.
The same sigil that once sealed the cult's letter.
---
Evelyn began to wither.
Her mind unraveled thread by thread.
She heard him in every corner.
Saw him in every shadow.
And the children—
They began to speak of a man with a crooked smile, who visited them in dreams.
A man who offered secrets. Truths.
And sometimes… vengeance.
One child vanished.
Then another.
Each bed left cold and neatly made.
Each pillow dusted with ash.
No signs. No sound. Just the smell of sea salt and smoke.
Like the Abbey all over again.
---
Evelyn no longer slept.
She wandered the halls like a ghost, clutching the old dagger Dorian had once dropped in the ruins.
The one she swore she had discarded.
But it always returned.
---
And on the tenth anniversary of Dorian's disappearance, Evelyn found her name carved into the walls of her bedroom. Again and again.
Like a curse.
"You chose to betray me."
"You broke the only thing that loved you."
"Now feel it."
She fell to her knees, trembling, whispering his name like a prayer.
"Dorian... I never meant to hurt you. I loved you."
And in the silence, from the shadows behind her, came his voice—
Low. Cold. Familiar.
"So did they. Every liar. Every killer.
And I burned them all."
She turned—but the room was empty.
Just the wind.
And yet…
The painting smiled.
Not faintly. Not sadly.
But cruelly.
Like justice finally coming home.