Amanda remained seated long after Clara left. The silence crept in again, only this time it didn't feel peaceful. It felt like something unseen was listening. The rules Clara laid down weren't just about order — they were warnings, whispered like folklore passed between generations of servants.
She walked to the small window and looked out. The forest beyond swayed gently in the breeze, but something about the darkened tree line made her uneasy. How could a place so beautiful carry such heaviness?
She unpacked slowly, her fingers brushing over the small leather notebook tucked deep in her bag. The only thing from her past she dared bring. Inside, pages filled with scribbles — codes, names, and one photo... a blurry image of a man standing near a familiar statue — one she had seen at the gate of this mansion.
The secrets weren't just within these walls. She had followed the trail here.
A chime echoed through the corridor — soft and distant, like an old grandfather clock striking the hour. Amanda checked the time. 6:55 PM.
Dinner.
She quickly changed into the provided uniform — a crisp black dress with a white apron, simple but elegant. As she tied the apron around her waist, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her expression was calm, but her eyes… sharp, searching.
Down the hallway, she followed the warm light and faint sounds of cutlery. The dining room was large but quiet, with only a few people seated — other staff. None looked up as she entered.
Then, a second door creaked open.
Mr Adrain.
He didn't speak. He merely glanced at Amanda as he passed through, eyes unreadable. Amanda lowered her gaze, but she could feel his presence as if it pulled gravity itself.
Clara gestured her to sit beside a young man — one of the gardeners, perhaps. He gave her a quick nod but said nothing.
As they began eating, Amanda noticed something odd. One seat remained empty, set as if someone would arrive… but no one did.
"Who sits there?" she whispered.
The boy beside her didn't answer. He just shifted slightly and focused on his plate.
Amanda understood. Some questions weren't allowed.
Later, as she walked back to her room, the hallway felt longer, colder. And just as she reached her door… she heard it.
Faint.
Far away.
A piano playing a haunting tune somewhere deep in the house.
She froze.
Amanda shut her door slowly, letting the click of the lock echo in the silence. She leaned against it, heart thudding—not from fear, not exactly—but from something else. A presence. A shift in the air, like the house itself had begun watching her.
She hadn't imagined the piano. The notes were too clear, too sorrowful. It wasn't the kind of music someone played for pleasure. It was a cry. A warning.
She didn't sleep right away.
At midnight, she sat up, unable to shake the feeling that something—or someone—was just beyond her door. The hallway beyond was still. Too still.
Then, it came again. Faint footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. No rush. As if whoever it was knew no one would stop them.
Amanda stood, her bare feet silent on the cold wooden floor. She pressed her ear to the door.
Silence.
Then—*a soft knock.*
Once.
Twice.
She didn't move. Didn't breathe.
Then… nothing.
She waited.
Fifteen long minutes passed before she gathered the courage to crack the door open.
The hallway was empty.
Except—
A single white flower lay at her doorstep. Wilting. Fresh.
And tucked beneath it…
A note.
One word, written in black ink:
*"Why?"*