The Basilica Castle of Divulge Blood has heavily orthodox paintings of different Bible verse scenarios, as well as the sacrifice of saints everywhere; it is almost impossible to find a plain wall inside this Basilica Castle. She wonders how much spiritual greatness the Duke feels when he lives in such a holy, spectacular, and radiantly blessed place.
Eliza kept her composure very seriously as she was trying not to wander inside the place itself since she felt it was intrusive to do so. Yet, the floor made of marble just couldn't help but make her want to follow those patterns wherever they bring her, yet because she does not wish to bear the consequences she will face once returning to America, she stayed behaved and put aside her curiosity. The mosaic-made palace is a truly splendid place made by the Lord! There were gables and arches on the walls, emphasizing its holiness. She also couldn’t get over how the onion domes are very beautiful. There were chandeliers made of gold as well, but the candles were black, making the light somehow dim. Maybe it's due to being late at night, she assumed.
Eliza couldn’t get her eyes off and was even impressed that there was a ciborium as well, which was covering over an altar. She is in disbelief yet impressed by how a duke was truly faithful to the Lord; he decided to live in such a holy castle. God bless him in heaven! As she reached the golden door with red marble around it, she saw a podium that held a holy portrait of Jesus, and the door was somehow as tall as twelve feet. How can such a genius be able to build such an exquisite place?
Hitherto, Eliza looked up above and saw such a glorious domed ceiling, painted with a depiction of Heaven, with saints within it, all being blessed by Our Lady of Fatima. She was truly amazed by it until—
“Well, I saw the young lady here who wanders all around my castle.”
The voice of a man, approximately in his mid-twenties, echoed, leaving the young Eliza startled. Thus, she finally kept her manners, because the Duke was finally here.
The Duke added, “This Basilica-Castle has been a Ruskyiev tradition for centuries, and now it shall finally be a place for Christian authorities to visit and examine. And how amusing it is, because you are the only chosen one!”
He said it with pure, humble pride, not over the top.
He then welcomed Eliza with open arms. “Welcome to my Holy Basilica-Castle of Divulged Blood. My name is Duke Dimitri Stephanov.”
Before she could respond, the man lifted his cape on the left side and knelt before Eliza, gesturing respect. He asked for her hand, and Eliza offered it. The Duke respectfully kissed it.
“Such a gentle, delicate, and pretty hand, as white as snow…” he described. “You are indeed very young.”
“I just turned nineteen this year,” Eliza replied.
“Amazing indeed, to have such a young learner coming all the way from America to the Royal Nation of Ruskyiev. It must have been difficult for you. Come and have midnight tea with me,” he said.
Eliza hesitated for a moment, leaving the Duke briefly dumbfounded.
“What are you waiting for? Come now! I have my maids who have prepared such scrumptious late-night meals!”
He spoke elegant, fluent English in a friendly tone, though laced with a slight Slavic inflection. He had clearly learned to communicate well in English, perhaps owing to his monarchical country’s close diplomatic relationship with England.
Eliza walked alongside him until she reached the mosaic dining table. It was exceptionally long and lavish. She sat, laying the white silk napkin across her lap, and examined what had been prepared.
She had expected desserts, but instead found far more: turkey, solyanka, the Ruskyiev sour soup, stuffed peppers, and fruit delicacies such as pastila and varenye for dessert. The Duke poured tea for her.
Nevertheless, he looked more familiar than she expected.
That snowy, pale skin, gentle and fair as any Ruskyiev’s. Eyes as blue as the night ocean. Black hair edged faintly with red, long and smooth as silk, with shorter cuts framing his face. His attire resembled that of a monarch: a black formal tunic layered with red, a semi-long crimson cape, perfectly tailored, golden chains resting upon his shoulders .
To her surprise, the man bore no facial hair. Clean-faced, timelessly handsome, seemingly frozen in his thirties. Eliza wondered how much wisdom he had carried over the decades.
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Despite her rebellious, tomboyish demeanor, Eliza carried the heart of a woman. A deeply feminine one, perhaps more so than many postulants within the chapel.
She blessed herself inwardly for the abundance of food and began to eat. Turkey first, then stuffed peppers dipped in sour soup, followed by solyanka. Being a Slavic adopted girl raised in a chapel, she had learned creative food combinations during mealtimes.
The turkey was chewy yet warm and juicy, followed by the sharp, spicy yet gentle taste of the peppers. She chewed deliberately, nearly forty times, as tradition instructed. Her curious eyes wandered, unable to resist the scenery of the Basilica-Castle. She noticed maids passing quietly and guards walking in distant groups, never speaking a word.
Despite the steady presence of the castle’s inhabitants, the more Eliza ate, the more she noticed the Duke remained composed. No hunger, no desire reflected on his face. She finished her portion of solyanka, while his remained untouched.
“Your Highness, Duke of the Basilica-Castle, Duke Stephanov… aren’t you eating with me?” she asked politely.
“Oh, do not trouble yourself over me. I have already eaten this evening. Quite full, truly,” he replied. “I am getting older, so I eat less.”
His words convinced her, formal yet believable.
The Duke smiled widely, sincere to the point it felt almost rehearsed.
“So,” he continued, “what truly brings you here, after your institution assigned you to this holy visitation within my lord’s praised Basilica-Castle?”
Eliza swallowed her final bite and answered carefully.
“My Highness, I feel honored as a woman of God to answer this. I wish to conduct analytical studies of the Christian resources housed within this splendid Basilica-Castle. Not merely reading texts, but preserving and picturing the holy relics safeguarded here. I wish to complete this mission and return to America, to assist my dear mothers, sisters, and Father Simon in restoring the Chapel of Fatima as a place where children may learn to read, write, and understand the moral values given by God and Our Lady of Fatima.”
For the first time, Eliza spoke fully from her heart.
Duke Dimitri smiled, visibly impressed.
“Such eagerness in one so young. You may use our library freely. My assistant, Swetlana, shall guide you tomorrow.”
He added, “We possess scriptures preserved from centuries past, even from the emperor’s household after his death in the 1700s.”
“The emperor was your ancestor?” Eliza asked.
“Indeed. My bloodline.” He gestured toward a painting behind him .
Eliza studied it, seeing little resemblance.
“Well,” she said carefully, smiling, “your vision has evolved into something even more remarkable.”
He smiled again, softer this time.
“He had everything,” the Duke said quietly. “Divine favor, intelligence, wealth, family. But the world changes.”
Eliza turned toward a portrait behind her: a beautiful woman wearing a kokoshnik, her albino hair styled in a bun, accompanied by four young girls and one small boy.
“A remarkable family portrait,” Eliza said.
“The ancestral collection,” he replied.
“If you do not mind me asking,” Eliza ventured gently, “do you have a family? I never knew mine. The chapel raised me.”
Silence struck like a blade.
The Duke froze. His eyes shifted, the whites darkening slowly. He stood and walked toward the portrait, hands clasped behind his back.
“Yes… I was married. I had children,” he said calmly, though his breath grew heavier.
“My deepest condolences,” Eliza whispered.
She did not see it, but blood welled in his eyes. His sclera blackened, pupils burning red. He wept grotesquely, silently, tears of blood falling once before he wiped them away, leaving no trace.
“No need,” he said, smiling again. “Your words fill an empty space.”
“You must be tired,” he continued. “Swetlana will show you to your room.”
Swetlana appeared, her expression neutral, eyes pale blue. She carried a torch and turned wordlessly.
Though Eliza knew she stood in a holy place, unease crept beneath her skin.
She followed.
The passage was long, the silence oppressive. At last, they reached a tall golden door. Swetlana opened it. Eliza stepped inside.
When she turned to thank her, Swetlana was gone .
Eliza’s Diary
Night of the Basilica-Castle
I am uncertain where to begin. I now rest in the room prepared by Duke Dimitri Stephanov himself. The chamber is vintage, almost untouched by time. A spacious bed bears a golden-yarned mattress and velvet blanket. A large wooden chest sits at its foot. The wardrobe could belong to royalty, and the stained-glass windows resemble something from medieval times.
Unexplainable chills trouble me. Perhaps it is my lack of faith, my wandering thoughts. High-pitched singing echoed throughout the night , but I remind myself that I am protected by Jesus Christ and Our Lady of Fatima.
Each movement feels heavy, as if my body obeys some unseen will . Still, this is the holiest place known to man. I shall rest.
Eliza, from St. Petersburg
