Chapter Text
I felt a gnawing, aching feeling in my chest. Something preventing me from closing my eyes and getting some well-deserved rest. Was it because of this mansion, its guests, the faint traces of its morbid history?——Maybe all of it. Regardless, I was pulled out of bed and towards the door of my room. I had remembered seeing a piano in the downstairs lounge, and given my occupation, I naturally gravitated in its direction.
It was the dead of night, and I hadn’t expected anyone else to be awake; Yet when I walked through the door, I found Orpheus, sitting lonesome near the fire. He had not changed clothes since I saw him at breakfast, only taken off his coat and gilet, leaving just his slightly unbuttoned shirt. The man was engrossed in a book and had a stern expression on his face, seemingly displeased by what he was reading, yet focused all the same. Usually, my first instinct would be to quietly slip away as to not grab his attention, but I did not do that. Almost like a moth to a flame, I stepped closer.
Without realizing, I had moved towards the center of the room, and Orpheus shifted his attention to me. “Ah, excuse me. I came here looking for the piano, I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Not at all, I don’t mind company,” he spoke softly.
I walked closer to the fire, while simultaneously taking in my surroundings. The room was dark and monotonous. It was cut off from the rest of the manor by its only door and had not a single window. It felt suffocating, but cozy, and strangely nostalgic; The perfect setting for a writer.
Before I could get any closer, he gestured towards the antique piano on the right of the fireplace, “I assume that is what you are looking for. Please, go ahead.”
At first glance, it seemed as though it would collapse at the slightest touch, but as I ran my fingers across the keys, I could tell it had been well-maintained, despite its appearance. Suddenly, I was struck with an immense feeling of dread; A nostalgic sting in my chest. I remembered the reasons why I had stopped performing—why I came here—and it made me sad. But amidst the sadness, there was comfort. The feeling of being sat in front of the piano, the sensation of my hands folding into the keys, it brought me comfort.
“Is it to your liking, composer?” I had not noticed Orpheus so close behind me.
“Please… Don’t call me that,” I was hardly able to hide my embarrassment. “And yes, it’s alright. Good enough to play.”
“Then, play me something.” He looked me in the eye with clear purpose, he was serious.
I hesitated for a moment, and then turned back to the piano. “...Alright.”
I thought about what to play, what he would like. Nothing too noisy, especially at this hour, and nothing too slow, as it would spoil the mood. I thought for a bit. Clair de lune or Romance sans paroles—No, much too complicated. It needed to be something he could understand, something he could feel… Yes, this one would do.
I positioned my fingers above the keys, and began to play. Immediately, I felt at peace, as though everything around me had disappeared; all my worries and unnecessary thoughts. This feeling was nothing new. When I played music, I felt free, like I was dancing through a solitary paradise; One where my father, and the observant public, could not reach me. I continued to play, oblivious to the world around me. When I finished, there was silence, and then, there was the Novelist.
“That was beautiful, what song is it?” His tone was enthusiastic, but his face held no emotion.
“Jeux d'eau, a French classic…”
His expression turned soft, and he spoke more quietly than before… “Your music… Brings back memories, good ones, of when I was little.” He said it as if it was a bad thing, and I felt guilty.
I abruptly turned away from his gaze and stood up, “I… I think I should get some rest.”
“Wait–” I turned back to him, part of me hoping he would say something to keep me here. “...Nothing, it’s fine. Goodnight, Kreiburg.”
“...Goodnight.”
But as I lay there in my bed, I could not seem to close my eyes yet again. I could only think about our strange interaction downstairs. When he said to me goodnight, that was the first time he said my name, at least, not in front of others. He only said my surname, but it felt more personal than any other time he spoke to me. No matter how hard I thought about it, it did not make any sense. He was naturally laid-back and charismatic, but he always had a sharp, confident tone. So why… Why was he acting like this? Thinking about it kept me up all night, and before I knew it, the sun had risen.
———
The next day felt as though it would last forever, and the night prior felt like a distant memory. The manor stood silently, despite its guests constantly roaming its every hall and crevice. As I made my way to breakfast, I saw Melly Plinius, the Entomologist, and Norton Campbell, the Prospector. They had arrived first and were already eating by the time I was seated. Both were unique in their own strange way, yet nothing about them had necessarily caught my attention.
Moments later, somebody else joined us at the table. Alice Deross, the Journalist. She too, was nothing special, but her family name stood out to me—Deross. It was the name of the family who owned the manor. She never mentioned anything about it, and did not seem to be too familiar with the property, so I never thought much of it.
She pulled out a chair and sat down at her reserved seat. Quietly attempting to read the room, she nervously spoke, “Good morning, everyone, I hope you all slept well.”
The Prospector glared at her and then continued to stuff his face, while Ms. Plinius did not bother lifting her head. I, too, remained quiet. It seemed no one had the energy to deal with formalities this early in the morning.
Despite the lavish European dishes sitting in front of me, I could not bring myself to even take a bite. The thoughts of last night consumed my mind, and apparently my appetite. And, contrary to her welcoming appearance, Ms. Deross too, reeked of anxiety. She carefully observed everyone at the table, until her eyes locked with mine, and her eyes lit up with determination.
“Looks like you’re not hungry, is it the food?”
“No, not at all. I… Simply did not sleep well, but do not worry, I feel fine.” I quickly dismissed her, trying to stop any attempt at conversation, as it was clear she had ulterior motives.
But, she continued, “Oh, I’m sorry,” She was determined. I gave her a chance, and she took it. “We’re going to be here for a while, it seems, so you should try your best to get some sleep. I have some very boring books, perfect before bed, if needed.”
“It’s alright, I think I can manage…” I barely finished the sentence before the Prospector slammed his hands on the table and stood up.
“Ya’ll can’t shut yer traps for even a minute…” And he walked out, leaving us stunted.
Once again, the room was quiet. We all silently stared down at our full plates, even Ms. Plinius had only been poking at her food the entire time. The silence was deafening, but what could anyone say? We were nothing but strangers to each other, after all.
———
Following the awkward morning, I wanted to clear my head, and a walk around the manor seemed like the perfect way to do so. It was the middle of August, and this past summer’s warmth was finally beginning to fade. As I walked through the grand courtyards of the manor, I began to truly notice how vacant the place was. It was enormous, akin a palace, yet there were only a few servants, and no host. The more I thought, the less sense it made—why were we invited to the manor, why us? All of us have our secrets that we secrete desperately, muddied parts of ourselves that we bury deep in our hearts. Even that Journalist—especially that Journalist—who carefully chose her words with utmost caution as to not arouse suspicion. I could not bring myself to trust any of them. So then, why did I let my guard down around that Novelist? I did not trust him, not in the slightest, and I felt an overwhelming anxiety whenever he was next to me, yet… I did not push him away. I tried to reason with myself that he had manipulated me in some way, that he must have played with my head; I knew that was a lie. The truth is, I did not want to trust him, it terrified me. My palms began to sweat excessively, my chest became tight and suffocating, and I felt myself drifting farther away from reality, sinking into a bottomless pit of paranoia.
Amidst my devastating anxiety, I heard a familiar voice, “You must like these flowers.” I could not bring myself to look at him, knowing my eyes were teary and red, but his voice calmed me.
“They’re okay…” I prayed he could not see my face.
“Well, you’ve been staring at them for quite a while, are you alright?” He reached up and brushed away a tear hanging from the corner of my eye.
Startled, I abruptly slapped his arm away, jumping back a bit in the process. I finally got a look at his face, watching it contort into shock, hurt, and then worry.
“Were you… Crying?” He looked at me sincerely, and seeing his concern, I felt a stinging pain in my heart.
“No–well, yes but… It’s nothing, I-” My face washed into a bright pink as I trampled over my words.
“It’s not nothing, what happened?” He asked me intently, but it was a question I was not sure I could answer.
I had never told anyone about my psychasthenia. Only my parents knew, and tried to keep it as concealed as possible. It abused me since I was a small child, torturing me with overwhelming anxiety, rendering me unable to even step outside. That, accompanied by my skin condition, was enough to make my childhood miserable. Even my own father recoiled at the sight of me and kept his distance—How was I to tell him?
I finally spoke. “I become paranoid at times. I’m fine now, so please, do not worry.” His gaze comforted me. I did not have to tell him, he understood.
Just as he was about to say something, we were interrupted by none other than the Journalist. “Orpheus, Kreiburg, good afternoon,” First name; it seems they were closer than I initially thought.
“I was hoping you two would know where I could find Ms. Plinius?” Why she wished to see the Entomologist, I did not know, but I desperately wanted her to leave.
“I suggest you try the greenhouse, I assume that’s where she’d be.” Once again, he came to my rescue.
“Yes, of course, thank you.” She avoided eye contact with him, but it was hard when he stared bullets at her—I knew the feeling.
Despite the uncomfortable encounter, she walked away with her head held high, and he watched her the whole way. There was something between them, something he was not telling me. It had been on my mind for a while now, but I never asked him about it; Part of me did not want to know.
Oddly enough, my anxiety had vanished completely, and I felt more at ease. I took this as my chance to escape and hurry to my room. “Excuse me, I will now take my leave, have a good night-” He grabbed my arm before I could finish my goodbyes. His grip tightened, but he quickly moved his hand down to meet mine.
“Tonight, midnight, come to the downstairs common room.”
“...Why?” He slowly let go of my hand and backed away, but did not answer my question.
“Don’t keep me waiting.” Orpheus flashed me a smile before turning away and leaving me there—as one does after speaking so ominously.
Without fully processing what he had just said, I turned the opposite way and began walking to my guest room. The grand barrenness of the manor was nothing new to me. The extravagant desolation of its many empty rooms was almost nostalgic, and yet, I felt alone; An uncomfortable, hungry loneliness; A gaping void inside of me that needed to be filled. By who or what exactly, I did not know.