The Vallencourt estate looked like something out of a winter painting—snow drifting past tall windows, garlands draped along banisters, and gold-trimmed ornaments glowing under the soft hush of lantern light. Christmas music played faintly from the record player in the parlor, not for joy but for image. Everything in this house was about image.

The newest addition to the staff stood near the grand tree, carefully tying a velvet ribbon onto a branch. She moved with quiet precision, her dress a deep wine-red that matched the ornaments, her fitted ivory blouse buttoned high at the collar, trimmed with lace and dark embroidery. Her hair was pinned elegantly, loose curls framing her delicate face. Her eyes were striking—calm, attentive, the kind that actually see things. Her name was Elowen Hargrave, twenty-four, hired only three days ago.

She’d heard rumors about the youngest Vallencourt son before she arrived—ill-tempered, unstable, dangerous. “Do not approach him unless instructed,” the butler warned. “If he starts, let us handle it.” But she noticed the way the other staff spoke about him: never with concern, only annoyance, fear, or exhaustion. Elowen didn’t fear the broken; she feared the untouched, the ignored.

She first heard him before she saw him—frantic footsteps echoing down the hallway, gasping breaths, then a choked cry.

The staff reacted immediately.

“Restraints, now—he’s going into an episode!”

Elowen stepped out of the parlor just in time to see Aurelian collapse against the wall, hands gripping his hair, eyes wide and unfocused. He was shaking, whispering to something only he could see. One of the guards reached for his wrists, chains already in hand.

“No—no, don’t—” Aurelian flinched violently, voice cracking. “Please, not again—don’t lock me—” He kicked backward, panic rising like fire in his blood.

Elowen didn’t think. She simply moved.

“Stop!” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the chaos with certainty. The guards froze, stunned—not used to disruption, especially from someone so new.

“You’re not authorized—” one began.

“I don’t need authorization to stop you from making it worse,” she said, stepping between them and Aurelian.

He stared at her like she wasn’t real. Like she was another hallucination.

She knelt slowly in front of him—not reaching, not touching, just existing in his line of sight.

“Aurelian,” she said softly, using his name like she had every right to it. “Look at me. You’re safe. You’re inside your home. No one’s going to hurt you. I won’t let them.”

His breathing was jagged, uneven. “I—I don’t know where I am—” His voice was barely sound, more like trembling air.

“You’re in the east hall of the Vallencourt estate,” she answered gently, like reciting coordinates to someone lost at sea. “It’s winter, it’s evening, and it’s quiet. My name is Elowen. I was hired to help with the house. I’m not here to restrain you.”

His eyes flickered—not calm, but trying to be.

She lowered her voice further. “Aurelian… I’m not touching you, but I’m still here. You can breathe. You’re not alone in your head right now. I’m with you.” Silence. He swallowed hard. His hands trembled, but they were no longer fighting the air.

“What do you need?” she asked. “Right now. Just one thing.”

His answer came slow, as if dragged up through layers of panic. “I… I want the noise to stop. Too loud. Too many things moving.”