As soon as I stepped into the decrepit structure, I found myself in a wide entrance hall—something reminiscent of those ceremonial rooms where wealthy people gather their own and host festive associations. Directly ahead, against the wall opposite the main door, there was a large, spacious brown leather sofa, worn and cracked, sitting atop an equally aged green carpet that was probably once moss-colored but now looked more like earwax. (Gross.)In the middle of the room stood a round center table, about sixty centimeters high, entirely carved from red oak wood, with a porcelain vase on top holding a few "not-so-fresh" white lilies—the kind with a fragrance so strong it becomes nauseating.
On the wall opposite the entrance were two staircases that met on the second floor, one to the far left of the building and the other to the far right. Just as I found myself wondering how bizarre the internal layout of the place was, my thoughts were interrupted by the nearly failing voice of Sister Mafalda, who said:"The arrangements for our little angels are divided into three wings: the west wing for the boys, the east wing for the girls, and the common-use areas—the central and southern wings. The remaining areas are reserved for staff and are located in the north wing, including the kitchen and laundry, which are restricted to the instructors."
Once she said what she deemed sufficient, she headed toward the staircase on the left side of the hall, saying, "Your quarters, Lord Isaak, are in the farthest west end of the mansion, the last room in the corridor with windows facing the forest along the side of the grounds." Turning to Mr. Andrews, she added, "The little ward arrived at the right moment. One of the three residents from that unit found an adoptive home last week. Come, follow me, I'll show you the room's accommodations."By the time she finished her instructions, we were already entering the long and silent corridor.
There were rooms on both sides of the long corridor, all with their doors shut. Each door had a number carved at the top, along with the letter M, marking it as part of the boys' wing. The walls were painted a subtle olive green, and the doors a deep, heavy brown. Running straight down the center of the floor was a long braided sisal runner, dyed in a dark reddish shade reminiscent of burgundy.
Once again, I caught myself wondering what sort of creature had decorated this place.Olive green and burgundy? Was this supposed to make me feel like I was trapped at the bottom of some algae-infested swamp with suffocating red mud?
Questionable taste aside, the place looked clean and orderly enough. There wasn't an excess of dust in the corners, and even the dark ceiling felt less suffocating than it should have. Still, my childish perception was deceitful, and I couldn't shake the feeling that the corridor had no end.
When we reached the door labeled M16, Sister Mafalda knocked twice, as if verifying whether someone inside wished to open it.— STOMP— CLACK — CLACK
I heard the startled shuffle of someone reacting to an unexpected visit, and the groan of floorboards under hard-soled shoes.
The door opened, revealing a slim, slightly hunched boy — shy yet defiant in appearance. His dark brown wavy hair fell just above his eyes, and his droopy moss-green gaze studied us with cautious disinterest. He seemed a little older than me, and noticeably taller. Practically ignoring the two visitors at the door and looking straight at the sister, he asked:
"Yes, Sister Mafalda? How can I help you?"
"Oh! Albert!" she exclaimed, surprised. "You were in your quarters! Well, well, my lethargic boy, why aren't you at the chapel with the others for the 3:30 mass? Have you lost all consideration for Christ our Lord??"
"Forgive me, Sister!" the boy replied, lowering his head with quick, apologetic eyes. "Sister Flora let slip during dinner yesterday that we would be getting a new roommate. Rafael wanted to join me, but I insisted that at least one of us attend mass. I confess curiosity got the best of me… I stayed behind to greet our new companion."
His tone was so sheepish I could practically see the droopy ears of a guilty beagle begging forgiveness.
"Hmph. See that it doesn't happen again, boy! As precious as this occasion may be, your duties to Our Lord outweigh any juvenile impulses. Do not forget that. But since you're here, allow me to introduce you: this man in police uniform is Mr. Andrews, who escorted young Lord Isaak here. Treat our new resident well — the poor child has been through a great deal these past days."
At those words, the not-so-little beagle with green eyes turned his trembling gaze toward me. The moment our eyes met, I saw surprise flicker across his face — a silent question forming there:What could a child this small have possibly gone through?
I quickly broke eye contact.Misery levels the ground between us — if he weren't miserable in his own way, he wouldn't be living in a place like this. I turned instead to Mr. Andrews, standing silently at my side.
When he noticed me staring, his expression shifted — first puzzled ("Hm? What does he want?"), then suddenly enlightened.
"Ah!" he exclaimed. "With your permissions, milords and madam, I believe I may have left in the car trunk an item of utmost importance for little Isaak. If you'll excuse me."
He bowed politely and stepped away, leaving the three of us staring awkwardly at each other with nothing more to say.
Unable to bear the heavy atmosphere any longer, Sister Mafalda began brushing invisible dust from her clerical robes. Clearing her throat, she announced:
"Ahem. Dinner is at 7 p.m. sharp every day. After that we have the 9 p.m. prayer, and all children must be asleep by 10 without exception. Breakfast begins early at 7 a.m., preceded by morning prayer at 6:30. Those who study outside must be ready to leave by 8, and the school bus arrives at 8:30. Students in full-time programs are dropped off at the orphanage at 6:30 p.m., leaving little time to wash up and organize their belongings. That said, I take my leave. You're excused from holy duties today — once your school documentation is arranged, you'll resume classes and attendance at chapel. Any other questions can be directed to Lord Albert here. He is one of our oldest residents and should be able to provide all necessary information about our accommodations. Farewell."
She bowed curtly and headed back toward the stairs.
Albert, the beagle boy, and I were left in silence for about three seconds, unsure what to do, until he finally asked:
"Want to come in?"
He turned the knob and opened the door again…
The room was small, holding only a bunk bed and a single bed, with wall-mounted cabinets above them. Between the beds sat a nightstand made of the same dark wood as the furniture I had seen throughout the orphanage so far. The sheets were simple, a worn beige but undeniably clean and neatly tucked. Each bed had a low pillow in a miner-uniform blue. The walls shared the corridor's olive tone, and the floor was covered with the same earwax-colored carpet from the entrance hall.
As soon as Albert stepped inside, he pointed to the bed by the window:
"You'll take the single bed. It used to be Tate's. I sleep on the lower bunk, and Rafael takes the top — he's the youngest of us two, so he's lighter."
I nodded and walked toward the bed, sitting down and immediately gazing out the window. No, the view wasn't a beautiful landscape or anything like that. Sunlight didn't even reach this corner. The window faced a large, twisted tree with broad leaves the size of my hand, colored in the same dark green found in every damp northern forest. Still, it wasn't entirely unpleasant. I was already more than used to cold, shadowed places.
Albert, clearly unsettled by my complete lack of reaction or conversation, shifted anxiously, glancing at everything except my face. Just as he was about to get up from his bunk — perhaps to busy himself with something — we were startled by Mr. Andrews appearing at the half-open door.
"Ah, boys, here you are," he said as he entered. "When I came back in, the silence of this old mansion made me think it was abandoned for a moment. Well, I suppose Sister Mafalda has more urgent matters than entertaining two teenagers and a tired officer."
He turned to me.
"Here, Isaak."He extended a small wooden chest toward me — decorated, the kind used to hold jewelry.
At first, I didn't recognize it. I had been in a voluntary trance for so long that my memories felt scattered, slipping away from my mind.
Seeing my hesitation, Mr. Andrews opened the box himself. Inside, resting on black velvet, was it.
Yes — the only object left from my mother.Yes — the only family heirloom Lizzie cherished, now the only remnant of the simple, happy life I once had:
Grandpa John's pocket watch.
The delicate piece glimmered under the faint light of the plain little room. My eyes sharpened immediately — the same handcrafted gold, the tiny carved floral-like patterns, and the inscription etched lovingly on the back:
"To Lizzie, with love — Dad."
The moment I read it, my heart lurched. My breath grew rapid. My face flushed hot, burning crimson. Albert and Mr. Andrews exchanged worried glances, bracing themselves for whatever would follow.
But instead, I inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, relaxing my body, waving my hands as if brushing away the thick tension in the air. Then I took the artifact carefully into my hands.
As its familiar weight settled against my skin, warm tears began streaming uncontrollably down my cheeks, dripping onto the ugly earwax-colored carpet.
Mr. Andrews rushed to me, pulling me into an embrace, trying to engulf all my pain in his arms. He patted my back softly, murmuring:
"It's going to be all right, Isaak. You'll be all right, I promise."
The air grew heavy with grief — spoken and unspoken — so much so that the already-shaken Albert looked completely lost. I don't know how long I cried, trembling in Mr. Andrews's arms, until finally the tears ran dry. When I stopped, my face was blank. Emotionless.
Mr. Andrews made sure I was steady before stepping back. He told me he would visit often and that I should try to befriend the other children — that perhaps I could rebuild something close to a normal life someday.
I nodded mechanically, focused only on breathing evenly so I wouldn't collapse again — or look at Albert, for I had no idea what expression he must have been making.
CREAAACK.(The door closing.)
"…Uh, Isaak, right?"
~silence~
"I know you don't want to talk now," he said softly. "But I want you to know I'll always be here if you need someone to talk to. I might not feel your sadness the way you do, but… I know what it's like to live through something tragic."
His voice — gentle, hesitant — brushed my ears like a quiet attempt at comfort. But I couldn't lift my head. My eyes, red and swollen from crying, stayed locked on the ugly carpet, while my small fingers clutched the bedsheets so tightly that my knuckles turned white.
Sensing my refusal to respond, the boy stood and said:
"I guess you'd rather be alone. Use the rest of the day to rest and get used to this place. It's not paradise, but I promise it's not as bad as it looks."
At the door, hand on the knob, he added:
"Rafael should be back around 6:30. He's energetic, friendly — loud, even — but he's not a bad kid. He's about your age. He'll probably try very hard to get you to talk. He's not the type to give up. I hope you get some rest until then. See you at dinner."
He closed the door slowly, trying not to make any noise.
Only then, truly alone in the small room that felt more like a barrack, did I lift my head and look around again. I uncurled my fingers from the sheets and took the family relic into my hands once more.
That was when my head throbbed — a sharp, sudden jolt — and I heard that sinister mechanical, childlike laughter again.Clearer now.Loud.Echoing right above me.
And there he was.
The same ethereal figure hovering lazily in the air, lounging as though sprawled across an invisible sofa, one leg crossed over the other. The demon in a red tailcoat, magician's top hat, and long crimson hair, staring straight at me with those wild yellow feline eyes.
Laplace. The Incomparable.
"Quite modest," I thought dryly.
"So, Glaucus, happy to see me again?!"Haiheihaiehieahihiaehiehieh!
"Of course you are. Thousands of mortals would kill for the chance to be in my presence, kid. Now stop with this little act of yours — this pitiful orphan routine. As precious as silence may be, you can't cause proper chaos in this tiny little world without shouting a bit. And I hate coy people."