The Uninvited Guest Of The Haunted Mansion (26)

The rain that had fallen for days stopped.

Despite the sudden drop in temperature, a faint sunlight pierced through the low-hanging clouds like a curtain of light.

Early in the morning, Serenity sat on the window seat, staring blankly out the window.

The garden leaves that had been tinted yellow and red had already turned into fallen leaves rolling beneath the tree trunks. The deep crimson roses of Primdellrose that bloom in autumn were the same; their petals had long since fallen away, leaving only thorny vines turned dark brown.

“A bit chilly, huh.”

Serenity pulled the shawl draped over her shoulders up a little more. The window remained open. The early-winter cold breeze blowing in brushed across her cheek.

Several days passed without encountering Blake. He seemed busy with various duties for the Count, and Serenity herself was busy holed up in her room organizing the mansion’s ‘rules’ book.

Now the empty entries numbered around twenty.

The entries for anomalous beings and locations within the manor that Serenity could reach without special effort were clustered at the front. Conversely, the later entries were rules that couldn’t be discovered without certain conditions. She could only guess at some entries from a few scant words… one of which was the meeting with the blacksmith she had asked the Duke to arrange not long ago.

Especially the items that seemed related to escape were a perfect blank aside from their numbers. It felt like clues would appear as she completed other rules in order.

She had suspected it to some extent before, but the manor seemed intent on killing Serenity by some means and trapping her here forever. What had been mere conjecture was becoming closer to certainty, especially after meeting the Duke and beginning to plan and execute an escape.

As evidence, Serenity had been repeatedly subjected to unprecedented incidents and sudden encounters with anomalous beings lately. For example: encountering a butler in a bad mood while descending the stairs for breakfast; the Countess’s lady’s maid watching Serenity’s every move with pale, unblinking eyes; or a cleaner who had crawled on all fours in the north garden at an odd hour peering at Serenity through a window instead of a door.

So naturally she spent most of her time in safe zones. That didn’t mean she was insulated from all dangers, but Serenity was doing her best to survive.

Of course, Serenity’s deliberate seclusion to minimize encounters with Duke Blake Lambert wasn’t solely for those reasons.

Dreams.

Serenity had been dreaming frequently since that day.

Duke Blake Lambert always appeared.

He would grasp Serenity’s hand for a long time and gaze at her from close by, or take her and run somewhere. The most frequent scenes were those in which she intertwined with him or was held in his arms.

And at the end of each dream the manor was always seen burning or collapsing. It unfolded as if it were a premonition.

Contrary to thinking them strange, dreaming night after night for days had made the man in those dreams strangely familiar. Sometimes it felt like an old memory rather than a dream… though that couldn’t be.

“They say dreams are the embodiment of desire.”

Were these dreams a desperate wish to use that man somehow to escape the manor and this curse?

But the man who appeared in the dreams was depicted in an overly lascivious way. Serenity was sure she had never thought of him like that… at least not until he took her hand and kissed her.

No matter how outwardly proper he seemed, wasn’t he still an anomalous being? He was endlessly gentle and cooperative now, but her mind reminded her he could suddenly turn and threaten her life at any time.

Serenity unconsciously recalled the dream she had that morning and squeezed her eyes shut. Though cold air touched her cheek, the nape of her neck felt oddly warm.

“It’s all because that man said something strange.”

Blaming the Duke who wasn’t in front of her changed nothing. If anything, the dreams only grew clearer.

So Serenity felt strange.

Had her mind been contaminated without her knowing because she was so deeply entangled with anomalous beings? Was that why her thoughts kept drifting that way helplessly?

It was a plausible theory. But that didn’t give Serenity anything she could do immediately. For now she craved his presence… by any means.

“Miss, are you awake?”

“Yes.”

There was a knock at the door, and Nia flitted in like a dancer, her skirt fluttering. Seeing Serenity sitting on the window seat with the window still open, she hurriedly shut it, fretting that she’d catch a cold.

“Are you perhaps trying to make your already pale skin even paler? If so, you’ve succeeded! Today the painter won’t even need paint to color your skin!”

Today was the day a new portrait of Serenity would be painted. According to Nia, it was the first time in exactly two years… but for Serenity, who had fallen into this curse ten months ago, it was a first.

The manor’s painter was employed by the Countess and usually holed up in a quiet cottage behind the manor to paint, only coming to the Main Building on days when called by the Count’s residence. He painted landscapes, still lifes, and portraits alike.

The Countess was very fond of his work. She said an artist needed to be suitably sensitive and even found his prickly nature quite endearing.

Of course, that “prickly” description was from the perspective of the anomalous Countess; for Serenity it was a harsh calamity.

The one saving grace was that during her ten returns after death, Serenity had met the painter often enough to know roughly how to handle him.

Though she couldn’t be sure what would happen if she became the painter’s creation.

“I’ll make you as beautiful as possible today!”

“Yes, try to avoid red dresses or accessories as much as possible.”

“Oh, you say that again! Miss, red dresses suit you best, you know!”

“Didn’t you say anything suits me?”

“…Hehe, actually that’s true.“

Nia chuckled and brought out a navy dress trimmed with abundant lace.

Serenity yielded herself calmly to her hands and asked.

“Nia, have you heard anything about the painter’s condition lately?”

“The painter? Well, he hasn’t left his cottage much for months… *seems focused on his work. He hasn’t been called much recently either.”*

“Really? A slump, maybe. It’d be a problem if he’s in a sensitive phase.”

The manor’s painter’s danger level varied significantly with his mood.

When he was in a good mood, he produced excellent paintings as long as the subject didn’t move more than five times during the session. So as a model, Serenity’s job was simply to keep as still as possible for at least five hours.

But when the painter was in a bad mood things changed. He fixated on his “red paint,” claiming poor paint quality caused the issue and tried to extract blood from nearby people to use as a substitute.

Of course, it was needless to explain that Serenity was the only thing in the manor that could be called a “person”; she was the only one who bled red when pierced.

If the painting required only a little red paint she fared better… she only had to supply enough blood to fill a small cup. But if the painter chose a backdrop of deep crimson roses, or the Countess came in a red dress for a portrait…

She didn’t want to think about it.

“Ah! Now that you mention it, I heard something like that.”

“What story?”

“It’s said the mistress has been visiting salons in the city lately, taking an interest in works by young artists. Come to think of it, she had grown bored with paintings for a while. It seems the season is turning.”

“Huh?”

This was news to her.

It wasn’t surprising the Countess was interested in art, but young, up-and-coming painters?

Nia casually added as she carefully placed a sapphire corsage in Serenity’s hair.

“Lately the Main Building’s gallery has more paintings. The mistress purchased new works, most by young artists, apparently. Since the cottage painter hasn’t been going out much and hasn’t updated his works, perhaps the mistress lost interest in his style.”

“Is that so…?”

That must not happen.

Even among anomalous beings of the same occupation, behavior patterns change depending on the subject. A new painter appearing meant Serenity would encounter a new anomalous being.

“Well! Wouldn’t it be good if the Count’s residence’s resident painter were replaced by a young newcomer? I don’t know much, but I’ve heard the art market’s fashions change quickly these days!”

Right, then my returns after death would speed up too.

Swallowing the words she couldn’t bring herself to say aloud, Serenity wore an awkward expression.

“I’m really excited! Right?”

She felt strangely distant.