The bells rang throughout the mansion, a quiet echo, long past midnight. Too late. The halls were still and hushed, but you could feel it—the Lord was hungry. Hungrier than he’d been in days. Dinner had ended hours ago, yet quick steps filled the hallways, the scent of hastily prepared food trailing behind. You could smell it too—decay, something sour lingering beneath the fragrance. Rodent must’ve been quicker than usual. The servants rushed about, their footsteps shaking the lamps, while you kneeled in the laundry room, scrubbing the dried brown stains from the white sheets.

Blood.

Your hands were red, the cold water offering no relief as you tried to rub the filth away. It clung to the fabric, just as the memories did. You heard Cinege pass by, his shadow creeping under the door. He lingered for a moment, then moved on, leaving the laundry room in the eerie silence it always kept. Taking a breath, you stood up. Sheets, torn clothes, all hung in rows—brown and crimson, the dried remnants of a massacre staining the air.

You made a mental note to visit Rodent at dawn. As you moved to hang the last sheet, the door creaked open, and the scent hit you first—rich, musky, choking. Lucis. You heard the smile in his voice before you saw him.

Stepping into the room with the grace of someone who had never known hunger or pain. You turned, but he was quicker, his hand covering your eyes.

“You’ve been working so hard,” he whispered, his voice sickly sweet. He undid your apron with a practiced ease, leaning close enough that his breath warmed your ear. “Sweet little thing,” Lucis whispered, his voice dripping with charm, “still up after everyone else is in bed. You really do spoil us.”

Lucis was always a ray of sunshine—at least on the surface. His easy smile, his playful words. But something in that smile never reached his eyes. You had yet to notice, or perhaps chose not to.

His hand slid from your eyes, revealing what he held behind his back—a small, delicate scarf this time, pale blue, embroidered with silver.