After finishing a simple meal in a corner of the kitchen, she dozed off while waiting for the evening. Diana awoke as the chill of early evening seeped through her skirt.
“Mr. Harper?”
It seemed Harper had already left for the day. There was no answer.
Diana cautiously rose to her feet. She groped along the wall, searching for the entrance. Her heart pounded with inexplicable anxiety.
The smell of blood hadn’t faded at all. No, the stench had grown even worse.
“It’s not just the blood. There’s something musty… like rotten eggs.”
When her sense of smell became numbed, finding her way took twice as long. After wandering for a while, Diana finally found the stairs leading to the third floor. The source of the smell was the living room on the third floor.
“Mr. Emel…?”
She carefully called for the Butler as she stepped onto the carpet.
That’s when a calm voice came from straight ahead.
“You.”
Diana jumped in fright. The master was nearby.
Judging by the volume of his voice, he was still a fair distance away. Even after a week, his enchanting tone hadn’t changed.
“Bring the oil.”
For the first time, the master gave her a direct command. Diana snapped out of her daze.
Oil. She recalled a tin can of oil she had seen in the cabinet the Crown Prince often visited. Without thinking further, she bowed deeply.
“Yes, Master.”
It wasn’t difficult to locate the oil can. In the cabinet where fire tools were stored, there was a large tin filled with oil. Emel had pre-portioned some oil into smaller tins for Diana’s convenience.
Diana sniffed to confirm the oil before carefully lifting one of the cans. As she tried to head back toward where the master’s voice had come from, her heart pounded so violently she nearly entered a completely different room by mistake.
The master was near the sofa.
Before Diana could speak, his voice reached her again.
“Closer.”
Diana tried her best not to let her hesitation show.
The floor felt slick. Her sense of smell, overwhelmed by the strong stench, could no longer distinguish the other odors mixed with the blood.
“Closer.”
Swish, swish. With each hesitant step, the unpleasant sound grew louder in her ears. The stench, sharper and more acrid than blood, thickened as she approached. The master wasn’t idle; he was engrossed in something.
There was a sound of coarse bristles scraping against fabric. A broom? A scrubbing brush? But the master wouldn’t be holding something like that…
Ah. Realization struck her like a flash.
A brush. It’s a brush.
The Crown Prince was painting.
The clattering sound was him swapping brushes. The subsequent strokes sounded broader and rougher than before. He was undoubtedly painting the background of a canvas.
Only then did Diana recall the items that were always near the sofa. Various brushes and pigments on the elongated side table, a palette with dried paint stuck to it, and an easel—she had never understood why it was there until now—that held the canvas.
Diana imagined the man before her pouring all his attention into the painting. His breathing was faintly excited. The serene yet ominous man who could unleash a storm at any moment had vanished, replaced by someone channeling his restless energy into the canvas with his brush.
Although he had called her closer, he said nothing about taking the oil can. It seemed as though both the oil and Diana were already out of his awareness.
She didn’t want to interrupt him. A maid should neither approach nor retreat without the master’s orders. She was to remain there, like a well-kept still life.
Diana calmed her breathing, careful not to let even a single exhaled breath disturb him.
Instead, she attuned her ears to the sounds around her.
From the slightly open window, a skylark chirped. A bird perched on a nearby branch fluttered onto the window ledge, making light tapping noises as it hopped across.
The scent of dusk lingered in the distance—Diana’s favorite time of day. A breeze slipped through the crack in the window, tickling her nose before vanishing.
The sound of brushstrokes continued uninterrupted. The Crown Prince was fully absorbed in transferring the scene before him onto the canvas. Diana suddenly felt curious.
What kind of scene was unfolding before the Crown Prince’s eyes right now?
***
Felix finally put down the brush in the middle of the night.
Starting in the afternoon and working through to dawn meant over twelve straight hours of work.
He stared expressionlessly at the half-finished painting. The scene before him was perfectly captured on the canvas.
The time depicted was the morning when the incident occurred, and the setting was this very drawing room. Sunlight streamed in like blades through the slightly parted eastern curtains, illuminating the subject.
The lower part of the painting was completely red. Rough, smeared brushstrokes piled up to form a large pool of blood.
A person lay within it.
The lifeless eyes stared in different directions. The tailored tailcoat was ripped in several places, with blood and flesh spilling from the tears. Not a single part of the body—from the back to the limbs—was spared from long gashes.
Beside the corpse lay a long whip, its original color unrecognizable, tangled like a skein of thread.
Although the painting was eerie enough, the focal point was the expression of the subject.
The eyes, still faintly lit with life, captured the fleeting moment between existence and death. The wrinkles smeared with despair, the muscles convulsing in a futile struggle against death, wasted their final moments in agony. Despite being a painting, it conveyed such vividness that it felt as though the corpse was trembling.
Felix alternated his gaze between the painting and reality with mild weariness.
It was always the same painting. Of course, the subjects, compositions, and objects changed each time, but the underlying theme remained identical.
The absence of vitality.
He had painted over a hundred works on similar themes. It was enough to make him grow tired of it.
The painting was still incomplete. While the main parts had been roughly colored, the rest remained as sketches.
Arnold, the knight escort, approached quietly and asked,
“Shall I clean it up, Your Highness?”
“Yes, take it away.”
Arnold hesitated as if he had more to say.
“Your Highness, shall I take care of the maid as well?”
“What maid? …Ah.”
Only then did Felix notice the woman standing silently beside the sofa. She had remained so quiet, without a sound or any trace of her presence, that he had forgotten she was there.
It belatedly occurred to him that he had ordered her to fetch an oil can.
The new maid. What was her name again? Had he even heard it before?
“My name is Diana Escalif from the House of Osfil. I will work quietly without causing any offense to you, Master.”
Ah, Diana.
He vaguely recalled that her bold introduction had caught his attention when she first arrived, and it seemed her claim wasn’t unfounded. Felix realized that not only today but over the past few days, he had completely forgotten the maid’s presence.
Shoving the palette aside, he leaned back against the sofa and scrutinized her.
The woman stood still like an inanimate object, exuding a serene beauty. Of all the maids who had passed through this annex, none lacked in appearance, but she was undoubtedly the finest among them.
She kept her gaze fixed on the floor, her eyelids half-lowered. Her long eyelashes cast delicate shadows on her pale cheeks. Her breathing was soft, and she exuded a clean and pure aura. At least, she didn’t seem to belong to the kind of women he despised and scorned.
Felix’s gaze trailed down the curve of her lowered eyelids. Her dainty nose, coral-colored lips, and slender chin were flawless, as if drawn in one stroke by a fine brush. She was indeed breathtakingly beautiful. Whoever her true owner was must have put considerable effort into her.
Perhaps that was why she felt entirely out of place amidst the blood-stained drawing room. It was as if an invisible wall separated the space she occupied from its gruesome surroundings. She seemed like a being from another world.
Wasn’t she blind? If so, calling her someone from another world wasn’t entirely wrong. She lived in her own dark and silent realm, after all.
Testing her, Felix asked,
“Where is the Butler?”
The woman hesitated briefly, unsure if the question was directed at her. After a few seconds, she cautiously replied,
“He hasn’t been seen since this morning. If there is something you need, I will deliver your message.”
***
Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed what you have read, do consider tipping me a little through: click here. An advanced chapter will be posted as a thank you once I receive 6$. Don’t forget to mention the series that you’re supporting!
