The Ghost of Evernigh and His Moon Kissed Bride

In the forgotten ruins of Evernigh Manor, where ivy wove its emerald veins through broken stone and moonlight bathed the halls in silver sorrow, a ghost waited.

He was once Lord Cassian Dain, a man of flesh and blood, of whispered secrets and stolen kisses. Now, he was nothing but a shadow in the night, cursed to wander the halls of his ruined home, longing for something  or someone - he could never touch again.

Legends whispered that Evernigh was haunted. That no one who entered its gates at night returned unchanged. That if you lingered too long beneath the great oaken archway, you would hear a man’s voice on the wind, murmuring a name long lost to time.

It was this legend that drew Lady Isolde Ravelle to Evernigh one fateful autumn night.

She had heard the stories all her life, but she was not a woman who feared ghosts. No, she had always believed that some loves did not end with death, that some souls remained tethered to the world by the sheer force of their longing. And so, with only a lantern and her own reckless curiosity, she stepped beyond the manor’s iron gates.

The air grew colder the moment she crossed the threshold. The scent of rain lingered in the stone, and the moonlight slanted through the shattered windows, painting the great hall in pale gold. And then, she heard it - 

A voice.

Low. Rough. And aching with centuries of sorrow.

"Why have you come?"

Isolde turned slowly.

And there he stood.

Lord Cassian Dain was not like the ghosts in children’s tales, transparent and flickering. No, he was as solid as the stone around him, as real as the heartbeat thrumming wildly in her chest. His dark hair was tousled as if the wind had forever run its fingers through it. His sharp jaw was shadowed, his piercing silver eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch.

He was heartbreak in human form.

But he was not human anymore.

“Because I was meant to,” Isolde answered, lifting her chin.

A flicker of something - recognition - passed over his face, so swift she almost missed it.

“I should warn you, my lady,” he murmured, stepping closer. The air around him shimmered like frost on glass. “I do not take kindly to those who disturb my solitude.”

She should have been afraid. She should have turned and run.

But instead, she met his gaze and whispered, “Then why are you looking at me as if you have waited an eternity for me to arrive?”

A silence thick as midnight stretched between them.

And then, Cassian exhaled a slow, shuddering breath.

“Because I have.”

With those words, the past unraveled.

A hundred years ago, on this very night, Cassian Dain had stood in this manor, waiting for his bride. A woman with moonlight in her hair and fire in her spirit. A woman who had loved him beyond reason. A woman he had sworn to love for all eternity.

But fate is a cruel mistress.

On the eve of their wedding, treachery had stolen his life. A jealous rival, a blade in the dark. And when his bride arrived, she found only his blood staining the white marble floors.

Grief-stricken, she had cursed Evernigh itself. She had vowed that neither love nor death would separate them. That their souls would find each other again, no matter how many lifetimes it took.

And now…

Now she stood before him once more.

Isolde did not understand how she knew. How the memories of another life stirred within her, how the echo of a love long past filled every corner of her soul.

But she knew.

“I remember,” she whispered, reaching out a trembling hand. “Cassian, I remember you.”

His eyes burned. His hands trembled as he lifted them, hesitating, afraid—so afraid—that this was another cruel trick of fate. That if he touched her, she would disappear.

But when their fingers brushed - 

Heat. Light. Magic.

The weight of a century lifted. The ghost who had been trapped between life and death, bound by sorrow, found himself whole again.

The manor, long silent, seemed to breathe. The ruined chandeliers flickered to life, the dust of ages sweeping away as if time itself was rewriting its story.

Cassian did not waste a single moment.

He crushed Isolde to him, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that had waited a hundred years to be given. She melted against him, her hands tangling in his hair, her tears mixing with his own.

The moon bathed them in silver, and for the first time in a century, Evernigh Manor was no longer haunted.

For love had broken the curse.

And the ghost was a ghost no more.

🖤🩸

✨ A tale woven from shadows, whimsy, and imagination. Purely for your delight - totally made up!