Lord Varlen's grip was cold.
Not just in temperature, but in something deeper, something unnatural. It felt as if his very touch was draining the warmth from her bones. Aira could do nothing as he pulled her closer, his dark eyes scanning her face with something between curiosity and amusement.
"You are not one of my servants." His voice was smooth, practiced—like someone used to control, used to power. "Who sent you?"
Aira's mind raced.
She could lie. She could pretend she was lost, that she had made a mistake. But would he believe her? The way his fingers curled around her wrist, firm and unwavering, told her that he was not a man easily deceived.
Think. Think.
She forced herself to meet his gaze. "I— I was looking for work."
His grip did not loosen. "Work?"
She swallowed. "A maid. A servant. Whatever you need."
He studied her. The silence stretched too long.
Then, to her shock, he smiled.
"Is that so?"
Aira nodded quickly, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut.
Lord Varlen released her wrist, but she didn't dare move.
"I do have need of new servants," he mused. "But you are too thin. Too fragile. You do not look like you were raised to work."
Aira's heart pounded.
"I can learn," she said.
His smile widened, and something about it sent a chill down her spine.
"Very well," he said. "You may stay."
She should have been relieved.
She wasn't.
A Servant in a Noble's Den
Aira was given a room—a small, windowless space tucked away at the far end of the servant quarters. The mattress was thin, the walls damp, the air thick with dust. It felt like a prison.
Because it was.
She wasn't allowed to leave the manor. Not even the courtyard.
She wasn't the only one.
There were others—maids, cooks, servants who moved like shadows, their faces empty, their voices hushed. They were afraid. Aira could see it in their eyes.
But afraid of what?
She needed to find out.
The Stench of Secrets
At first, nothing seemed unusual.
Lord Varlen was strict but not unkind. He gave orders, expected them to be followed, and that was it.
But Aira could feel something wrong lurking beneath the surface.
She noticed it in the way the servants avoided certain doors. The way some of them disappeared without explanation. The way the manor seemed too quiet at night.
And the smell.
It came from deep within the manor. A thick, rotten stench that no amount of perfume or incense could fully mask.
Aira's stomach twisted every time she caught a whiff of it.
No one spoke of it. No one acknowledged it.
Until one night, when she heard it.
A scream.
Muffled. Faint. But unmistakable.
Aira sat up in bed, heart hammering.
She wasn't imagining it.
Someone was screaming.
She had to know why.
The Forbidden Hallway
Aira moved silently through the halls, her bare feet brushing against cold stone. The servants were asleep, the noble's guards nowhere in sight.
She followed the stench.
It led her deeper into the manor, past the lavish halls of silk and gold, down into the servants' passages where the walls were bare and the air was heavy.
The door was ahead.
The same door she had found before. The one no one spoke of.
Aira pressed her ear against it.
Silence.
She reached for the handle.
It turned.
The door opened.
And Aira stepped inside.
The Room of the Forgotten
She almost vomited.
The smell hit her first—thick and putrid, a mix of rot and decay. The room was dimly lit, the walls lined with iron chains. The floor was covered in something dark and sticky.
Blood.
Her breath caught in her throat.
There were bodies.
No—not bodies.
People.
Some were still alive. Barely.
Aira's hands trembled as she stepped forward, her foot slipping slightly on the wet stone. The figures chained to the walls were thin, their skin stretched tight over their bones. Their eyes were sunken, hollow.
They weren't prisoners.
They were drained.
Her stomach twisted violently. She had to get out. She had to—
"Amazing, isn't it?"
Aira froze.
Lord Varlen stood in the doorway, watching her with the same polite smile.
She couldn't move.
"I wondered how long it would take you to find this place," he said, stepping inside. The door shut behind him with a heavy click.
Aira's blood turned to ice.
She had made a mistake.
A terrible, terrible mistake.