The Uninvited Guest Of The Haunted Mansion (22)

Silence fell, so complete it felt unreal… like the world itself had stopped breathing.

The Tailor slowly turned her head toward Serenity. Her eyes, still bloodshot as though she might weep tears of blood at any moment, rolled slightly before the hands covering her face dropped limply to her sides.

On her ashen, corpse-like skin, dark blood welled from the scratches her nails had left and dripped down in slow, viscous beads.

‘I’m going insane…’

Serenity truly wished she could shut her eyes and unsee everything.

But the Tailor, as if nothing had happened, calmly smoothed the torn flesh over with her palm. Her movements regained their previous grace… waist straight, posture flawless.

“Thank you, miss. The plan nearly fell apart.”

Her voice was composed, her smile serene. If not for the deep wounds still carved into her face, the earlier madness might have seemed a hallucination.

Serenity’s gaze swept over the parlor… now a wreck of fallen glass and torn fabric… and then back to the Tailor, who looked more dreadful than ever. She swallowed hard.

‘I can’t believe what I just saw.’

She wanted, desperately, for it to have been a dream.

“May I check what you gave me?” the Tailor asked.

“Y-yes, please…” Serenity managed.

The Tailor’s face brightened faintly as she took the pouch and opened it. Seeing her expression relax, Serenity’s tense body finally began to give out. Her knees buckled, and she nearly toppled from the dais.

“Oh my, miss! Are you all right? They said you were frail,” the Tailor said, catching her by the arm.

’This is entirely your fault, though.’

Serenity bit back the words burning on her tongue and looked away.

“My goodness… you’re bleeding. Allow me to wipe it for you.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll do it.”

Serenity recoiled, trembling, and wiped the blood from her nose with her sleeve before the Tailor could touch her.

The woman straightened and regarded her quietly, the red fading from her eyes until they turned pale again… lifelessly pale. Serenity couldn’t bring herself to meet them; she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then reopened them.

The Tailor smiled softly. “Shall we proceed, then?”

And at that moment, Serenity thought again, with aching clarity…

‘This story is utterly insane.’

As the Tailor had first predicted, the fitting session ended a little after two hours and thirty minutes… precisely as she’d said.

If you ignored the time spent screaming.

The parlor was half in ruins, Serenity’s eardrums nearly ruptured, and her nose had bled… but somehow, she was still standing. At this point, that felt like a miracle.

The Tailor, perfectly composed amid the wreckage, jotted down final notes with satisfaction. She gathered the cloths from Serenity’s shoulders, placed a hand on her chest, and bowed gracefully.

“I must apologize for my many rudenesses today.”

So she did know they were rude.

Serenity forced a polite smile, mechanical and brittle. “No, I should be the one thanking you.”

“Thanks to you, miss, my perfect plan did not go awry.”

Her tone was flat, emotionless. She handed the sewing kit back to Serenity.

“The needle you provided was of fine quality. Its point was sharp… it passed through the fabric without tearing. If it had been dull, my plan might have failed again. It was… a pleasant experience.”

Serenity was quite sure that if the needle had been dull, her eardrums would have been the ones torn instead.

Inwardly, she sent endless thanks to the laundry maid. When she’d first read in the mansion’s rules that she would “repay favors in unexpected ways,” Serenity had thought little of it… but she hadn’t expected a sewing kit to save her life.

“So, I wish to offer a compensation,” the Tailor said suddenly.

Serenity blinked. “Compensation?”

“It’s nothing much.”

The Tailor chuckled softly and drew something from her bosom… an old, yellowed paper ticket, its surface worn but carefully kept. Strange letters were scrawled across it, but Serenity couldn’t read them.

“What is this?”

“It’s an admission ticket to my atelier.”

An atelier with admission tickets? That was new.

“When I first opened my atelier, I distributed these only to customers who trusted me. With this, you can open the door to my atelier anytime.”

So, a sort of free pass.

“…Thank you,” Serenity said politely, taking it.

“I’ll be waiting,” the Tailor replied. “Please visit whenever you wish.”

“Yes… if possible.”

Of course, that would only happen if she managed to leave this cursed manor at least once. Still, Serenity tucked the ticket away carefully.

In this story, she’d learned, you never knew what item might save your life next… just like the sewing kit.

“Then, I’ll see you at the next fitting, noble young lady of Primdellrose. Have a pleasant day.”

With an elegant bow, the Tailor lifted her bag and turned toward the door.

Click.

The parlor door closed.

Only when the sound of her footsteps finally faded did Serenity collapse into a chair, her body limp and shaking.

“I thought I was going to suffocate to death…” she murmured.

At this rate, it wasn’t even a question of whether she could endure the engagement ceremony… it was whether she could survive until then. Who knew how many more horrors waited?

She didn’t know how long she sat there, quietly trying to calm her breath, when the door creaked open again.

“Miss?”

Nia’s round head peeked in.

“Nia,” Serenity breathed.

“Good heavens! What on earth happened?” Nia exclaimed, her eyes darting over the wrecked parlor.

“Ah, this is… “

“Half your face is gone!”

Before Serenity could explain, Nia rushed forward with clacking steps, grabbed her cheeks, and gasped in horror.

“How much you’ve suffered! In just two hours your life force looks completely drained!”

‘It wasn’t the parlor… it was me.’

Apparently, the shattered chandelier and half-destroyed room didn’t even register to her. Then again, Nia was an Anomalous being too.

“I’m fine,” Serenity sighed. “I’ve just been standing for too long. My legs are a bit weak. Could you help me to a seat?”

“Of course! Lean on me.”

Nia’s sturdy wooden frame supported Serenity and helped her to the sofa. Meanwhile, the faceless maids glided into the room and began cleaning with mechanical precision… sweeping up glass, replacing broken ornaments, and even reassembling the chandelier as if nothing had happened.

Once Serenity was seated, a steaming cup of tea was placed before her.

“…I feel a little more alive now,” she murmured.

“Fitting a dress isn’t easy!” Nia chirped.

“Yes… in many ways,” Serenity muttered.

She stared blankly into her teacup, her mind still buzzing from the chaos, when another thought surfaced.

’Come to think of it… what’s that man doing?’

The Duke hadn’t appeared once since earlier. Was he still detained by the Count?

“Ah, right!” Nia suddenly said, tapping her wooden forehead. “I almost forgot! The Duke asked me to deliver a message… he wants to meet in the garden.”

“The Duke?”

“Yes, in the west garden. He told me about twenty minutes ago, so he’s probably waiting there now, miss.”

She wasted no time.

When Serenity stepped out of the Main Building, a faint drizzle had begun to fall beneath a sky heavy with dark clouds. The endless change of seasons had become exhausting; yet the crisp chill hinted that winter was near.

She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and looked up at the sky. Once this weather passed, snow would soon blanket the capital.

The west garden… where the Duke awaited… wasn’t far. Unlike the east garden, enclosed by wild thickets, this one was orderly: low conifers lined the edges, and a domed pergola stood at its center, serene and quiet.

As Serenity crossed the damp ground and entered the garden, she saw Blake’s tall silhouette beneath the pergola.

At the sound of her approach, the Duke turned. His lips curved into a smile.