Defenseless, pitiful, helpless, despairing—countless negative emotions enveloped Harlotte’s mind. In just two days, he had endured horrors most people might never face in a lifetime.
That sense of powerlessness gnawed at him, letting unease and dread consume his heart.
There were no signs of struggle, no clues—those who had screamed simply vanished, leaving behind only a faint, coppery scent of blood.
When he looked around again, the castle he once knew so well seemed utterly alien. In the darkened corners, grotesque creatures crouched, ready at any moment to leap out and devour him alive.
Of course, it was more likely, as with the maid who screamed, that not even a corpse would remain. After all, from flesh and bone to spirit, his fate had long since been sealed, had it not?
As he stood frozen, trembling from head to toe, distant footsteps snapped his attention back.
The Head Maid advanced at a measured pace, her usual serene smile in place, her beauty flawless, the lines of her maid’s uniform irresistibly alluring. Yet her apron bore a faint dusting of flour, and her slender hands still showed traces of kneading dough.
“Young Master,” she said. “At this hour, you should not be here.”
Her voice was sweet, lightly spirited like a young girl’s. But as Harlotte gazed upon her approach, all he wanted was to turn and flee.
“You truly don’t know why I’m here?” Though he longed to bolt, Harlotte forced himself to stay, fixing the Head Maid with a fiery stare. He knew his actions were dangerous, but he had to risk it.
“The castle has its own rules, Young Master. Whether you, I, or anyone else—you must all obey. There can be no recklessness.”
She gave no direct answer. Her words seemed meaningless, yet Harlotte understood. The moment he noticed the flour on her apron, he wanted to laugh—a wild, unrestrained laugh, collapsing in hysterics on the floor.
But he held back. Instead, his gaze lost some fear and gained a glint of madness.
“Lilith,” he said, “where is this supper you mentioned? Take me there.”
She lifted her skirts in a slight curtsy, a flush blossoming on her cheeks.
“As you wish, Young Master. Please follow me.”
But the instant Harlotte followed her away, a figure slipped from the shadows, scrambling to escape. The maid had barely taken a few steps when the space around her shifted—she found herself in a lavish, cavernous corridor that stretched beyond sight.
With the click of heels on stone, a figure approached. If Harlotte had seen her, he would have recognized his stewardess, Seraphina.
The maid froze at the sound. She turned and confirmed the approaching form was indeed the stewardess.
“Stewardess!” she gasped, instinctively stepping forward—then, remembering something, she bolted down the hallway. But no matter how she ran, the footsteps followed, drawing inexorably closer.
Her strength drained, she collapsed to the floor as the steps closed in.
“You saw it, didn’t you?” Harlotte’s voice whispered—and as he spoke, countless shadows emerged around him, layering voices upon voices.
“Yes, yes, I saw it! She saw it, she must’ve seen it!” the maid sobbed, crawling backward in primal terror. Even though she knew death awaited, she struggled until her last breath.
Unexpectedly, Seraphina did not kill her outright. Instead, she knelt and helped the trembling maid to her feet.
“You didn’t see Young Master’s face, did you? You didn’t covet him, did you? So why fear? What are you hiding from?”
Her tone carried a soothing authority that gradually stilled the maid’s frantic spirit.
“Not me, not me! I did nothing, I only...” the maid clung to Seraphina’s sleeve, desperate to plead for mercy.
Seraphina paid no heed to the panic-stricken features before her. Instead, she smoothed the maid’s disheveled uniform with elegant care, as if tending to a noble lady rather than a servant.
“You wanted to see where she went, didn’t you?”
“Yes, yes—that’s it. I was only curious. I saw nothing, I swear! Please spare me!”
“I’m truly sorry... I wish I could let you go, but...” Seraphina bowed, stepping back, adjusting the maid’s collar with a gentle smile.
In the next instant, a hand shot through the maid’s chest, piercing her heart at lightning speed. Even as the organ was torn out, it beat weakly, and the maid’s face was frozen in a bewildered smile of relief.
“The castle’s law is absolute. Now that you’ve broken it, forgive me.”
She tossed the heart aside, opened her mouth—and with a single inhalation, drew a translucent silhouette from the maid’s body. The soul’s face wore the same expression as before, only intensified with terror and despair—as if Seraphina’s appearance had undergone a horrific transformation.
Her fragrance had turned to brimstone, and her once-impeccable stewardess uniform was overlaid with twisted, asymmetrical sigils—each housing a contorted human face.
Some faces writhed free, becoming wraiths around Seraphina, each striving to flee. Yet black-and-red chains of flame bound them, tethering them to her side.
“Such a pity—you saw it again. Best if you all stayed tidy and left no traces.”
Chewing on the maid’s soul like fodder, she ignored its final screams. The body lay behind her, consumed by the wraiths.
“How uncouth, always this display when dining. Such dry, flavorless souls. I long to taste Young Master’s soul—what divine flavor that might be.”
Murmuring to herself, Seraphina re-appeared in the castle, dabbing her mouth with the white silk handkerchief at her chest as if she’d merely finished a meal.