The chamberlain's aspect swept over me in a rush. I could feel myself growing into the role, the shoddy robes I had cobbled together arranged themselves—seams adjusting, thread swirling, fabric darkening—until I found myself in a neat replica of the man's wardrobe.

My hands had changed as well, the fingers lengthening and twisting into bony appendages more akin to the husks of desiccated spiders than any set of human digits. I looked into the mirror, and there he was: the creepy figure that had announced the Baron's death. Or at least a close approximation. Little details were off: the skin a bit too blotchy; my angles not quite as spindly; but the essential nature of him was there.

I attempted a smile, but the effect was so horrific I immediately halted, shuddering at what I'd seen. While pondering my reflection I couldn't help but notice the faintest smudge on the corner of the glass, a single fingerprint soiling an otherwise pristine surface. With utter care I took my sleeve and gently wiped down the marring print, immediately feeling more at ease in its absence.

"Elssskia," I called, and to my dismayed delight his exact voice slithered from my lips.

She entered and upon seeing me immediately startled, "Ch-chamberlain? What, where—"

"Your roomsss have entered an unbecoming state, most unbecoming. I should think that in thisss time of mourning you of all people would comport yourself with greater grace."

I found myself looming over her, my glances unerringly finding spots of mess or grime around the room. I drew her attention to them with the twitch-spasm of my fingers in a staccato of pointed accusations. Finally I ceased my assault and let her process the moment, drawing back to give her a respite while spreading my arms and turning to give her a full view of my work.

"Hero?" She ventured hesitantly.

I nodded.

She peered at me with a sick fascination, hesitantly reaching out to touch before drawing her hand back.

"You look nearly just like him, but you sound just like him," I was surprised to find the disquiet in her voice warmed me, like her discomfort was my own pleasure.

"Horrible isn't it?," I said with my own voice, finding it easy to slip on for a moment. "But as the chamberlain I can go anywhere in the keep without suspicion, and everyone tries their best to avoid him, which will make it that much easier."

I watched her suppress a shudder before refocusing on me with a steeled look.

"You haven't a moment to lose then. They'll already be meeting in my father's study, raiding it for liquor and cigars while they can... I'm in your hands Hero."

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I glided through the dark stone corridors of the keep like I had walked them all my life. I could intuitively feel the right places to step, neatly avoiding the occasional raised lip or treacherous flagstone with delightful ease. The effects of 'ACTING!' were more significant than I’d realized. I didn't just sound like my persona, I thought like them, felt like them. Everything that could potentially reveal my charade was being neatly taken care of by the passive skill. It was a powerful effect, far greater than I expected it to be, and I wondered just how far its influence might spread.

Elskia had given me a final look over before I left, determining me 'adequate under all but focused scrutiny...try to stick to shadows' (as if that wasn't exactly where I intended to be). I was sure that with better materials I could go even further and become utterly indistinguishable from my target. But for my current mission, this was enough.

I hadn't even needed directions. Paths to the study were clearly visible in my minds eye: I knew the fastest route; the one most likely to catch slacking servants; and one that took me via the kitchen, where I felt an almost insatiable impulse to torment my rival the chef. Urging myself not to push my luck, I opted for the route I knew would encounter the fewest potential threats to my disguise and took the servant's hideaway.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

The few household staff I encountered reacted to my presence exactly as I had hoped: turning corners at the sight of me or, if I was unavoidable, attempting to melt into the walls while I passed. The chamberlain was not a popular figure, and I could see why. Every speck of grime or disorder stood out to me with glaring clarity, that combined with the almost tangible pleasure I felt at other's unease would create a tyrant.

Things were going so well I almost walked directly into disaster. I was moving down the final corridor towards the stairwell that would take me up to the Baron's study when a servant cleared the landing and looked at me with absolute horror, his mouth moving silently in the distance. I didn't think much of it, until he began to turn and look back over his shoulder.

And then I realized the words his lips had silently traced, the words that sprung unbidden from him as the sight of me struck him with a despair that shrivelled hope and tainted joy. The words were: 'two of them?'.

In a flash I darted behind an alcove, melding into the shadows in a manner that came sickeningly natural. From the stairwell beyond I heard a voice of utmost venom.

"I hope there isss a reason you have stopped. I hope there isss as profound a sight as the fallen godsss themselvesss yonder. For halting in the stairwell, halting the flow of goodsss and traffic to gawp should require at least such a sight. Well? Shall I look? Shall I peer myself down the corridor and confirm for my own eyes the wondrous thing that has held your feet to these stonesss?"

Hidden in my alcove I could only imagine the expression of the poor servant being harassed by the true chamberlain. There was no answer he could possibly give; and from the unrelenting pace of the tirade, none was even desired.

"Nothing? No answer? Then climb you fool, the refreshmentsss are late enough as is, the sandwichesss are following in mere momentsss."

Their footsteps resumed, and I waited several minutes before venturing from my retreat. Complications had arisen. Clearly the chamberlain was taking the provisioning of the 'impartial council' as a personal task. I needed to occupy him. Luckily for me, being in the man's skin gave me a clear idea of what needed to be done.

I grabbed a lantern from its sconce, judging the weight sufficient for my purposes I approached the stairwell. I extinguished the flame and opened the oil reservoir before placing the lantern just around the curve of the stairs where anyone ascending with a burden would be blind to it. Within a minute I heard my victim huffing up towards me. I melded into the shadows, waiting for the right moment.

An overburdened kitchen boy holding a massive tray was struggling upwards, eyes affixed on the staged appertifs arrayed before him. It was trivially easy to extend a leg and kick over the lantern into his stride while he was so occupied.

The poor boy froze in horror at the sound of cracking glass and dripping as the oil immediately began to pool down the stairs. He looked down to determine what he had just stumbled into, and I made my entrance. Emerging from the shadows silently his first indication of my presence was the sudden blocked light from the doorway.

He looked up at me, I looked down at him. He began to shake.

"Cease your quivering, do you want to upset the cucumber sandwichesss? To jostle the salmon mousse?"

With an incredible effort of will he froze, with the exception of a twitch in his eye that triggered reliably once every three seconds. I looked down at the pooling oil.

"We have had a little accident... haven't we?"

"I'm s-s-sorry ch-chamberla—"

"Hush."

All the devils in hell couldn't have pulled a word from his lips.

I reached over and began to adjust his collar. His twitch accelerated to once a second.

"This spill will disrupt the whole evening you know. We will have to reroute through the east passage and up the Horn Tower. It iss a much longer route. What iss your name?"

My hands were now delicately plucking pieces of lint from his shirt, paying particular attention close to his neck. The twitch in his eye was now coming twice a second.

"H-Hugh," he stuttered.

"Hugh... It iss never ideal to be known to me, never ideal. But there iss a still a way for me to forget your name, to forget all of thisss. Would you like to know how?"

Three times a second. He managed the shallowest nod in the world.

"You will go up these stairss. Somewhere along the way you will encounter... me. And you will tell me of thiss incident as if you stumbled upon it yourself. Do you understand Hugh?"

He began to nod, but froze again at my sudden tut.

"No, no, no, Hugh. You do not understand. Understanding impliess thought, and it iss not for you to think,” I gently pressed on the flickering line of his carotid artery, slowly running a jagged nail up its length, “What I am asking of you is insensible, but thiss doess not matter. You do not need sense, you need only act. Repeat my wordsss: no. thoughtss."

"n-no thoughts," he murmured.

I pulled the tray from him with an expert flourish and jerked my head up the stairwell. He began to climb.