The Uninvited Guest Of The Haunted Mansion (28)

Serenity didn’t miss the chance and asked,

“If I become a portrait model, will my soul be held hostage or something?”

“That’s a grim thing to say.”

The reply that came back was vague again.

Serenity grew puzzled.

A soul… what does that even mean? It’s too vague. Unless the tragic painter practices necromancy or voodoo, how could they take a soul? Would she get trapped in the painting?

‘Isn’t that the worst?’

But the man’s expression was calm, too calm for a conversation about something so dark.

Then she suddenly felt a hand smoothing her hair. When she looked up, a gloved hand was holding a tuft of her golden hair, brushing it aside with unhurried care.

The Duke’s gaze stayed fixed on Serenity, the faint curve of his smile never wavering.

“Did you know that in the past, people would offer parts of their bodies to gods instead of their lives?”

“I don’t even want to lose a part of my body.”

“How about being a bit more lenient?”

“You’re the one saying something grim now.”

Serenity shot back his words exactly.

‘I’d rather return after death than have my limbs cut off.’

Blake laughed softly, the sound escaping like air from a leaking pipe.

“Oh my, try to be a little more flexible in your thinking.”

“Here? More flexible?”

“You still seem far too stiff.”

“Should I really try to run, then?”

“Is there anywhere to run to?”

…There wasn’t.

Serenity sighed.

Unlike her, the man looked completely at ease, as though danger didn’t exist in his world.

She stared at him for a moment, lost in thought. Something about it felt wrong.

‘Then why isn’t he giving me a clear clue this time?’

When she’d met the gardener or the librarian, he had guided her directly. Yet now… just like when he hinted at the head cook… his words were vague again. Was there another reason?

“I’m confused… what I mean is, is this actually advice you’re giving right now?”

“If you think so, young lady, then it would be advice.”

Blake chuckled, the sound low and teasing.

So it’s like this again.

He really is someone you can’t read at all.

Just as Serenity opened her mouth to reply…

“Miss!”

Nia came running from the main building, her wooden joints clacking, shoulders bouncing as she panted. The sharp creak of her limbs made it clear she’d been searching for Serenity for some time.

“The painter has arrived. You must go now. The lady of the house ordered that you be brought at once.”

If I’m late, I’ll be dead.

“Alright, I’ll go right away.”

When she turned to say goodbye to the Duke, Serenity involuntarily drew in a breath.

He was standing very close… too close… leaning forward slightly as he faced her. This was only the second time she’d seen him this near since their last farewell. Or, if she counted the scenes in her dreams, perhaps the hundredth.

‘What am I even thinking?’

Unable to step back, she froze as those yellow eyes she’d grown so used to in recent nights curved into crescents.

“Then go, young lady,” the Duke whispered, his voice unusually soft.

He was close enough that she could feel his breath.

When she entered the Great Hall, where the painter was said to be waiting, a pungent, greasy odor hit her like a wall. Serenity grimaced instantly.

They said oil paints in this era smelled awful, but even so, this was too much.

In the center of the hall stood a massive canvas and easel. Before it stood a slight figure, and even from a distance, she knew he must be the painter the servants had mentioned.

“Ah, hello,” the boy stammered.

The servants’ descriptions had been so ordinary that Serenity had worried what kind of strange, Anomalous creature he might turn out to be… but he looked surprisingly human. Not as handsome as the Duke, but ordinary enough.

He had wavy ginger hair, drooping blue eyes, and freckles dusting his pale cheeks. His thick lips didn’t close completely, revealing slightly rabbit-like front teeth that gave him a faintly endearing look.

He shifted his eyes nervously, looking more like a timid young boy than a rising painter.

…At least until she looked below his neck.

‘Of course.’

Through the open collar of his shirt, she saw that his chest was split open. No blood flowed, but the flesh inside hung mashed and uneven. Through the thin skin, she could see his heart rising and falling with each beat.

It wasn’t just his chest… his hands and forearms, visible beneath his sleeves, were the same: grotesquely warped, as though the flesh had melted. It was difficult to look directly at him.

‘I shouldn’t have looked.’

As always, there was nothing good to gain from inspecting an Anomalous being too closely.

“Um, could you sit over there?”

When Serenity turned her head, the painter pointed to a single plush chair opposite the easel. She glanced at it quickly… it looked normal enough.

‘Act kind, act kind…’

Serenity straightened her back and walked over.

“You’re the painter my mother noticed. I’ve heard you’re particularly skilled at portraits.”

“I-I’m flattered. I was just lucky.”

“My mother has a keen eye. She wouldn’t bring someone here by luck alone.”

“But I… my skills are far from enough. I still don’t know why the Countess chose me….”

Each time his anxious gaze flickered, the skin on his chest shifted and bulged, his heartbeat visibly quickening. It seemed faster than before… whether from embarrassment or excitement, Serenity couldn’t tell.

…Though she wasn’t sure ‘transparent’ was the right word for it.

“I’m worried that Primdellrose’s noble young lady might be disappointed. Someone like me…”

His eyebrows drooped so low they almost hid his eyes.

His humility bordered on self-loathing… just as she’d been told. At that moment, Serenity understood the Duke’s advice to treat him kindly.

‘In short, it meant I should coax him, keep him calm while he paints, so he doesn’t stir up trouble. If I do that, nothing bad will happen.’

She had been bracing herself for the worst, but this seemed manageable. Straightening her posture, Serenity said,

“I’ll say it again… my mother is well-versed in the arts. She doesn’t discover talent by chance. Besides, I heard you were already making a name for yourself at the capital’s salons before she found you. Isn’t that because of your skill?”

“Th-that’s…”

The boy’s face reddened further as he scratched his head.

‘Keeping him calm shouldn’t be hard.’

He seemed young… easily flattered, easily guided. Regardless of his actual age, she could handle him like a child. After years of tiptoeing around the whims of the manor’s Anomalous residents, this was easy. Honestly, compared to the Countess, he was practically an angel.

“Then could you paint slowly? I’m looking forward to seeing the result.”

“Yes, yes!”

Eager, the boy pulled out a piece of charcoal and began sketching with his mangled hands.

Serenity nearly froze.

His arms moved faster than the eye could follow. It was grotesque, like watching someone rewind a clockwork doll too tightly. The charcoal scraped against the canvas in a rhythm that made her skin crawl.

Shhk, shhk, shhk, shhk.

Shhk, shhk, shhk, shhk.

Shhk, shhk, shhk, shhk.

Shhk, shhk, shhk, shhk.

Suppressing the chill running up her spine, Serenity forced a pleasant smile.

The boy’s previously timid face was gone. Now he looked eerily blank, his head turning nearly a hundred degrees back and forth between her and the canvas. His joints seemed to move separately, as though his body wasn’t entirely obeying him.

‘This is… unsettling, in its own way.’

Realizing she’d have to sit like this, watching that unnatural motion for at least two hours, made her feel dizzy in an entirely different sense. The corners of her lips twitched against her will.

In less than thirty minutes, the boy finished the sketch and began applying paint.

Splat.

Splat. Splat.

It didn’t sound like painting… it sounded like something wet and sticky being hurled at the canvas. Serenity had to fight the urge to frown again.

That smell from earlier… it wasn’t just grease. It was fishy, nauseating, almost rotten. She realized it was coming from the paints themselves.

Forcing her nose to smooth out, she kept her gaze fixed on the palette beyond the canvas. The paints looked clumpy, not liquid… more like soft chunks of something unpleasant.

‘Don’t think about it.’

There was nothing good to be gained from thinking too deeply.

It would only make her sick.

Still, given the boy’s speed, it looked like he’d finish quickly and without incident. Though the process was bizarre, he at least seemed harmless…

…Until that moment.

A sudden whoosh! tore through the air, sharp and violent, making Serenity’s shoulders jolt.