Lady of the Sanctum

Lady of the Sanctum
https://creepypastafiles.fandom.com/wiki/Lady_of_the_Sanctum Elizabeth Marie Cambridge was born the eldest child of the Earl and Countess of Athlone on November 18, 1917 and died December 21, 1937. She was a child who you either loved for the way she conducted herself or hated for her psychotic tendencies and was often seen exploring the market with other children in the earldom.

She lived a rather ordinary life -- or as ordinary a life the future countess could -- until she was six years old. Her little sister, Marie Elizabeth Cambridge, was born one month after Elizabeth's birthday, a beautiful baby girl with black hair, green eyes and fair, flawless skin.

Elizabeth's life revolved around her little sister. Marie had become the center of her world. She fawned over Marie as if she were a heavenly gift.

Many people took notice of this, though not all of them were good.

It was around this time that her night terrors started. At first, it was small things. Her father falling deathly ill. A knight falling from the battlements to his death. Her grandmother screaming as her home was attacked.

Each of these things came true, in time.

Soon after, she became to have a reoccuring night terror, of Marie as a thirteen year old girl, her throat slit open as she laid on the cold stone in the hall.

When Elizabeth was fifteen, her father passed away and she was crowned Countess of Athlone. This was when most of her trouble started.

You see, a cult had arisen around the Countess, believing she was the resurrection of the Virgin Mary.

None knew why they believed this, or what inspired the rumours, but they were there.

"Your Ladyship, I believe you've heard of these rumours?" Her advisor voiced.

"I have. They have no truth to them. They are lies. Allow them to believe what they wish, but allow them no further action."

That was the only time Elizabeth spoke of the cult for a long, long time.

She began to recieve letters, with no seal, no signature and covered in bloody handprints. The message inside was always blank. No one knew where the letters were coming from, as no one had delivered them. They were simply appearing on Elizabeth's desk.

This continued until she was seventeen. Her mother, the Dowager Countess, became paranoid and banned her daughters from leaving the keep without an escort of guards.

Marie was eleven at the time and clung to her sister for protection.

Elizabeth was furious. She was willing to tolerate someone harrassing her, but when it affected her sister, she would make sure the culprit would rot in hell.

A few months later, Elizabeth married a minor lord named John Astor, who was three years older than her.

A year later, the letters had stopped and the ban had been lifted. Elizabeth went out to the market to buy a few ribbons for Marie, but she felt a sudden pain in her head and collapsed.

When she came to, she was tied to a thick wooden cross in a dome like room. It was dark and had broken shrines in alcoves lining the walls. She looked closer at them and realised that they were shrines to each saint.

She recognized it as the sanctum just outside the keep's walls.

She was in her home.

A man wearing a mask walked to her from behind the cross.

"Oh, my lady Mary, how we've longed for your return." The man reached up and caressed her face.

Elizabeth jerked away from him, ignoring the pain from the ropes digging into her wrists.

"Release me now, or I will have your head for this."

The man smiled lazily. "All in due time, My Lady. We want something from you-"

"I will give you nothing."

"We want you to kill someone. Spill their blood and bring us a vial of it, so we may use it to contact the Lord and let him know that his mother has returned."

"I have no children!"

He ignored her words and continued speaking, "We need our Lady to be blooded, so her son may cleanse her of sin and allow her into the gates of Heaven!"

Elizabeth was about to speak when he said the one thing that turned her blood to ice.

"If you do not, Lady Marie will pay the price. It will be her blood used."

Then, Elizabeth blacked out again.

She awoke in her bedchambers, her handmaiden dabbing her face with a damp cloth.

She tried to tell the girl what had happened, but it was dismissed as a dream.

Elizabeth never mentioned it again after that.

Another year later, and she had given birth to a son whom she named Oliver Henry Cambridge-Astor. She tried to keep this news away from the public, fearing for her child's safety should any involved with that man or that cult hear of it.

She received one last letter.