A Snake Entwining Flowers

“Who…”

Her words trailed off midway. The moment Cynthia’s eyes met Charlotte’s, she closed her mouth right there. She looked surprised. At that sight, something flashed through Charlotte’s mind. A Nervous breakdown. Charlotte bit the inside of her mouth with anxiety, but the next moment, her worries melted away.

“Charlotte.”

With a faint smile, Cynthia called her softly. Charlotte, having let out a sigh of relief, finally took steps forward, one at a time. As she got closer, she saw her mother’s white-tinged hair and gaunt cheeks. It had been three years since she last saw this face, so much like her own. Her throat felt dry.

“Mother…”

“My daughter has come.”

Cynthia stretched her arms towards Charlotte, who had stopped by her bedside. Caught off guard, Charlotte embraced her and sat down on the bed, quietly closing her eyes filled with longing. All the worries she had on her way here were unnecessary. There was no place for awkwardness between parent and child.

After quietly breaking the embrace, the mother and daughter sat facing each other and had a long-overdue conversation. Cynthia expressed her regret for not being there during an important time for marriage talks as a mother should, and Charlotte shook her head, saying it was alright.

While they were sharing various stories, Cynthia suddenly coughed lightly. Though there was no blood, it was worrisome. Charlotte grabbed her mother’s skinny hand.

“Are you feeling alright now?”

At Charlotte’s worried question, Cynthia nodded softly and replied.

“Yes. It’s just a dry throat. In fact, it has been somewhat better for the past few days, though I don’t know why.”

“That’s a relief. Shall I get you a glass of water?”

“Would you? Thank you.”

Charlotte nodded and opened the bedroom door. This time, she shielded the candle with one hand so it wouldn’t blow out as she descended the long staircase. The mansion was utterly quiet, everyone likely in bed. She found herself liking this tranquility over the usual hustle and bustle.

The descent was smooth and uneventful, unlike the climb. Charlotte moved carefully, not wanting to wake anyone. But once she reached the empty basement, her movements became more relaxed. She quickly took a cup off the shelf and filled it with water from the kettle, then headed back up the stairs.

“…What’s that?”

Halfway up, an odd sensation made her turn her head, and she saw the door to the main hall on the first floor wide open. Puzzled, she moved closer and noticed a long trail on the smooth marble floor.

Driven by curiosity, she brought the candle closer, and almost dropped what she was holding.

“Th-this is…”

Blood.

“No, that can’t be…”

Though she was a fan of horror stories and had read many, she never imagined such a situation could happen to her. Charlotte managed to calm her trembling heart and shook her head. It had to be a mistake. It was red, but it could just be some paint.

Bending to her knees, Charlotte swept her trembling hand across the floor and sniffed at the smudge on her index finger. The unmistakable metallic scent confirmed it was indeed blood.

Her head spun. Her shaky eyes naturally followed the trail of droplets to their source. Her steps, as if mesmerized, halted right in front of the reception room on the first floor.

Thump, thump, thump. Charlotte’s heart pounded loud enough to hear. Perhaps a burglar had taken advantage of the harsh weather to break in. Then, encountering a servant by chance, and then…The thought was too terrible to bear any further imagination.

“I need to call for help…”

Charlotte hesitated, about to call out for people. It seemed right to first understand what was happening. She was just a guest staying for a while, and it was her first day. Raising an alarm and waking up the entire household for what might be nothing seemed like a big deal too.

After a moment of serious contemplation, Charlotte opened her eyes, which she had squeezed shut, and with a determined face, slowly approached the closed door of the reception room. Lifting her heels to avoid making any sound, she cautiously grasped the brass doorknob.

“…”

The door opened quite easily. It didn’t make a loud noise like the servant’s rooms do, perhaps because the hinges were well-oiled. Holding her breath, Charlotte stepped through the smooth opening.

The first thing that caught her eye in the spacious room, adorned with portraits and cabinets, was the lamp next to the fireplace, the sole source of light in the dim surroundings. In front of it, there was an armchair.

And someone was sitting in it.

Judging by the build, it was a man. His head was visible above the not-so-short backrest, indicating he wasn’t short. At a glance, his short hair appeared blond, but it was actually a light brown.

Could he be the burglar? Or the owner of the blood?

If it was the former, the right thing to do would be to turn and run immediately. But if it was the latter, she might be ignoring someone whose life was in danger.

The dilemma was short-lived. Charlotte eventually quietly blew out the candle she was holding. She then carefully removed the candle from its holder. The end of the candlestick, which had held the candle in place, was quite sharp. If needed, she could use it to stab an attacker in the shoulder or leg in one swift motion, and possibly save the person who had been caught.

A sense of duty she didn’t know she had swelled within her, igniting a fierce courage. With a firm resolve, Charlotte, stepping on the red carpet, slowly approached the man. However, as she moved closer, the fear she had forgotten began to creep back in.

…Maybe it would be better to just take a quick look at his face from the side.

It was the moment she had mustered all her strength to circle around the chair and stand in front of the intruder. As she saw the man’s face, all thoughts in Charlotte’s head came to a halt.

It seemed like a meticulously crafted bisque doll was placed there instead of a person. His skin was as white as if it were made of layers of thin white linen, with a neatly outlined forehead as if it had been painted. His eyebrows were slender, arching upwards before sharply turning, casting a long shadow from his dense and delicate eyelashes. His nose was straight and prominent, and his lips, firmly closed, were darker than those of a woman, with a sharp jawline beneath.

Her gaze continued to move downward. The man was in a comfortable shirt, not bothered with a vest. The distinct Adam’s apple was visible beyond the slightly loosened collar.

Her gaze abruptly stopped at his abdomen, where his hands were clasped over it. In stark contrast to his pale chest, the area around his belly was drenched in red. Charlotte immediately realized what it was.

“Blood, there’s blood…”

She gasped without realizing and stumbled backward, too shocked to even feel something touch her back. A small chest of drawers toppled over, making a noise. At the same time, a large hand, like a claw, grabbed her arm.

“…What.”

A deep, low voice, as if scraping the bottom of a distant cave.

She was so startled that not even a scream could escape her lips. Pulled by the force, Charlotte reflexively reached out to grab the armrests of the chair. To anyone watching, it would appear as though she was pouncing on the man seated in the chair.

Their noses touched, close enough for their breaths to mingle.

“…!”

At that moment, Charlotte doubted her eyes. For an instant, the man’s pupils constricted vertically, resembling the eyes of a predator searching for prey in the darkness.

The man’s eyes were a deep purple, like crushed mulberries, a color known to be both regal and base, enchanting yet demonic.

A chill ran down her neck, and her captured arm felt hot.

“A maid?”

The man scrutinized Charlotte’s face as if confirming his prey. For a brief moment, surprise flickered in his eyes.

Seizing the moment his grip loosened, Charlotte scrambled to her feet. The man furrowed his brow.

“You…”

“Are you alright?”

She interrupted him before he could finish, pointing to his blood-stained abdomen.

“The blood…”

“…”

“Should I call someone…”

At that moment, Charlotte was not concerned about who the man was or his status. The fact that losing so much blood usually meant a slim chance of survival filled her mind. She had thought he might have fainted from excessive blood loss.

The man, who had been watching Charlotte with an odd look, brushed himself off and stood up. He then stepped towards her without hesitation. Instinctively, Charlotte stepped back as much as he advanced, dropping the candle and candlestick she was holding.

The chase was short. Soon, Charlotte’s back hit the wall, and a shadow loomed over her, larger than her own. There was no further space to retreat. She closed her eyes tightly.

With a snap, a long, elegant hand landed on the wall right beside Charlotte’s left face. He leaned in as if he might devour her at any moment, not to meet her gaze but to whisper in her ear on the opposite side where his hand was placed.

“Are those eyes just for decoration?”

“…What?”

It was an unexpected question. Charlotte opened the eyes she had shut. The man, removing his hand from the wall, brushed back his disheveled hair and said irritably, “This isn’t my blood.”

“Then…”

Before she could respond, he turned away. He stepped into the unlit area and kicked something towards her.

“This is…”

At Charlotte’s feet rolled an old cloth that seemed to contain something. The visible bottom part was slightly worn, as if it had been dragged on the floor.

Upon closer inspection… It was soaked in blood. Charlotte slowly raised her head, her green eyes meeting his. The man, with his arms crossed, briefly explained,

“Hunting.”

It was a barbaric yet straightforward word, also seemingly a signal of some sort.

Strangely, her rapidly beating heart calmed down. Charlotte gathered her thoughts.

His words likely meant he had brought a bag containing his prey. The blood on his shirt belonged to the prey. The bloodstains in the entrance hall… seemed to have been caused by dropping the bag upon entering and then dragging it along.

“Ah…”

The fear and tension that had consumed her eased considerably. Charlotte’s legs gave out, and she slumped to the ground, resembling a newly born fawn. The man looking down at her chuckled coldly.

“Quite a morning you’re having, Miss Charlotte Hegel.”

Despite his chilly words, he extended a hand to help her up. Charlotte, as if enchanted, took his offered hand and stood up. Then she doubted her ears. The name that came from the man’s lips was unmistakably hers.

“Do you know me?”

“We’ve met in the wilderness, haven’t we?”

The wilderness. That brought to mind a man who had saved her from a pack of wolves, his features obscured by backlighting.

My goodness, could this man be Lord Richard?

The realization made her head spin. She looked at him with uneasy eyes, feeling as if she had committed a great offense. Richard, slightly raising his eyebrows, let go of her hand as if to say his kindness ended there.

“Pick up what you dropped on the carpet and leave. Now.”

As he pointed with his eyes to the candlestick and candle she had intended to use as weapons, Charlotte felt a twinge in her heart. She quickly picked them up and moved towards the door, about to leave when a quiet but firm warning followed, “If you wander around at night again, you’ll regret it.”

It wasn’t a tone that expected an answer. Charlotte gave a slight nod and hastily left the spot, holding the water cup she had momentarily set down in one hand and the unlit candle in the other.

As she hurried up the dim staircase, she silently repeated the man’s name in her mind.

Richard Daniel Kensington.

Instinct whispered to her. They must never meet again.

 

 

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