Chapter 24: M–My Lady… H–How Could This Be?!
Following Branks, the rest of the villagers—along with the two maids, Selena and Evelyn—entered the manor.
The harsh morning light softened as it filtered through stained glass, casting kaleidoscope patterns across walls that seemed impossibly clean given the chaos the maids had described.
Many other maids, besides Agnes, moved with quiet efficiency throughout the two-story manor, their crisp uniforms rustling softly as they swept, dusted, and polished. The air carried the sharp scent of lemon oil and beeswax, unnaturally fresh and clean, with no trace of the copper tang of blood or the acrid smell of fear that should have permeated a house of recent horror.
The crumbled debris, the bloodstains, and even the supposed corpse of the maid who had been drained by the vampire—whose death Selena and Evelyn had witnessed with their own eyes—were all gone, replaced by gleaming surfaces and orderly arrangements.
"Ohh? A guest?" one maid called as she paused her cleaning, a polishing cloth dangling from fingers that moved with mechanical precision.
Her smile was perfect—too perfect—not reaching eyes that remained fixed and watchful.
"Well, look who the cat dragged back. Selena and Evelyn—finally decide we're good enough for you again? Hmph, traitors. What right have you, coming back after running off and—" Another maid, spotting Selena and Evelyn, clicked her tongue, the sharp sound echoing in the cavernous foyer.
Her eyes flashed with something darker than mere disapproval as she gripped her broom with white-knuckled intensity, knuckles pressing against the skin like they might pierce through at any moment.
Now, even Evelyn—who had been suspicious before—felt ashamed, biting her lower lip hard enough that a bead of blood welled, bright against her pale skin. Her shoulders hunched slightly under the weight of accusation, and her gaze dropped to the immaculate floor.
But she still refused to believe this was all real, her eyes darting to corners where shadows seemed to move independently of objects, to windows where the light fell in patterns that didn't quite match the sway of branches outside.
Her skepticism remained, a cold knot in her stomach, until they finally arrived before a young lady.
A beautiful young woman in a high-collared gown of deep blue and silver silk—tattered and patched, clearly the aftermath of battle—knelt with her back to them.
Her slender form was silhouetted against the brightness beyond, creating an almost halo-like effect around her silhouette.
Her familiar ash-blonde hair was instantly recognizable to Selena and Evelyn, the pale strands catching the light like spun silver even though she did not turn to face them.
She was kneeling, head bowed in what appeared to be fervent prayer before the ebony coffin that had held the vampire.
The scene was bathed in clear white sunlight streaming through the glass ceiling above, a perfect circle of illumination despite the cloudy sky they had just left outside.
The contrast between the gloomy exterior and this shaft of brilliant light seemed impossible, yet there it was, wrapping around the young woman like divine blessing.
All of the villagers were silent, the only sound the soft creak of floorboards beneath shifting weight and the barely audible whispers of cleaning cloths against surfaces.
If they had doubts before, now they finally sighed in relief, a collective exhale that stirred the still air.
Only Branks's expression was unreadable, though he still smiled—a thin curve of lips that never reached his narrowed eyes.
Ooh? The famous, devoted firstborn of D'Armande? She's still praying to the goddess, despite being accused as a heretic? Branks thought, then pondered, his finger tapping an irregular rhythm against the silver gun now holstered at his side.
Well, although they look suspicious… for now… His eyes caught on a detail—how the light that should have cast shadows didn't quite behave as expected, how the air in the manor seemed to shimmer almost imperceptibly near the walls, like heat rising from summer-baked stone.
"I see… the Lady is in prayer. Please pardon my earlier rudeness, and forgive our intrusion. We will not disturb your household any longer,"
Branks gave a faint smile, and nodded toward Selena and Evelyn, who were still frozen in place.
"Thank you for coming, Sir. Forgive us that we can't see you off. There's much still to set to rights," Agnes said, offering a bitter smile that didn't reach her oddly bright eyes.
Finally, the village head and the villagers finally departed. Sunlight briefly flooded the entrance hall as the massive door swung open, then closed with an ominous finality that seemed to reverberate through the polished floors.
Evelyn, who had been frozen in shock—muscles rigid, breath suspended in her chest—suddenly snapped back to awareness with a violent jolt, as if waking from a nightmare.
Huh?! No—no! Her eyes widened in horror, pupils constricting to pinpoints as memory crashed over her like icy water.
When one of the maids had scorned them—she'd noticed a glimmer of familiar red eyes hidden beneath lowered lashes.
Not from the towering vampire who had terrorized them the night before, but from somewhere else in the lineup of eerily composed servants.
Those crimson eyes had stared directly at her, pupils narrowing to vertical slits, and something had... shifted in her mind. The world had tilted, colors bleeding together, and she'd felt herself... doze off, almost as if in a dream, her thoughts becoming sluggish and malleable like heated wax.
Now, as she realized the villagers were gone—her heart pounded loudly against her ribs, each beat a desperate drum she was certain everyone could hear.
Cold sweat beaded along her hairline and trickled down her spine as she looked around at these familiar yet unfamiliar colleague maids.
Their faces were the same, yet different—skin too perfect, movements too precise, expressions fixed in place like masks while only their eyes lived, burning with an internal light that no human possessed.
…
Meanwhile, emerging from the darkness above where shadows pooled like liquid beneath the rafters, Lucien—the tall, towering vampire—stood on the second floor gallery.
His powerful frame was partially concealed behind an ornate column, one hand resting against the carved wood.
From this vantage point, he watched as the second vampire woman, whose name was actually Lyra, knelt in prayer before his supposed coffin, her tattered blue and silver gown spreading around her like a pool of midnight water. Sunlight from above shone over her skin, illuminating her ash-blonde hair until it seemed to glow with an ethereal radiance.
With his sharp, enhanced vision—pupils dilating and contracting to adjust to the varying light with inhuman precision—he noticed how her skin wriggled and burned against the light like paper catching fire at the edges, tiny wisps of smoke rising from her exposed neck and hands.
Yet her vampiric regeneration instantly repaired the damage, sealing the burns as quickly as they formed, making it seem as if nothing had happened to casual observers below.
But if anyone saw her expression, Lucien thought, watching how Lyra bit her lower lip so hard that a trickle of black blood welled before vanishing back into the wound.
Her shoulders trembled almost imperceptibly with the effort of remaining still, and she squeezed her eyes shut, long lashes casting spidery shadows across cheekbones that seemed sharper with pain.
Shifting his attention, Lucien glanced up at the ceiling. The broken glass above that let sunlight in was actually covered in hastily arranged tinted panes, some blue, others amber, strung by nearly invisible threads across the opening.
This makeshift solution filtered and reduced the sunlight's damage on Lyra's skin without completely blocking it—allowing enough light through to convince the villagers while preventing the catastrophic damage full sunlight would inflict on her.
That's how we fooled them, he thought,. But it's probably not a permanent solution.
As he walked down the hallway, Lucien stopped at a window in one of the gable dormers.
The leaded glass was cool against his pale skin as he leaned closer, his breath not fogging the pane.
He could hear every word the villagers murmured outside, as clear as day despite the distance—their voices carrying to his enhanced hearing like whispers directly into his ear.
They were waiting for the Holy Knights to arrive, their suspicion lingering despite seeing one of the household bathed in what they believed was direct sunlight.
Holy Knight, huh? It was then—
"What! Did you say they're from the D'Armande family? Isn't that the one recently in the news? The house of the fallen Duke?"" one of the villagers shouted in shock, his voice cracking upward like a breaking branch. His weathered hand flew to his mouth, calloused fingers pressing against his lips as if to physically recapture the words.
"Isn't... isn't their family accused of cooperating with demons and conducting experiments? Why didn't you tell us beforehand, Branks?" another villager demanded, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper that scraped like gravel.
The makeshift stake in his hand trembled slightly, his knuckles whitening around the rough wood as he glanced at the manor before glaring at the village head.
"Ssh, that's just a baseless accusation, right? If so, why did they ask for our help then?" another defended, his voice higher with nervous energy.
"Those poor maids were terrified—you saw them. No one can fake that kind of fear."
"Well, no matter what, we'll come back to this place later—with an Inquisitor. For now, let's give them some space to breathe," Branks stated calmly.
Hooh? A fallen duke's house? On the other hand, Lucien—who heard everything from his vantage point—raised his eyebrows in curiosity, the movement causing a lock of his brown dark hair to fall across his forehead.
It was something new for him, but why would they go to such lengths as to call for an inspector? Lucien mused internally.
In his understanding, these people were just commoners—normal people who lived peacefully in the village. Besides, the reason they were only suspicious of the two maids who fled was that, after checking, everything seemed normal. But why did they still want to call the so-called Inquisitor or inspector?
From the way they spoke, it seemed like the Inquisitor was a high-ranked fighter or someone important in the Church. Wouldn't a Knight or someone like that be more than sufficient to check or clean out this manor?
Not to mention—even a fallen noble… Is it now common for people in this age not to fear nobles anymore? Lucien wondered. He couldn't help it; through novels and movies, he knew most commoners didn't even have the nerve to rebel against nobility.
A scapegoat, perhaps? So the baseless accusation becomes truth? But that was none of his business; more important was the fact that he was right about the villagers' suspicions.
Another reinforcement… a stronger one…
Lucien's red, glinting eyes narrowed at the village head's back, pupils contracting to vertical slits as he focused on the man's measured gait and too-controlled posture.
For some reason, ever since the vilage head, the one who called 'Branks' entered the manor and witnessed Lyra praying in that shaft of filtered sunlight, he had seemed suspicious—too calm, too analytical for someone allegedly confronting supernatural horror for the first time.
My guess: either he's dealt with this kind of situation many times before, or...
But then Lucien's thoughts were interrupted as—
"BLUURRRGHH—BLEGH!" The sound tore through the manor's unnatural silence like fabric ripping, wet and violent and unmistakable.
As if the final straw had broken, all of the maids who had been pretending to clean suddenly began to vomit, their bodies convulsing in unison like puppets jerked by the same string.
Selena and Evelyn's eyes widened in shock, mouths dropping open in twin expressions of horror.
The colors drained from their faces, leaving them ashen and trembling as they watched Agnes—who had seemed so calm before, so perfectly composed—now doubled over, retching violently.
The red glint in Agnes's eyes caught the filtered light as she retched, crimson irises flashing with predatory brightness against sclera now webbed with dark veins.
The sight triggered a cascade of terrifying connections in Selena's mind—the garlic the villagers had carried, the maids' unnatural movements, their too-perfect skin, and now this violent purging of dark fluid.
"No... No... no... H-how..." The words emerged as barely more than breath, her throat constricting around each syllable. Even though her mind often felt slow, stunned by the recent horrors, how could Selena not realize now that all those red-glinting eyes, the strange reactions to the villagers' protective wards, and the reason they were all vomiting black ichor... how could she not realize they had all turned into vampires?!
But the question hammering against her skull was...
Her gaze lingered on her Lady—her master—Lyra, who was slowly standing up, now turning to face them. The movement was unnaturally fluid, bones and joints seeming to flow rather than bend beneath the tattered silk of her gown.
The filtered sunlight that had appeared so pure now revealed itself as deceptive as it caught on Lyra's ashen hair, creating a halo effect that contrasted horribly with what was happening to her skin where the light touched it directly.
"M-my Lady..." Even Evelyn was shocked, her body rigid with horror, fingernails digging half-moons into her palms as her bad hunch was finally, terribly justified.
The once large, luminous, icy blue eyes of her Lady were gone, replaced by glowing crimson orbs with vertical pupils that dilated as they fixed on the two maids.
Her skin was now unnaturally smooth like polished marble, but with a burning scent and wisps of smoke rising from it where the filtered sunlight made contact.