Nothing was visible, yet the air was thick with the stench of blood.
Diana held her breath, clutching the clean, freshly washed rag in her hand.
“Arghhh!”
A desperate scream pierced the air not far away. A final cry, digging into the soul, followed by the thick scent of blood brushing her nose and the metallic tang of iron—sensations Diana had grown used to during her six months here.
When silence finally settled, Diana began to move.
She had already memorized the structure of this hellish space. She carefully counted the slight protrusions her toes brushed against as she moved forward. One, two, three. After stepping on the third tile, her shoe tip touched the wall.
Her fingertips found the smooth window frame and its elegant embossed patterns. Diana fumbled with the latch, then swung the window wide open. The foul stench inside was swept out by the fresh air.
Only one window could be opened at a time. The master of this place disliked both the noise of the outside world and the afternoon sunlight.
Diana reached for the bucket and mop she had prepared at her left foot. She stepped cautiously, ensuring she didn’t misstep and slip.
She minimized the sound of her footsteps, moving as lightly as air. Her presence all but erased, she headed toward the source of the strongest blood scent. She couldn’t get too close, but neither could she stop too far away.
When she judged the distance to be just right, Diana stopped.
Dipping the rag into the bucket, she wrung it out and scrubbed the floor. The rag quickly became soaked. When the rag started dripping with a briny liquid, she rinsed it in the bucket, wrung it out, and scrubbed the floor again. Gradually, the sticky liquid beneath her fingertips diminished.
After cleaning as best as she could, she used a soapy mop to scrub the floor thoroughly. No matter how many times she rinsed the mop in the bucket, the water remained as clean as if it had just been drawn.
“Huff… haah.”
Diana took a deep breath to quell the nausea rising in her chest.
Although this was a task she performed almost daily, her sensitive sense of smell still couldn’t adapt to the stench of blood.
But that was also her strength. Diana could pinpoint areas where the smell of blood lingered and clean them thoroughly. Where her sense of smell was uncertain, she confirmed by touch.
The oppressive scent of blood in the air began to dissipate. In its place, another odor took hold. It was a smell unfamiliar to Diana before she came here—a unique mix of strong sulfur and linseed oil, the scent of paint.
A faint rustling sound reached her from far away. Swish, swish. It was the slow, deliberate sound of a brush or tool scraping against a broad panel.
Her master had begun to move.
In this strange space, there was always a master. Diana placed the blood-soaked rag into the bucket and shook it. The closer she got to the center of the vast, desolate space, the more cautious she became. Her knees trembled from the effort of keeping her footing steady.
The smell of blood grew stronger just ahead. It was her duty to clean every bloodstain in this perilous space. Diana erased each drop of blood one by one, moving forward, always forward.
The sound of a dense-bristled brush scraping against a canvas grew closer.
The strongest scent of blood lingered on the carpet. It wasn’t just blood. An unfamiliar human scent mingled with it—leather, metal, the greasy smell of hair, and the nauseating stench of stomach acid.
The smell of a corpse.
Her rag caught on something. Diana’s heart dropped. It wasn’t an object; it was a person’s foot. For a moment, she thought she had touched a corpse and felt a chill run down her spine. Everything in this space was her master’s objet.
Fortunately or unfortunately, the shoe she had touched moved.
If it was a living person in this space, there could only be one. Diana hurriedly pulled back the rag and pressed her upper body to the floor.
“Forgive me, Master. I’ll be more careful.”
Her master was almost impossible to notice. Especially for someone like Diana.
There was a rustle of fabric. From the sound of his breathing drawing near, she knew he had knelt before her.
“Raise your head.”
A cold, deep voice. A poisonous sound, like frost spreading between cracks of ice. Beautiful yet dangerous.
The new master Diana had served for the past six months was a man of elegant refinement, befitting his lofty status. His presence, his polished voice and speech, even the noise created by his movements—all exuded sophistication. He was surely as handsome as his aura suggested.
All these traits made him an unapproachable figure.
Diana slowly lifted her bowed upper body. A large hand abruptly cupped her chin, tilting it upward. The touch was both delicate and rough.
The fingers gripping her chin were damp with something viscous. The smell of blood and pigment… it made her dizzy. An invisible beast seemed to survey her face with its gaze, sending a chill down her spine.
“If you have something to command, please tell me, Master.”
“How do I seem to you?”
“Pardon?”
“How do you think I feel?”
His question was met with another question. “How do you see me?” he asked, even though her master knew better than anyone about her affliction. If this was intentional, it was a cruel jest.
Diana’s voice trembled, despite her efforts to suppress it.
“I was taught never to presume my master’s mood.”
She prayed her emotions, burning in her chest, would not show on her face.
Her master sneered. “Was it my half-brother who taught you that?”
“No, the chamberlain did.”
When Diana avoided the trap, he chuckled darkly. It wasn’t a sound of amusement.
From the moment she stepped into this place, he had seen through her. If so, he could have killed her like the other servants from the start, yet he had kept her alive for over six months.
“Diana.”
Just hearing him call her name made her heart race uncontrollably.
Don’t waver. Diana bit her lip, chanting to herself. Don’t reveal your true feelings.
The source of this searing emotion—this rage and hatred—must not be exposed to the devil.
Her master was observing her closely. Though Diana could see nothing, the warmth of his breath on the bridge of her nose made his presence undeniable.
If there were a devil in this world, it would surely bear his face. Diana felt a twisted gratitude that she would never know what he looked like.
In an unexpected move, her shoulder was shoved back. She fell onto the bare floor where the carpet had been rolled away. A shadow loomed over her.
Her master gritted his teeth and whispered, “Amuse me, Diana.”
