"AHHHHHHH!"
Her scream echoed louder than before, her legs moving before her mind could catch up. She sprinted out of the room, blindly choosing a path through the twisting hallways. They seed endless, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were closing in on her, suffocating her. She needed to get out—now.
Her heart pounded, each breath growing heavier with every step. Her legs burned, and the adrenaline that had pushed her so far was finally fading. Exhaustion hit all at once, and her body gave in, collapsing onto the cold floor. She lay there, panting and drained, unable to move any further.
-----------
When she woke up, she was in her bed. Sunlight stread through the window, bathing the room in a soft, golden glow. She blinked, feeling more refreshed than she had in days. The morning sun cald her nerves, but the mory of last night clung to her mind.
Was it all a dream?
She was certain she had passed out in the hallway, yet here she was, back in her own bed. Her eyes drifted to the chair beside her, and that’s when she saw him—fake Kuron, slumped in the chair, head resting on the bed. He stirred as soon as she shifted, worry filling his eyes.
"Miss, are you alright? What happened? I found you in the hallway," he asked, his voice laced with genuine concern. She hesitated, thrown off by the emotion in his eyes. It was the sa deep worry only the real Kuron had ever shown her. A feeling that couldn’t be faked.
"I just... encountered a ghost while I was going for a late-night snack," she said, half-telling the truth. She had seen sothing, but whether it was real or not, she couldn’t be sure. The mory of last night burned in her mind, but she forced a small smile.
"Miss, the mansion is very dangerous at night. Please don’t wander alone. The servants might... do you harm." His voice was thick with concern, but the words felt wrong. They sounded like a thinly veiled excuse to monitor her every move.
"S-sure," she stamred, struggling to keep her suspicion from showing. Thankfully, fake Kuron didn’t seem to notice. The rest of the day played out as usual—he brought her breakfast, and she spent the afternoon holed up in the library, pretending to read. But her mind raced, trying to connect the pieces.
The fake Kuron.
The hooded figure.
The skeleton.
The fact that no one else was in the mansion.
And the corpse she found in the floorboards.
-------
This painted a very dark picture: the fake Kuron must have killed everyone in the mansion and assud the role of ’Kuron,’ the knight of the house.
She had to report this.
There was no one to stop her. Kuron always spent his nights sowhere else, giving her the perfect window to sneak out and alert the authorities. A cri of this magnitude needed the attention of the church.
As the evening dragged into night, she waited until the fake Kuron left, just like the night before. Quietly, she sneaked out of the mansion. Lacking a proper disguise, she could only use a handkerchief to cover her head. It wasn’t ideal, but she had no choice.
Her mansion was a bit out of town, so it took her an hour of walking before she reached Lemore. Her first thought was to go straight to the church for help. The night had fully settled in, and the only priest still awake was the one guarding the door.
"H-Hello, I would like to make a report... There’s a corpse under my master’s house," she stamred.
Theia quickly reconsidered, deciding it was safer to claim the report under a servant’s na. It couldn’t lead back to her. The priest looked startled—clearly, this wasn’t sothing he heard every day.
"Miss, may I have your na?" he asked.
"Kiara," she said, borrowing the na of a maid she could rember.
"And who is your master?"
"Lord Fynint," she replied.
The priest’s eyebrows shot up, clearly recognizing the na. After a pause, he nodded.
"Very well. We’ll send soone to investigate. Please wait here."
Theia let out a shaky breath, relieved to have finally done sothing about the horrors she’d uncovered. She found a bench nearby and sat, trying to calm her racing heart.
After a short while, another priest erged from the back, walking directly toward her. He wore a white robe trimd with gold, and his expression was cold and unreadable, making him hard to gauge in the dim light.
"Miss, you ntioned you were a servant of Lord Fynint?" the priest asked.
"Yes," she replied, her voice faltering. "I was his maid."
"What exactly did you see?" he asked.
It was a simple question, but sothing about his tone sent a chill down her spine.
"I-I was cleaning the room when... I found..." She hesitated, her breath catching. "A pile of corpses under the floor."
Her voice trembled, not just from recalling the mory but from a growing sense of unease.
"Don’t worry, miss," the priest said calmly. "You ca to the right place... Thank you for your service."
The way he spoke—too calm, too reassuring—made her blood run cold. Sothing wasn’t right.
Thwack!
A blade suddenly pierced the wooden bench beside her, narrowly missing her neck. A sharp pain blood as the blade grazed her skin. Blood trickled down, and her mind went numb with panic.
Her instincts kicked in—run.
Sohow, she managed to slip away, her feet flying beneath her as she fled.
She ran.
And ran.
And ran.
The world around her felt darker, more sinister, as if everything was closing in. But her body, weak from a diet of nothing but bread and soup, soon gave out. She stumbled to a stop, gasping for air, her vision blurring.
Through her hazy sight, she spotted a hooded figure in the distance. Desperate, she called out.
"Help ..."
If the hooded man was dangerous, it didn’t matter—her luck was already running thin. But when he turned, she realized he was far worse than she’d imagined.
"Are you running from the church?" he asked.
It was a eting with a heretic that would change her life forever.
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