I barely registered the blur of motion before I was flat with my back on the headboard of the bed once again, the plush mattress yielding under me.
The maid—her silver hair swaying like a curtain—loomed over, tray balanced impossibly steady in one hand as she scooped up a spoonful of that steaming porridge with the other.
Her purple eyes, still uncaring as ever, had somehow softened into something almost tender, though her movements carried the efficiency of someone used to wrangling unruly things.
"You nearly tumbled right out," she said, voice even and matter-of-fact, as if we'd just met over spilled tea instead of my near-plunge into the void below. "You will put me in a world of scolding if you ever damage yourself within my view of supervision."
Well, that was more so of your problem, not mine.
Still, I was so alarmed that I almost fell out of the window. So in the end, I ought to thank her.
If I even had a chance to talk!
I opened my mouth to protest, to demand answers about where I was, how I got here, but before I could even finish my sentence, she pressed the spoon forward gently—no, insistently—filling the space of my mouth with the bland, earthy mush before I could form a word.
It wasn't violent, exactly, but there was a firmness to it, like feeding a fussy child who might bolt at any second.
So I chewed in stunned silence, the grains soft and oddly nourishing, swallowing down the mix of confusion and that lingering nausea from the drop.
When the next question bubbled up, "Who are—", it died the same way, another spoonful sliding in with a soft clink of silver against porcelain.
And if I ever attempted to talk while chewing, she would give the most horrifying stare that mankind could ever give.
"Don't speak with your mouth full," she chided, her tone light but unyielding, as if this were the most natural lecture in the world. "It's unbecoming."
Was it that unruly for someone to talk with their mouth in their food? Like, I knew it was rude and maybe rough to an extent, but was it that significant for her to glare at me like I was worse than a serial killer?
By the third attempt, annoyance simmered hot in my chest.
I raised a hand to block the spoon, palm out like a shield, in the effort that words would finally break free.
"Wait, just—"
Her free arm darted faster than thought, wrist twisting around mine with a grip that could have crushed stone.
Superhuman and effortless—she pinned my resistance without a flicker of strain, and the spoon found its mark again.
I glared up at her, cheeks bulging around the bite, but she only tilted her head, expression serene as a statue's, lest I attempted to talk in this state.
Clearly, fighting it was pointless.
I let the rhythm take over—chew, swallow, repeat—watching her work with the quiet focus of someone who'd done this a hundred times before.
The fruits followed, tart and bursting with unfamiliar sweetness, juice dribbling down my chin until she dabbed it away with a napkin tucked into her sleeve.
She even knew the timing where my throat started to get coarse, managing my water intake
When the tray emptied at last, she rose in one fluid motion, stacking plates and cutlery with great speed and precision.
Then, a quick bow, deep and formal, and she turned for the door, tray balanced like it weighed nothing.
"Wait—" I lunged off the bed, fingers snagging the hem of her skirt in desperation.
Questions burned on my tongue, I needed something, anything, at least any kind of information about my current situation!
Yet she ignored me! Hastening her pace the moment we get out of the room.
"Oy, listen to me!"
I felt like if I let her go, it would take a great while until I could see her again!
Regardless of me insolently grabbing her skirt, she didn't break stride. The fabric slipped from my grasp at first, then caught again, yanking me forward into a stumbling drag down the hallway.
"GAAA—!"
For someone who had the expression of no care in the world, she was sure walking like a bomb had just exploded somewhere in the backyard!
Cool stone scraped against my bare feet, the tunic riding up awkwardly as momentum pulled me along.
The maid dragged me for a long time.
"Stop! Please, just—"
Her pace didn't falter, heels clicking steadily on the polished floor.
She glanced down once, unbothered as ever. "As much as you'd like to repay the kindness, imitating a duster isn't ideal. Those clothes are for comfort, not floor polish."
I clung tighter for a few more steps, shouting over the rush of air, but my fingers betrayed me—slipping free on a turn, sending me sprawling face-first onto the cold tiles.
That superhuman maid, she ignored me as if I didn't exist.
"Hahaha…"
The hallway stretched out, vast and echoing.
This place screamed wealth, or whatever passed for it here—mansion, estate, lair of some demonic elite.
Whoever owned this mansion must be high in the hierarchy in this Demonic Realm.
Or at least, that was what I would expect with how cast this place was.
"I'm too tired to move," I awkwardly snickered.
Nausea rolled in waves, the meal churning uneasily from the rough ride, dizziness fogging my sight.
I wanted to throw up.
Every muscle felt leaden, too spent to even roll over.
So I lay there, staring at a frescoed ceiling wondering if this was the universe's idea of mercy—a soft landing into absurdity.
Footsteps returned, soft and deliberate.
She crouched beside me, silver hair falling like a veil as she peered at my face from the side.
That same blank mask, tinged now with a subtle pout—irritation, perhaps, or the closest she came to exasperation. "If rest is what you seek, the room suits better than the floor."
At this point, this maid was just mocking.
Still, exhaustion won out over pride.
"Fine. Help me get back, then, and... maybe answer some of my questions."
She straightened, glancing over her shoulder down the hall. "I can carry you to somewhere more comfortable. As for questions, my master handles those."
I instinctively followed her gaze, squinting through the haze.
A figure approached, strides dignified and commanding—it was another woman, possibly a noble one at that.
I couldn't really see well with the dizziness, but her presence was so strong that I couldn't help but judge.
"Surreal, why is one of my newest possessions sprawled in the hall like discarded laundry?"
Surreal—that was the name of this eccentric maid, then.
"If you say so, Master."
The maid scooped me up without ceremony, cradling me against her side as if I weighed no more than the tray.
Before I could sputter a protest, I was already somewhere in the garden I'd glimpsed from the window.
Sunlight—or whatever passed for it here—filtered through the canopy of glowing vines, casting the air in hues of emerald and gold.
A wrought-iron table waited amid the blooms, chairs cushioned in velvet, a silver tea set gleaming with a rather heart-thumping novelty.
Surreal settled me into a seat with surprising gentleness, then busied herself at the sideboard, steeping leaves into a pot that yielded a crimson brew, rich and steaming.
The noblewoman took the chair opposite, folding her hands with elegant poise.
Up close, with less dizziness, I could finally see the clear frame.
Sharp eyes, cunning and sly beneath a veil of playfulness, set in a face of flawless porcelain skin, as light blond hair pulled into a neat ponytail that brushed her neck. Her dress, dark turquoise and flowing yet tailored for ease more than power.
Overall, she was as beautiful and charming as her maid, which somewhat ease my heart since eyecandies were always welcomed.
Not to mention, she was similar to Surreal as in, she looked like a normal human!
To think that there was even a human that lived here in the Demonic Realm. Either that, they were just looking like one.
Her lips curving faintly as Surreal poured the tea, the drink swirling like liquid rubies.
"The name's Lothair, master of the weird maid you stumbled upon—and the owner of the mansion that you found herself in." With a lascivious gaze, she rested her chin on a bridge of her sprawled fingers. "Should you have any inquiry or any information about yourself that you can share, then feel free to speak out your mind~"
Her voice was incredibly soothing, almost as if I was being lulled by a siren.
That alone made me cautious.
Still, being on her good side should be paramount to my survival.
In a realm where I knew nothing beyond nightmares and myths, I straightened, summoning every scrap of composure. "Mesmer Valentine, that's the name I go by."
Her brows lifted slightly at the full name, interest sharpening those playful eyes.
"A surname. You're of noble blood, then? From your side of the realm?"
She definitely refers to the Human Realm, the Earth where I came from.
It should be safe to assume that she knew I was a human that found myself stranded in a Demonic Realm, and she knew why and how I was even here in the first place.
Hmm, pretending to be of noble origin could buy me leverage to an extent. Considering her regal and sophisticated demeanor, she ought to feel more comfortable to be at the same table as another nobility.
I lifted my chin, channeling the poise drilled into me from etiquette classes I'd crammed alongside ethics.
"It appears to be so."
She watched me over the rim of her cup, unreadable, as I mirrored her dignified demeanor.
The tea warmed my throat, tart with undertones of smoke and mysterious spices—thankfully it was no poison, since I was familiar with one, just the faint buzz of something invigorating.
"No wonder," she murmured at last, setting her cup down with a porcelain chime. "Such a cute figure ought to come from a fine bloodline. A commoner from the Human Realm lacks the lineage for it."
As expected, she knew that I came from the other side.
Wait, did she just call me cute?
I tilted my head, feigning casual curiosity. "By the same logic... you introduced yourself with no surname, but are you still some sort of a noble figure around here?"
For some reason, I felt like she already knew the answer to her question, but still voiced it out for the sake of amusement.
Lothair's smile deepened, amusement dancing in her gaze like light on water. "Not in title or blood, or in anyway shape or form. But I'm thrilled that you would think me as such." She chuckled. "However, I'm just someone who is merely prosperous, in one way or another~"
"Is that so..." The words trailed, uncertainty threading through despite my best mask. I set my cup aside, pulse steadying into resolve. "You called me your... newest possession back then, what did you mean by that?"
Lothair's expression smoothed into something almost serene, her voice dropping to a casual lilt that belied the weight.
"Because I somewhat owns you."