After that incident, whenever Aveline saw the Grand Duke—which was only occasionally, as he preferred to shut himself in the study—she would sneak furtive glances or stare intently for brief moments. However, that black mass she had seen that day never appeared again.

‘Perhaps it really was just my imagination?’

She tried to convince herself of this, though the memory of those blood-red eyes refused to fade entirely.

—

Days passed, then became a month. Aveline had already familiarized herself with the mansion’s routines and the people living within its walls. The estate’s rhythm had become almost second nature—wake before dawn, dress in her uniform, report for assignments, work until her arms ached, eat simple but filling meals in the servants’ hall, and collapse into her narrow bed at night.

“Ave, can you pass me the shears?” 

Aveline reached out and handed over the gardening shears to Mr. Preston, one of the gardeners. He stood balanced on a half-meter stool, preparing to trim the towering boxwood hedge that lined the eastern garden path. Several other gardeners worked nearby, and Aveline had been tasked to assist him for the afternoon.

The shears made a sharp snip-snip sound as they cut through branches, and clusters of dark green leaves tumbled to the ground like rain. After Mr. Preston finished trimming around the entire two-meter hedge, shaping it into a neat rectangular wall, Aveline began gathering the fallen clippings into a woven basket.

Around her, similar cutting sounds punctuated the air, mingled with the gardeners’ easy chatter and occasional laughter. It was pleasant work—outdoors in the warm afternoon sun, with a gentle breeze carrying the scent of roses from the nearby beds.

“Oh my,” Mr. Preston suddenly exclaimed beside her, wiping his weathered brow with the towel that hung over his shoulder.

“What is it, Mr. Preston?”

“I forgot to bring the spade from the shed. Mrs. Patterson mentioned there were new tree saplings that needed planting this afternoon.” The old man leaned on his rake with a rueful expression. “My memory isn’t what it used to be.”

“I’ll get it,” Aveline offered immediately, already setting down her basket. “I know where the tool shed is.”

Before Mr. Preston could respond, she was already jogging away across the manicured lawn.

“Ho ho. Young people certainly are energetic,” Mr. Preston commented with a warm smile, watching her disappear around the corner of the mansion.

—

Rounding the massive estate toward the rear grounds took some time, even at a brisk pace. The mansion was enormous, and the tool shed sat a considerable distance away, tucked near the edge of the property where the formal gardens gave way to more utilitarian spaces. By the time Aveline reached it, her uniform was damp with perspiration despite the afternoon breeze.

She had visited the shed several times before when sent to fetch tools or supplies, so she was familiar with its location and contents. Pulling open the weathered wooden door, she was greeted by the same musty, slightly moldy scent—the smell of old wood, damp earth, and rusting metal that permeated the small structure.

Narrow windows set high in the walls allowed thin shafts of dusty sunlight to pierce the dimness. In the filtered light, she immediately spotted the spade among the jumble of tools hanging on hooks and propped against the walls—rakes, hoes, pruning saws, coils of rope, empty burlap sacks, and various implements whose purposes she could only guess at.

Crossing the threshold and retrieving the spade should have been a simple task, one that anyone assigned the errand would complete without thought.

However, upon her third step toward the spade, goosebumps suddenly erupted across her arms and crawled up her spine. The temperature seemed to plummet, and from her peripheral vision, she noticed the light from the windows dimming rapidly—as if night were descending outside, though it was barely mid-afternoon. Darkness gradually blanketed the pale rectangles of sunlight until they were reduced to faint, sickly glows.

Her breath caught in her throat.

From every corner of the small wooden shed, wisps of black smoke began to seep along the floor like living shadows. They moved with unnatural purpose, gliding and converging, coalescing into something substantial. 

Aveline stood frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs with pure terror. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but her legs refused to obey.

‘What is behind me?’

Her breathing came fast and shallow, each breath seeming to require enormous effort, as if the very air were being sucked from the shed. Her hands trembled, clammy with cold sweat, and her sixth sense—that animal awareness of danger—shrieked that something malevolent loomed at her back.

Adjacent to where she stood was a half-meter tall mirror with a jagged crack running through it, its bottom half completely missing. Despite its defective state, its tarnished surface still reflected enough of the room behind her.

And what it showed made her blood turn to ice.

With her heart threatening to leap from her chest, pounding so thunderously it nearly deafened her to all other sound, Aveline steeled herself. She whirled around fast—the motion so violent it sent pain shooting up her neck—and immediately stumbled backward.

“What…” she gasped audibly, her eyes wide with disbelief.

But where that dark, oppressive presence should have been—there was nothing. The darkness had vanished as if it had never existed in the first place. Warm afternoon sunlight once again streamed through the windows, illuminating dancing dust motes in its golden rays. The shed looked exactly as it had when she entered—cluttered, musty, mundane.

She exhaled in short, frantic bursts, her gaze frantically sweeping every corner of the small structure.

“Where…”

‘I definitely saw it. It was there. I know it was there.’

Forcing her trembling legs to move, she took one stiff step toward the door. Then another. And another. Each movement felt mechanical, as though she were a marionette being pulled by invisible strings. With two final, hasty steps, she reached the door and yanked it open forcefully, desperate to escape into the safety of sunlight and open air.

However, what greeted her was not the warm light of the afternoon sun or the brown earth and green lawn.

Instead, she found herself staring up at a figure darker than night itself—a man whose presence seemed to devour the very light around him. 

And piercing sapphire eyes that fixed upon her with an intensity that made her earlier terror feel like a mere prelude.

Grand Duke Casimir Draven Estonia stood in the doorway, blocking her escape completely.