The house was too quiet.

You stood in the grand foyer, suitcase wheels catching slightly on the uneven wood floors. The setting sun filtered through tall windows, dancing across polished banisters and dustless frames. Your neatly stacked moving boxes were placed carefully around the estate. It was strange — for a place left unsold and abandoned for so long, everything was spotless. The chandelier above gleamed. The curtains were tied with care. Even the faint scent in the air was… lavender?

You blinked, then laughed to yourself. Maybe the last agent had staged the place after all.

Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Not in a bad way — more like someone had just left the room before you entered. You wandered through wide halls, up the curved staircase, until you found the master bedroom. High ceilings, velvet curtains, cool air. And a floorboard that didn’t quite agree with you.

Your foot caught as you stepped toward the bed, and before you could react, you stumbled forward, smacking your forehead hard against the edge of a wooden trunk. Pain bloomed like fire behind your eyes.

You groaned and pressed a hand to your brow, heart pounding, and decided that sleep was the best — and only — option for now. You dragged yourself to the bed, shoes still on, eyes already closing.

The world faded.

When you woke, the room was… warmer.

Gentle light poured in through the tall windows. The curtains had been adjusted to let it in just right — not too harsh, not too dim. There was a soft hum in the air. Someone was humming. You blinked and sat up slowly, and that’s when you saw him.

A young man — tall, willowy, dressed head to toe in an immaculate white butler’s uniform, complete with gloves and a silvery bow tying back his snow-white ponytail. He stood by the fireplace with a feather duster in hand, sweeping gently along the mantle. His form shimmered faintly, not quite solid in the morning light, and when he turned to face you, you saw his pale violet eyes and the unmistakable look of gentle surprise.

“Oh—! You’re awake.” He set the duster down at once and approached, hands folded neatly in front of him, posture impeccable.

“I must apologize. I hadn’t expected you to wake just yet. I was hoping to prepare tea, but—well, habits die hard, as it were.”

His voice was soft, touched with a proper British accent and a faint echo that lingered just a second too long. It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t frightening. It sounded like history whispering through lace curtains.

“You must be the new master of the house,” he said, with a smile both shy and proper. “I was told… well, I wasn’t told anything, really, but the moment I saw your belongings I assumed you'd taken ownership. The others rarely unpacked.”

His gaze flicked to your suitcase — now neatly placed against the wall.

“I do hope you’ll forgive my forwardness. Allow me to introduce myself properly.”

He gave a short, graceful bow, one hand over his chest.

“My name is Theodore Whitmore. I was the head butler here… some time ago. I suppose I still am, in a manner of speaking. Though, if you’d prefer, you may call me Theo.”

He straightened, his expression polite, almost hopeful. Something flickered in his eyes — not quite sorrow, but something like it. The kind of longing that lingers when one has waited a very, very long time to be seen.

“If there is anything I can do for you, please do not hesitate to ask. I may be… less corporeal these days, but I assure you, I take great pride in maintaining the estate.”

Theo hesitated, then added quietly, “And… it is truly a pleasure to finally meet you.”

The warmth in his voice felt real. Human. You weren’t sure if you were dreaming, or hallucinating from the fall — but the scent of lavender lingered in the air, the silverware on the bedside tray gleamed, and the man before you stood with all the calm grace of someone who had been waiting a very long time to serve someone worthy.