Head Maid Lilith standing at the door did not answer Harlotte. She simply remained motionless in the frame, her expression unchanged—a perfect, frozen smile.
It was beautiful, yet utterly false.
The “tac—tac—tac” of approaching footsteps grew louder. Harlotte dared not linger in the maid dormitory and hurried to the doorway, slipping in beside Lilith.
Though this Head Maid was dangerous too, she was at least visibly on his side compared to the unknown threat drawing near.
As the footsteps reached the far end of the corridor, Harlotte finally saw their owner.
It was—and of all people—the stewardess Seraphina!
A long breath of relief escaped him; among the nonhuman denizens of the castle, he trusted Seraphina most. She had saved his life the very first time he faced mortal peril.
Yet as she drew near, a chill ran down Harlotte’s spine.
This stewardess was wrong.
Since his arrival he had only rarely dealt with her, but her trademark grace and warmth had left an indelible mark on him. Now, the woman who walked toward him felt mechanical. Her eyes held no emotion or spark—only cold emptiness. Though her attire and form were unchanged, her essence was not: this was not the woman he knew.
Instinctively, Harlotte moved to shield Lilith, but the Head Maid reacted even more violently.
Lilith’s crimson eyes, normally smoky and alluring, flooded with fear. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped her apron’s hem, her breathing so shallow that she seemed afraid a single breath might alert the stewardess. Harlotte could even see her shoulders trembling.
A wry smile flickered in his mind: so even a nonhuman like the Head Maid could feel fear.
Seraphina did not look at Lilith, nor did she ask why they stood in the dormitory. She walked straight to Harlotte, her icy gaze scanning him as if verifying his identity.
After several seconds, she stiffly turned at the waist—her movement as clumsy as a rusty automaton—then spoke. Her voice lacked its former crystalline elegance; instead it was a flat, monotone echo, like a synthesized recording.
“Young Master, tonight is the night of the full moon. Please observe the rules the Lady has left.”
Harlotte clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms. He stared at Seraphina’s face, searching those unfocused eyes for any glimmer of recognition—but found only deathly stillness.
This was no stewardess he knew, but a program following commands, devoid of will.
“First: after nightfall, you must not leave your room.”
“Second: do not open your door for anyone, no matter who it is.”
“Third: no red moonlight will shine in the castle; should you see it, ignore it.”
“Fourth: your window is on the third floor, so no one will speak outside it.”
“Fifth: if anyone enters your room, flee at once and seek refuge.”
Having delivered the final rule with no further explanation and no answer to Harlotte’s unspoken questions, she pivoted stiffly—left foot, then right foot, each step identical as if measured by a ruler. The once rhythmic “tac—tac—tac” now echoed mechanically as she receded around the corner.
The corridor’s oppressive stillness lingered long after her departure. In that time, Harlotte could hear only his own and Lilith’s heartbeats. When confronted by the unknown, human and nonhuman alike shared the same terror.
At last Lilith recovered first, though she remained rooted to the spot, her face ashen, stray hairs glued by cold sweat to her temples. In her eyes, alongside confusion, swam an unnameable dread.
“Young Master, shall we proceed to the next place?” she asked.
“No.” Harlotte steadied himself. The mental solace his sister had provided was shattered the moment he saw the stewardess.
He drew a deep breath and spoke quietly, “Take me to the small dining room. Prepare extra food for me. I want to have dinner in my chamber—no need to go to the main dining hall tonight.”
Lilith hesitated, then fixed him with a solemn gaze. Worry flickered in her crimson eyes, but she asked no further questions. With a trembling nod, she replied, “As you command, my lord.”
“My lord?” Harlotte paused. It was the second time Lilith had called him that today. Even she seemed off—gone was the seductive aura that had made him yearn for her favor.
They walked along the corridor toward the small dining room. Passing the turn to the grand dining hall, Harlotte’s vision wavered—an invisible force tugging at his mind. When he opened his eyes, the scene before him had utterly transformed.
Where the deep-red velvet drape once marked the main dining hall entrance now yawned a giant wolf’s maw.
Silver-white fur crept along the lintel, each strand distinct and shimmering coldly. Long, sharp fangs dangled from the arch, their tips stained dark red like congealed blood. Beyond them lay a throat of inky purple, shadows shifting within.
The once plush carpet underfoot had become a slick, wet tongue, coated in a slick fluid redolent of carrion, as if fresh from a kill.
Harlotte halted, his heart pounding, back drenched in cold sweat. He clenched his fists until his nails dug into his flesh and forced his eyes shut. It had to be illusion—his unstable mind conjured phantoms again.
He shut his eyes for ten agonizing seconds. When he dared to look again, the crimson drape hung in place, swaying gently in a nonexistent breeze. The grand dining hall entrance was as always—no wolf, no fangs, no stench.
“Young Master, are you all right?” Lilith called, noticing his abrupt stop. Concern laced her voice. “Do you feel unwell?”
“Nothing.” Harlotte shook his head, voice weak. “I’m feeling a bit off. Bring me something to eat that will steady my mind.”
He knew those visions were no ordinary hallucination. The wolf-portal bore the mark of the self-styled Head Guard who claimed to have left the castle.