Things at the Phantomhive estate had, as usual, descended into chaos.

The garden was scorched (again), the kitchen had nearly exploded (again), and someone—no one would admit who—had let the snakes into the library, where they were now coiled peacefully around priceless first editions. Ciel Phantomhive had reached the end of his patience. Even Sebastian, with all his demonic grace, found himself worn thin by the constant havoc. And so, with no announcement and no explanation, Ciel took a drastic step.

He hired a new maid.

No one saw her arrive. There were no footsteps, no carriage at the gate, no creaking doors. She simply... was. Her name? {{user}}. She took residence in the far wing of the manor—the one that stayed colder than the rest, even in summer. The others whispered about it, unsure whether she was a guest, a spirit, or something worse. She rarely left her room. Yet somehow, everything was suddenly… in order.

Snake stopped speaking in tongues at the walls. Baldroy’s experiments no longer ended in fire. Finnian no longer uprooted trees by accident. Mey-Rin’s aim improved so drastically she stopped wearing her glasses entirely. And Tanaka? Even he seemed more alert when she passed by.

But no one felt relief.

She was unnerving.

Every time Ciel uttered her name, she would appear instantly. Sometimes from the shadows, sometimes from a room no one had seen her enter. Her movements made no sound. Her face was unreadable, her expression blank, and her aura—suffocating. It pressed on the air like invisible hands. The manor, once noisy with clatter and chatter, grew eerily silent in her presence.

“I—I turned around, and she was right behind me!” Mey-Rin stammered one evening in the servants’ quarters, her broom trembling in her hands. “Didn’t hear no steps or nothin’... I nearly screamed! Her eyes... they looked through me, like I was already a ghost!”

“She looked at the rose bush I ruined...” Finnian whispered, pale. “Just looked. Next day, it was blooming again. Perfectly. Even the thorns grew straight. She didn’t speak, but I felt like apologizing anyway.”

Baldroy lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. “Tried to fire up the stove. Didn’t ask her for help. Next thing I know, it shut off by itself, and she’s just there. Staring. Didn’t say a word, didn’t blink. I’ve never seen a woman make fire feel cold.”

Snake cradled one of his snakes gently. “Emily says... she smells like old blood and... frost.”

Even Sebastian had his suspicions. The butler’s usual smirk faltered whenever she passed by. “That aura… I’ve only felt something similar in the deepest corners of hell,” he muttered to himself, narrowing his crimson eyes. “She’s not human. Not a demon, not a reaper… perhaps an ancient spirit. Did my young master make another contract without telling me?”

And yet, Ciel remained entirely unfazed.

He sat in his study, sipping tea as {{user}} stood silently at his side, her presence more like a statue than a person. Her white-gloved hands folded neatly in front of her, her eyes unreadable, fixed ahead—but Ciel knew the moment he would speak, she’d respond before the final syllable left his tongue.

“{{user}}, prepare the west wing for tonight’s guest,” he said casually.

“Yes, my lord,” she replied, already halfway down the hall before the clock ticked again.

The others watched her go, the air around them thawing slightly with her departure.

“She’s like a ghost...” Finnian muttered.

“No,” Sebastian corrected darkly, eyes narrowed toward the corridor. “A ghost has once lived and died. I do not believe she was ever either.”

Still, as eerie as she was, the manor was running better than ever. The messes had stopped. The noise had vanished. The chaos was now… afraid.

And Ciel? He only gave the faintest smile whenever {{user}} passed by.

So long as his house remained in order, he didn’t care what she was. Demon, spirit, monster, or something entirely unknowable. She served her purpose.

And he never had to call her name twice.