Chapter 2 - The Question in the Dark
The cold oak floorboards bit into Clara’s knees through her thin servant’s uniform, but she didn’t move. The silence behind the heavy white door of the third-floor nursery felt heavy, charged with a secret that the rest of Blackwater House was desperate to bury.
"Who else is here?" the small voice whispered from the darkness, trembling slightly against the gap beneath the door.
Clara frowned, her breath pluming in the drafty corridor. "It's just me, Clara. I’m a new maid. Your father... Mr. Vale hired me tonight."
A sharp intake of breath hissed from the other side. A small shadow shifted against the strip of light cast by the hallway sconce.
"He shouldn't have," the child said, the young voice cracking with sudden panic. "You have to go back downstairs. If Selene hears you—or if Mr. Cruz sees you up here—they’ll lock you in the cellar. They locked the last maid in the laundry room for three days because she brought me a extra blanket."
Clara’s heart gave a hard, protective lurch. "Nobody is locking anyone in a cellar," she murmured fiercely, pressing her palm flat against the white wood. "I'm not leaving you up here alone. What's your name?"
"Lily," the voice whispered back after a hesitant pause. "I'm seven. But my legs don't work anymore. That's why I live in the dark."
The words hit Clara like a physical blow. My legs don't work anymore.
Before Clara could reply, a sudden, sharp click echoed from the far end of the hallway. The heavy iron latch of the third-floor security gate—the one the butler, Mr. Vance, had explicitly warned was permanently locked—began to lift.
"Hide!" Lily hissed urgently. "She's coming!"
Panic spiked through Clara’s veins. Scrambling to her feet, she cast a frantic look around the dim corridor. There were no side doors, no closets, and no time to make it back to the grand staircase.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps clicked against the stone steps of the third-floor stairwell.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
The unmistakable rhythm of stiletto heels.
Selene March appeared around the corner, wrapped in a black silk robe, her blonde hair falling loosely over her shoulders. Her sharp blue eyes swept down the hallway, stopping dead on Clara standing frozen against the white nursery door.
Selene’s face did not register surprise. It twisted into a mask of cold, calculated malice.
"Well, well," Selene purred, stepping forward with the predatory grace of a cat cornering a mouse. "The little maid with the clumsy hands. It seems curiosity is a fatal flaw in this house, Clara."
"I... I heard a noise," Clara stammered, holding her ground despite the trembling in her knees. "I was checking if the young miss needed assistance."
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Selene stopped two feet away, her gaze dropping to Clara’s bandaged hand—still wrapped in the cloth the estate medic had applied hours earlier. A thin, cruel smile touched Selene’s lips.
"There is no young miss here," Selene whispered softly, leaning in close so her breath smelled of expensive wine and peppermint. "Lily died six months ago, child. Her room is nothing more than a storage closet for old memories. If you ever set foot on this floor again, you won't just lose your job. You'll disappear the exact same way."
