A soft knock on the door woke Lynette.

  She did not open her eyes right away. She allowed herself one more moment in the warm half-darkness. A strange calm lingered inside, even a hint of lightness.

  Unexpectedly for a place like this, her mood felt uplifted—as if the night had brought no nightmares, leaving behind a fragile hope.

  She got up, dressed in her work clothes, and opened the door.

  An older maid stood on the threshold. Roselyn wore a restrained dark gray dress, with a neatly pressed ivory apron laid over it. Her gray hair was gathered into a tight bun.

  “Good morning,” Lynette said. “I know it’s early… please, take me to Sophie’s room.”

  Roselyn blinked, as if she did not immediately grasp what she had heard.

  “Oh… all right,” she said with slight confusion. “Follow me.”

  It must be hard to work in a place like this…

  They went down to the second floor. The corridor here was darker and more modestly decorated, focused more on practicality than outward splendor.

  Near one of the doors stood a man in a cook’s uniform. It was the mansion’s head chef — stocky, about forty, with dark mustaches and broad, slightly rough hands that betrayed years spent at the stove.

  His name was Marcus. In his hands he held a tray with simple but nourishing food: a glass of water, a bowl of porridge, a piece of bread, and metal cutlery that softly clinked with every movement.

  He leaned toward the door and spoke quietly:

  “Open up, Sophie. Eat… You have to eat.”

  There was no response. A moment later, a trembling female voice came from behind the door:

  “I-I won’t open… G-go away…”

  Marcus sighed heavily, as if each such morning stole a few more years of his life.

  “Ah… what am I supposed to do…” he muttered. “She hasn’t eaten a thing for two days now.”

  “Good morning, Marcus,” Roselyn addressed him.

  “And to you… I’m worried about that child. She could starve to death like this…”

  Lynette stepped forward, looking closely at the closed door.

  What could have frightened her so much?

  “Leave it to me,” she said calmly. “I’ll make sure she eats.”

  Roselyn frowned in surprise.

  “But you’re a guest, and you’re also conducting an investigation.”

  “I’d be happy to help,” Lynette replied with a gentle smile.

  Though I’m only supposed to observe her.

  The servants reluctantly left, returning to their duties. The corridor emptied. Only Lynette and the silent door remained.

  “Sophie, let me in. I want to talk.”

  Silence…

  Lynette exhaled.

  “I didn’t introduce myself. My name is Lynette Vereyn. I’m a detective’s assistant.”

  Several long seconds passed before something faintly rustled behind the door.

  “W-what… what do you want?” the muffled voice finally asked.

  “I need to talk to you,” Lynette replied. “Please, let me in.”

  “You’ll think I’m crazy…”

  “No, I promise. I’m here to help.”

  The words cut painfully from within.

  Do I really want to help her…?

  Something in her chest tightened unpleasantly.

  Unpleasantly. Since when have I been acting like this?.. Is this his influence?

  Stolen novel; please report.

  The door slowly opened.

  The first thing Lynette saw was white hair. It fell chaotically over Sophie’s chest in dull strands, as if it had lost its former shine along with its owner’s strength.

  Grabbing Lynette’s hand, Sophie tried to pull her inside, but her strength failed her — her fingers trembled and slipped, unable to hold on. Raw, desperate terror flickered in her gaze.

  Understanding this, Lynette took a step forward herself and entered the room. The door behind her slowly closed — just as quietly and inevitably as it had opened under Sophie’s hand.

  Sophie sat motionless, swallowed by a thin blanket that felt far too large for her frail frame.

  Her face was pale, dark circles under her eyes as if she hadn’t slept in a long time. Her black nightgown was torn and wrinkled, the straps slipping off her delicate shoulders.

  Poor girl…

  The first thing that caught Lynette’s eye was a clean canvas on the wall — it sent chills down her spine.

  Sophie looked exhausted. Pale blue bruises marked her neck, arms, and calves — clear imprints of human hands frozen in a crushing grip.

  There are probably more under her clothes.

  A sharp ammonia smell hung in the air. The bed was rumpled, the sheets stained in places.

  We’re about the same age… What did she have to go through?

  As Lynette stepped closer, Sophie retreated, glancing around distrustfully. Lynette slowly set the tray down.

  “Eat. We’ll talk later.”

  The girl, who had been sitting in the room for a long time, suddenly felt hunger, her throat dry. Taking the cutlery, she took a small bite of bread, washed it down with water, then — almost without realizing her movements — began to eat faster.

  To Lynette, it looked sweet — almost innocent.

  “Don’t rush. Chew before you swallow,” Lynette said gently.

  Such a cutie.

  She felt no negativity toward Sophie — no irritation, no alienation.

  “Why?” Sophie asked quietly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Why… me?”

  Tears streamed down her face, falling onto the food and making it even saltier. Yet in Sophie’s clear eyes shone freedom — a thirst for life that had never faded, even in isolation.

  “I don’t know…” Lynette whispered, stepping closer and hugging her.

  Sophie began to kick weakly, crying like a child.

  “I’m sorry…” Lynette said, holding her tighter.

  It lasted several minutes before they finally sat down and could talk calmly. Sophie finished everything, and she seemed more alive: color returned to her cheeks, her eyes shone clearer, her movements grew steadier.

  “Can you tell me everything you can?”

  “Mm-hm…” Sophie nodded, wiping tears from her face, still marked by crying.

  Lynette sat across from her, calm and attentive, ready to listen to whatever she wished to tell.

  Sophie looked down for a moment, gathering her thoughts, and then she spoke…

  ***

  Three months ago, I came to this mansion, ignoring all the rumors. I was young and needed money… My plan was to work for a few years, save enough, and finally start living my own life.

  My dream was to open my own bakery…

  They welcomed me warmly. Everyone behaved kindly and positively. There were a few girls who left the mansion in panic, but I didn’t pay much attention to it.

  However, there was one girl I couldn’t ignore — Alice.

  She worked in the kitchen, so we didn’t see each other often.

  One evening, I heard an aggressive voice and went toward it. I saw Alice talking to a painting, not noticing me behind her. Terror and anger mixed in her eyes.

  “Leave me alone in my room!” she screamed.

  With each day, Alice grew stranger. She began neglecting her duties, yet no one seemed to care — as if it were normal.

  I decided to talk to her, feeling how hard it was for her.

  What she told me sounded insane: hallucinations, strange melodies that made her shiver, a growing sense of anxiety, paintings that were always watching…

  The bruises on her body multiplied with every passing day.

  And finally, on the seventh day, a clean canvas appeared — empty, cold, silently hanging in her room. She tore it down in panic again and again, but every time she looked away, a new one appeared in its place.

  In rage, Alice shattered the mirror, refusing to look at what she had become.

  That day, she locked herself in her room with a hidden shard of the mirror and wouldn’t let me in. She screamed, laughing:

  “Ha-ha… I won’t let her take me alive!”

  A moment later, the door opened by itself. There was no one inside.

  I collapsed to the floor, realizing I would never see her again. I couldn’t get up right away — the incomprehension of what had happened paralyzed my body…

  That night, I couldn’t sleep, listening to every sound. And when I finally fell asleep, I woke up from a strange pain — light, like a cold prick from within. On my calf appeared the same bruise — a palm print with clearly visible fingers.

  From then on, I began seeing what Alice talked about.

  The realization of inevitable death crushed me from all sides. No one wanted to listen. People turned away, relieved that death had not come for them.

  And then two strangers appeared at the doorstep. I wanted to go downstairs, but my condition worsened sharply. Only in my room did I feel relatively calm.

  ***

  “That’s why I stayed, hoping to find someone to share my loneliness with until the end.”

  They both sat in silence, swallowing at the same time.

  Lynette stepped closer and gently stroked her new friend’s head. Sophie’s hair was slightly brittle, but she still smiled faintly in response.

  “It’s okay,” Sophie said. “It’s already lunchtime. Let’s eat.”

  With calm steps, they went down to the first floor and sat at the table, exchanging stories about their past.

  After lunch, they headed back up the stairs.

  She’s smiling… despite the fear.

  Lynette stopped, watching her companion who had frozen in place.

  Why had she stopped?

  “What do you see?”

  “H-here…” Sophie answered in a trembling voice.

  Lynette stepped beside her and carefully examined the corridor, but saw nothing suspicious.

  “On the walls… dozens of paintings,” Sophie whispered. “Portraits of monsters. They’re looking at me…”

  Her voice became breathless, cold sweat covering her body. Lynette gently took her hand.

  “Close your eyes. Just follow me.”

  They moved forward, and after a few steps reached the room.

  “Check,” Sophie whispered, squeezing her palm tightly.

  Don’t tell me…

  “Do you hear any sound coming from the room?”

  Sophie nodded silently.

  What the hell…?

  Lynette sharply grabbed the handle and opened the door. Inside, it was empty.

  “It’s late. You need to go,” Sophie said, clutching the edges of her clothes.

  She’s right. But…

  “That’s not an option. I’m staying with you until the very end,” Lynette said, her voice steady.

  “W-what if something happens to you?!” Don’t be reckless!”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  I have a talisman... Besides, I can’t leave her alone.

  And so they sat together on the bed in the flickering candlelight, tense and holding their breath, waiting for the unknown.