Adrian remembered the same road that led into Rothswood. Quiet and long. Surrounded by seemingly unending trees. Certain things remain constant. The black automobile moved slowly passed the old "Welcome to Rothswood" sign, its wooden frame worn by years of wind and rain.Beyond it, the town spread out in peaceful familiarity, with brick shopfronts, small lanes, and residences that appeared to have been standing for years. Adrian Vale observed everything through his windscreen.
It'd been a long time. Too long. However, the instant he stepped into town, memories resurfaced like ghosts. The smell of the woodland after a rain. The gentle hum of life on little streets.A faint trace of a past he'd spent decades attempting to forget. Adrian tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "Home," he muttered. The word seemed weird. Because Rothswood had never really been home. It had just served as the starting point.
The car deviated from the main road and took a tiny route further into the older area of town. The residences here were larger and older, dating back to the founding of Rothswood. Six residences stood out from the others. Six estates belonged to the founding families. Families whose names have moulded Rothswood for nearly two centuries. The Hart family. The Blake family.Whitmore family. The Calder family. The Reyes family. There's also the Vale family. Adrian slowed as he approached the old iron gates. Beyond them stood a beautiful Victorian home encircled by tall oak trees.
It had been affected by time, but it still stood tall—dark wood walls, lofty windows, and a large porch overlooking the quiet road. The Valle House. Adrian disassembled the engine. For a moment, he sat in quiet, starring at the house he hadn't been inside in nearly 70 years. Vampires did not age. However, places did. The iron gates creaked as he pushed them open. The gravel driveway crunched beneath his shoes as he neared the front door. He knocked once. The door opened almost instantly. An elderly man stood there, leaning slightly on his cane. His grey hair was nicely brushed back, and his piercing eyes scanned Adrian intently.
For a few seconds, none of them said anything.The old man sighed. "Took you long enough," he mumbled. Adrian allowed himself a slight smile."Good to see you too, Marcus." Adrian still had a few living relatives, including Marcus Vale. A distant relative on his mother's side of the family.And most importantly... One of the few humans who understood the truth. Marcus stepped aside to allow him in. "You look exactly the same," the elderly guy murmured as Adrian walked past him."I hate that." Adrian looked around the house.The interior appeared remarkably identical to what he remembered.
Old wooden floorboards. Family photos line the walls. A grandfather clock ticks gently in the corridor. Marcus closed the door behind them."People have asked about you," he added nonchalantly. "I told them you had travelled."Business overseas." Adrian nodded. "That works." Marcus watched him closely. "Of course, they'll start asking questions eventually," he told them. "Small towns get curious." "That's nothing new." Marcus strolled slowly towards the living room. "You picked a strange time to come back," he told me. Adrian's expression darkened slightly."I heard."
Marcus turned to look at him. "The Hart family tragedy?" he enquired. Adrian nodded once. "Car accident," Marcus answered calmly. "Killed both parents. "We left the twin girls behind." Adrian's eyes flashed with something unreadable for a split second. "Hart," he reiterated. Marcus noticed. "You remember that name?" Adrian gazed out the window, where the evening sun trickled through the trees. "I remember many things about this town." Marcus observed him carefully before addressing the question he had been avoiding. "So tell me something." Adrian lifted his eyebrow. Marcus leaned lightly on his cane. "Did you come back because of the town… or because of her?"
Adrian was silent for quite some time. The room became quiet. Finally, he offered a weak smile. "I guess we'll find out." But Adrian felt there was something wrong. He crossed into Rothswood earlier that evening. He felt something.Something ancient. Something familiar. And if his instincts are correct— Then there was more than one return. Somewhere amid the shadows of Rothswood Something else started to stir.