Black Spiral Dancers: Wednesday: Child of Woe, #5

By Francesco Santora

The chronicle continues in Wednesday's World of Darkness, where her hidden origins and tragic destiny are revealed in 'Black Spiral Dancers.' This dark fantasy of paranormal soulmates unravels in the shadow of a predestined apocalypse. A gripping tale of horror and passion, 'Black Spiral Dancers' delves into forbidden knowledge, shared madness, and inner darkness. Join our dark couple on a soulful journey into a realm of horror, where they must confront their dark souls or face the ultimate consequence. Will they overcome the horrors that await them, or will the darkness within them become a haunting echo in a dying universe?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Francesco Santora
• Release date: Mar 6, 2024
• ISBN: 9798223222859

Francesco Santora

I learned long ago the best person to write the stroies I like is myself. If you want to come along too then welcom to my World of Darkness. 

Book preview

Black Spiral Dancers  Wednesday: Child of Woe 

PART 1 Sister mine

Chapter 1: The Mysterious Visitor 

The small town of River Bottom was no stranger to mysteries, but the peculiar reputation of the mansion on the outskirts had tongues wagging in hushed tones. The once-grand estate stood in eerie silence, its towering spires casting ominous shadows that seemed to stretch with the setting sun.

A lone figure stood in front of the mansion, regarding it thoughtfully. Wednesday, her arrival a dark omen, had a penchant for the macabre. She found herself drawn to the house.

A neighbor opened her door to investigate, she saw a young lady with raven-colored hair start to approach the gates of the mansion, the wind whispering through the gnarled branches of ancient trees, creating an unsettling symphony. The air was thick with an otherworldly chill, but instead of trepidation, Wednesday felt a peculiar sense of homecoming.

The mansion loomed before her, its facade weathered by time and neglect.

The concerned neighbor, peering out from the door ran down her porch then hurried over to Wednesday with a look of genuine worry etched on her face.

Oh, dear, you're not thinking of going in there, are you? the neighbor inquired, her eyes widening with concern.

Wednesday, her expression unchanged, offered a sly grin. Why, of course. A haunted mansion? How charming. I was hoping for a challenge.

The neighbor, taken aback by Wednesday's nonchalance, stammered, But they say it's haunted! I say it’s worse, it’s unholy, a hell house where the devil lives.

Wednesday's eyes gleamed with anticipation. Exactly what I'm counting on.

With that, she passed through the rusted gates, the wrought-iron creaking in protest. The path leading to the mansion seemed to stretch longer than it should, each step echoing with the hushed whispers of a forgotten history.

As Wednesday reached the imposing entrance, the massive wooden doors groaned open as if guided by unseen hands. The foyer beyond was shrouded in shadows, and the flickering light from a long-neglected chandelier cast dancing silhouettes on the walls.

A voice, soft yet commanding, echoed through the darkness. Welcome, Wednesday, a Dancer of True Spiral graces these halls once more.

Wednesday, her eyes adjusting to the dim light, surveyed the grandeur of the mansion's interior. Dancer of the Black Spiral, you say? I think we're going to get along just fine.

Chapter 2: The Whispering Portraits

Wednesday ventured further into the mansion, her steps echoing through the vast corridors. The air carried a scent of aged wood and secrets long kept. Portraits adorned the walls, their eyes seemingly following her every move.

As she passed, the figures in the paintings stirred. Murmurs and hushed conversations reached her ears, but the words remained elusive. Wednesday raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

What should we do next? What would a Santora do? she mused, her voice a mere whisper that resonated with the unseen spirits. In response, the portraits seemed to come alive with spectral energy, capturing moments of a bygone era.

One painting, depicting a stern-faced matriarch, beckoned Wednesday closer. Child of shadows, seek the hidden passages. Only then shall the mysteries unfold.

With an amused smirk, Wednesday acknowledged the cryptic advice. Concealed passages, you say? Delightful.

The journey through the mansion led her to a peculiar wall adorned with an assortment of seemingly decorative masks. Wednesday, however, sensed a deeper purpose to these enigmatic visages.

As she examined the masks, a disembodied voice whispered, Choose wisely, Wednesday Santora, for the mask you wear reveals the path you tread.

Without hesitation, Wednesday selected a mask adorned with twisted vines and thorns. It melded seamlessly with her features, the edges of the mask seemingly extending into her very flesh forming a line of crimson