Belle

In 1793, after the storming of Versailles, revolutionaries seized countless noble estates. Among them was the ruined castle of Montferraud, near the French border with Germany. Inside, they found a library with over two thousand books — all untouched by time, though the rest of the castle was decaying.

In a hidden room, there was a diary belonging to Isabelle Marchand, daughter of a provincial bookseller. It described her engagement to a reclusive count who never appeared in public. Locals called him La Bête de Montferraud — the Beast of Montferraud.

Her entries shifted from excitement to unease:

“His voice trembles when he reads aloud, as if his tongue has forgotten words.”

“At night, I hear claws scratching against the floor, though he never leaves his study.”

Then came the final note:

“I no longer fear his face — I fear mine.”

When the revolutionaries found the count’s chambers, the mirrors were shattered, and the air stank of fur and blood. Yet one detail haunted them most — a portrait of Isabelle herself, painted in exquisite detail… but with amber eyes and fangs.

No record of her was found after that. But the books in the library still resist decay, as if the paper refuses to age. Scholars call it The Sleeping Archive. They say each page smells faintly of roses and iron — and if you read too long, you start to hear breathing behind you.