This is a house
that sits beyond dark, dense woods.
Like the world fading into view after a dream,
that old mansion appears before Him.
Without realizing it,
He instinctively accepts as truth the events unfolding before Him.
The house lives in perpetuity—an amalgam of myriad fates and generations.
No ones knows who first said
that the mansion was cursed.
Our Father,
who art in Heaven,
hallowed be thy name.
Have mercy on me, O Father,
and cast their souls into eternal damnation.
I was looking down upon a curse. My own corpse. I was afflicted with great despair as the sight of it being dragged to the place of my crucifixion. My soul crumbled, and I was wholly extinguished. Indeed, I did once lose everything. However… as I faded into darkness everlasting, I heard a voice calling out to me. And so, I vowed once more that no matter how long it may take, how great the obstacles that stand in my way, or what form you may assume, I shall come back for you. That I must return to that house. So I ask of you, please wait until this mutilated body arrives there once more.
His consciousness, wavering like a ship at sea, was slowly drawn back to the surface.
—…ter.
Which each new breath, feeling gradually returned to His fingers.
—Master.
He could hear the pattering of rain from somewhere.
—Master?
And the sound of a cracking fire.
—Wake up, Master.—Creak, creak, creak.— Wake up.
When He came to, He was rocking back and forth in a rocking chair. The room was dimly lit; aside from the flickering of the fireplace, there was no other illumination. No light shone through the closed windows; there was only the pitter-patter of rain on the glass. It was as though the whole
—Oh, splendid… You have finally awoken
Someone called out to Him.
His was about to search the room, but that turned out to be unnecessary. The source of the voice was crouching beside the chair, looking up at Him with emerald eyes—Good morning, Master—the young lady with closed eyes with a her lips pressed in a tiny smile, the hand on her chin.
—Good morning…—He said to the lady with pale skin and tied black hair said with closing eyes in a purple-white maid dress.
—Hehe, what is the matter? Are you still waking up? You seem rather drowsy—The lady said opening her eyes, observing him.—Come now, you must gather yourself. Though I am glad to hear your voice—sShe says with a simple expression.—I have simply been waiting so long for this moment. Tending to the mansion all by my lonesome, ensuring it was ready for your return—whenever that time may be—She half-closed her eyes.—When I caught sight of you through the window, my heart fluttered. The time had finally arrived He wwas perplexed.
This woman, who looked like a maid, seemed to know Him, be He had no memory of her.
—What kind of herbal tea would you like to start your day with?—Maid said, opening her eyes.—I have some wonderful chamomile leaves, if you would like. Or perhaps your taste have changed since last we met. Tell me, Master, what would you like?—She closed her eyes with a small giggle.—Hehehe… I beg your pardon. I allowed myself to get too excited. But I hope you will be sympathetic,
Master. I am just utterly elated that I could see you again
The woman appeared to be genuinely delighted that He had awoken, but she seemed to lack the energy typical for her age.
Or perhaps "life" was a more appropriate word than "energy."
But the gloom extended beyond the Maid—it seemed to encompass the entire mansion.
The plaster walls illuminated by the fireplace and the rose engravings in the ebony pillars felt vaguely familiar.But a crushing sense of claustrophobia overpowered that familiarity.
It seemed as though the house wasn't interested in accepting Him just yet.
—Oh my, you do not know who I am?—A maid opened her eyes in surprise, her jaw dropped off in a mild surprise and concern.—Do you not know who are you, either? That is quite the predicament. If you cannot remember who are you, then who am I to serve?—Her eyes darted to the side.
The woman's face was pale, almost as though she… A faint chill ran down His spine.
—You are the master of this house—The woman's gaze returned back to him.—Though it would seem you have no memories of such. Quite the dilemma… If you know not who you are.—She closed her eyes, her lips pressed in a thin line.—then you are no different than a stranger to me, no?—Her eyes opened back, her expression returned to normal.—Indeed, you have returned. But from where? That, I cannot say. Then how about this? I am a servant of this mansion, and as such, I am familiar with the many incidents that have taken place here. I shall show you the history of this house, Master.—She opened her eyes, her mouth returned to regular form.—That will surely allow you to recall who are you.
The freshly awakened gears in His head began to turn as He mulled things over. The Maid had called Him the "master" of this house.
But without a single mirror in the room, He had no way of seeing what He looked like.
Unable to decide, He reflexively nodded.
—Let us be off, then.—The maid closed her eyes.—And fear not—I merely entreat you not to let go of my hand. Should you hold it tightly, you need not worry about being washed away by the waves of history. No matter what happens, you mustn't let go of my hand.—Her open her eyes back.
His hand in hers, He followed the Maid's lead through the hall.
The air within the mansion was oppressive, as though a black miasma hovered within. The house was bleak and barren—hardly a trace of color to be found.
He came across an open window. Beyond it lay nothing but darkness—neither sunlight nor moonlight could be seen.
There were no chirping bird, no rustling grass, no signs of life at all. Everything that would normally give color to the world had vanished entirely.
The only other presence was that of the Maid.
Following her lead, He proceeded through the mansion.
After some time, He arrived at a double door, the glass within shattered. The door, once pure-white, had long since faded into a dull gray.
It appeared to lead to the back garden.
He could children laughing on the other side.
—Though it is in the state you now see it, a beautiful, beautiful garden once lay beyond these doors—The maid looked at Him.—The owner of the time enjoyed gathering rare species of rose all across the world. At its grandest, it seemed every flower was in constant competition for the most majestic bloom. Would you like to see this wonderful era of splendor and prosperity?—She closed her eyes with a giggle.—Hehehe… I very much hope it is to your liking, Master.
The Maid opened the doors to the back garden.
A sudden gust of wind brushed across His face, forcing Him to close His eyes as He followed the Maid out the doors.
When He next opened His eyes, the world no longer blanketed in shadows.