I heard my grandfather’s voice whispering near my face, accompanied by the sound of creaking wooden floors. I felt the warmth of the sun on my skin, streaming through the window along with a gentle breeze.
— Lucia, wake up, my dear. You’ve been sleeping for too long. — His rough hand brushed over my forehead as he stroked my hair.
— Just a little longer, I’m waking up! — Still drowsy, I rubbed my hands over my eyes, trying to clear them. Half-open, I saw a blur in a vast darkness, different from my old, well-lit room.
— Come on, my sweet Cicia, your mother is here for you! — A hand that was once gentle turned cold and cadaverous, touching my cheek.
Bianca stood before me, her recently buried body now rotten and awkward in a white lace dress. Her face remained beautiful, even in death, like dried funeral flowers. As if in a dream, I woke up standing in a vast darkness where I couldn’t even see my own hands. In the midst of it, I ran desperately, searching for help or someone who could save me.
I wasn’t afraid of my mother but of the thing pretending to be her, because she was already dead.
— Cicia, stop having futile thoughts and focus on the mission given. The boy is the key to what you desire. If he follows his destiny. — It sounded like trumpets and crystals, a familiar and androgynous voice, the same one that guided me at the beginning, echoing from all corners as I ran, making me feel pursued.
A sharp headache followed by a flood of thoughts overwhelmed my mind. I couldn’t come to terms with this situation, being at the mercy of someone I don’t know. But even as I thought this, something seemed to have stirred in my heart, making me accept this fact willingly.
— Cicia, when you wake up, look at the book again… — The voice grew more distant, as if it had been left behind. The voice said things that made no sense. I had found it irrelevant the first time, but now, when I needed to understand the current situation the most, fewer answers appeared.
I stopped running recklessly and foolishly. My eyes darted around, trying to find an exit or even the owner of that voice, but immediately my vision cleared with a point of light coming from the “sky,” gradually increasing, a white star.
[...]
Drenched in sweat and with traces of tears in my eyes, I cried after having that terrible nightmare.
Now awake, the boy beside me, with his eyes open, seemed worried—even though everything about his face made it difficult to express such human emotions.
Sitting on the pillow, he placed his hand on my forehead as if examining me. His drooping antennas and downturned mouth showed a melancholic expression.
I pushed him away with a slap and a look of horror.
I quickly got out of bed, feeling an overwhelming urge to wash my face. The tingling sensation on my skin from his touch, which made me feel disgust and dread, eased as I regained awareness of my actions.
An awkward silence hung in the air as I stood with my back to the boy, who still hadn’t moved from his spot. I covered my face with my arm (as if wiping away my sweat), and instead of fear, anguish and shame were etched on my face.
— Did you sleep well? — I stammered as I slowly turned to him. — I hope I didn’t scare you. — And for a fraction of a second, when my eyes were drawn to his face, expecting some kind of reaction, I felt a shiver down my spine as I saw what appeared to be an utterly furious expression. But as my mind processed the situation, the boy once again returned to being a sweet child, his face now calm and smiling.
I could in no way take out my anger on such a small and fragile boy. Just as I was thrown here without warning, he had to accept that a stranger would take care of him and change everything about him. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day he wanted to take revenge on me.
Even if I don’t accept this as my reality, this is his reality, and I’m only here trying to humanize him for the sake of my desires and those of this “superior being” who gave me the book. I feel horrible.
[...]
I calmly approached the boy, who had gotten off the bed, and hugged him. My face pressed against his cheek and my hands gently patting his back might not have been for him, but rather to calm myself down. The shiver on my skin remained, but nothing was as strong as the longing I felt for my grandfather.
“I need to be strong” was the only thought running through my mind at that moment.
All I could do was continue with the plot of this theatrical play, be one of destiny’s puppets, while figuring out how to return to my beloved home.
I whispered an apology in his ear, squeezing my eyes shut until the tears stopped flowing. I’m an adult (even if I’m small), so I should act according to my age.
Letting go of the tight hug, I ran straight to the small center table in the room, where the leather-bound book lay on top. I noticed it seemed different from before—heavier and more robust, with more pages inside. Opening the book, its pages smelled of lavender, and the scent grew stronger with each flip. As I turned the pages, the title “First Chapter” stood out.
“This wasn’t here before!”
With the book in my hands, I sat on the table, which wobbled due to its shaky legs. The boy didn’t seem interested in the book’s contents and looked for something else to do, taking light steps with his bare feet on the floor and his flowing pajamas. He silently left through the large wooden door of the room (even though doors usually make noise), but still, he kept a penetrating gaze on my back, as if wanting to confirm something before leaving me alone.
The book, now open to the first page, had lines that I followed with my eyes:
“First Chapter: Taking Good Care of Someone!
As mentioned in the prologue, your mission is to care for and ensure the creature is recognized as a human being. Your first step in this new world is to give him a name and feed him. After a good night’s sleep, you should be able to teach him things humans usually learn, such as: writing, reading, morals, ethics, history, math, and arts. Remember that children often use the people around them as references, so be a great role model! For each completed activity, I will grant wishes based on the level of difficulty proposed in the task. It can be anything you desire, with only one rule: I will grant what I choose during the day, your most sincere wish.
When he ‘grows mentally,’ new missions will be given.
Signed: Daddy”
“It seemed similar to an RPG game. No wonder I used to play a lot from ages 13 to 16.”
“Whatever it is, this ‘Daddy’ created a peculiar reward system… So maybe if I complete the mission, I can wish to go back home?”
I scratched my chin with my thumb, deep in thought about what I had read.
In the rest of the book’s content, aside from the blank pages of the upcoming chapters, there were illustrations of leaves and flowers. At the end, the number of pages remained uncertain since they weren’t numbered, and to find out, I’d have to count them one by one.
[...]
The sun seemed to rise just a few minutes after I woke up. It was morning, but without a defined time, due to the lack of a working clock in this house.
Hearing footsteps outside that distracted me from reading the book, the boy entered through the bedroom door, now covered in dirt, his once-white pajamas now brown with mud.
— What were you doing out there? — I asked.
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I got up from the table and walked toward him, leaving the book behind. I patted his clothes, trying to remove the dirt, though it would only really come clean after being washed with water and soap. The boy shook himself like a dog, scattering dirt everywhere and covering the floor with dust. Then he stretched out his pajama top, looked at it with displeasure, and turned back to me with the expression of someone who had ruined something.
— Didi — the boy said, furrowing his brow and squinting his eyes.
— You meant ‘dirty’ , right? Congratulations! — Standing in front of him, I ended up getting hit by the dirt when he shook himself, but optimistic about the boy’s achievement, I gave him a head scratch.
Taking his muddy hands, with a bit of disgust, I dragged him effortlessly to the bathroom. I smiled to avoid showing an angry face after what I did in the morning or acting immature over something as simple as dirty clothes, it’s normal for kids to do that.
— Now that you’re dirty, you’re going to take another bath. — The boy stood still until I left the bathroom so he could undress. — I don’t know how you managed to get so dirty. Were you playing in the mud or digging holes?
[...]
Searching for more clothes that both the boy and I could wear, I climbed the old staircase to the third floor of the mansion, which I hadn’t yet explored.
The walls were worn, and a stench of rotting flesh came from somewhere. I checked each room in the long hallway, one by one, and many weren’t as luxurious as the one we were currently using.
This was likely where the servants who worked in this mansion rested, having only the basics: a bed, a wardrobe, a desk, and a chest. Aside from these rooms, there were also ones similar to the one the boy and I had slept in the night before.
In the pink-walled room, there was a full closet with dresses adorned with frills., as well as simpler ones, but all of them were too big for me, as if only an adult woman had lived there.
In the yellow room, with its wallpaper of childish drawings, there was a closet with men’s clothes for a small child. Luckily, they all seemed to fit the boy perfectly.
And in the last room, with white walls, there were men’s clothes for an adult.
All these rooms were set up the same way: a huge bed in the corner, a small table in the center with torn sofas, a rug, a large bathroom, and various pieces of furniture with carved details, along with golden doorknobs.
I first entered the pink-walled room, carefully opening its door with the worn doorknob. My footsteps echoed with each step, but what stood out most was the stench coming from the place. Before searching for clothes, I went looking for the source of the dead animal’s smell, intending to throw it out of the mansion and get rid of the odor.
I walked around the room in my slippers, checking every drawer and behind the furniture, saving under the bed for last. The stench was so strong I could barely breathe, so I sought refuge near the broken windows, where fresh air came in. After taking a deep breath, I filled my lungs and pursed my lips to keep the clean air inside.
I walked over the rug, which muffled the sound of my steps, and as I approached the bed, I began to see a pair of rotting human feet. I didn’t have time to think, I vomited on the floor at the sight of the grayish skin covered in maggots devouring its insides.
Standing at the foot of the bed, I gathered enough courage to approach and see the body fully. The rot emanating from it was overwhelming, trapped in such a closed space.
It was a woman in a simple dress adorned with frills up to her neck, jewelry decorating her body, and countless butterflies beneath her corpse. In the other rooms I was about to visit, I found two more bodies—all three women wearing dresses and jewelry, but with one key difference: the level of decomposition varied, as if they had died at different times or even in different years, since the last one was practically skeletal. The manner of their deaths was indecipherable, no cuts or dismemberment.
No wonder the boy smelled so bad from the first time we met. The stench of rotting flesh from the third floor had already soaked into the rags he wore as clothes. Unless he had seen the bodies himself and used the curtains from these rooms to dress, there was no other way he could have smelled so bad. The odor didn’t seem to reach the lower floors or the first floor, and in the hallway, it wasn’t as strong as inside the rooms themselves.
Avoiding further trouble, I tore the most fragrant fabric I had, my own clothing, and tied it around my face as a mask. Standing in front of the door again, gathering courage to enter the room with clothes, I went in and out quickly, taking only what was necessary. Fortunately, some of the clothes didn’t have any odor and could be worn normally.
“I wouldn’t want to touch the bodies, but I must find a way to bury them, both out of respect and for hygiene!”
[...]
Back in the room, the boy was waiting for me, sitting on the bed wrapped in a white towel. With droplets of water from his long hair dripping onto the floor and the sheets, he seemed to have trouble drying his locks.
I brought a change of clothes for both of us. I taught him how to dress himself, buttoning up his white shirt and adjusting the collar. Finishing with dark brown shorts, now dressed decently, he was starting to look more human than before.
Standing in front of him, who had sat back down on the bed after getting tired of dressing, I pulled from my pocket the sharp scissors I had taken from one of the servants’ rooms. The shock on his face was obvious—his eyes showed distress, and his trembling revealed fear.
— Calm down, I just want to cut your hair. It’s not hygienic to keep it long if you can’t wash or dry it properly. — I made snipping motions with the scissors and took his hand, making him touch the scissors. — Your nails also seem too long. But look, it doesn’t hurt! — I then pulled a strand of my own hair and cut it in front of him, using his hand to hold the scissors. I smiled at him, as if to say I felt no pain from the cut.
He seemed to like the tool after the demonstration, and his anxious look had disappeared.
I dragged a wooden chair from the corner of the room in front of a stained mirror inside the closet. I guided the boy to sit there and covered his shoulders with a white sheet to keep his clothes clean.
Little by little, I cut his locks, taking a few minutes to reach a decent length. I was careful not to make any mistakes.
— Could you pull your antennas forward? I’m afraid of cutting them off. — His antennas, now twitching like a cat’s tail, seemed unsure. The boy grabbed them with one hand and held them in place.
He seemed more relaxed as he listened to the sound of the scissors snipping his hair, watching it grow shorter. His legs swung back and forth alternately, while his other hand reached for the hem of my dress. His elf-like pointed ears were revealed beneath all those strands, and reddish shadows under his eyes appeared as I trimmed his bangs.
Once the haircut was done, I didn’t let him get up just yet. I took each of his fingers to trim his nails. I was nervous about this, afraid of cutting his skin, but nothing went wrong, and all his nails were neatly trimmed.
The boy seemed less scared than I was about it, as he immediately got up from the chair and went to play in front of the mirror, admiring his new look. He jumped around happily, made faces, and shook his hair wildly, discovering physics.
When I saw him happy, my heart ached. Maybe it was guilt? His happiness was just an unplanned consequence.
[...]
Black phrases in the book in my hands turned red. These were the completed tasks, and a reward would be given for their completion. Placing the book back on the table, I noticed the daylight and my stomach growling from hunger, but the boy’s never seemed to show any signs of it. His skinny body was healthy but had no fat. And for me, it was already the second day without eating.
During this morning period, I had been going in and out of the room, exploring other areas and gathering items I thought were important or could be useful later. I even discovered an office on the second floor while searching for something from the former owners of this place.
Entering it, I noticed how much dust had gathered on the shelves filled with books. A dark wooden desk stood in front of a large window at the end of the room, with an armchair behind it and various papers on top.
Taking my first steps into this room, I examined the titles of the books on the shelves, and many of them interested me, especially the romance and storybooks.
A loud noise came from behind (toward the door), like something heavy falling to the floor, which startled me. It was the boy, who had secretly followed me into the office, being discovered shortly after.
— Do you need something? — The boy timidly handed me a piece of paper from his hands, a drawing of a bee and a flower made with charcoal. Even though we hadn’t spent much time together, I could still interpret his request.
— Are you hungry? — I guessed he wanted a jar of honey, since that’s what bees produce from flower pollen, and it’s also what butterflies usually eat, along with other things.
— Unfortunately, we don’t have anything to eat right now. — I sighed, remembering the hunger pangs in my stomach, almost making me want to eat the paper. — But honestly, I miss kneaded bread and pure milk. Accompanied by fruits, then… — I salivated while thinking about food, rubbing my hand over my belly. I closed my eyes, imagining it all in front of me, and regretted the days I stuffed myself with processed food like chips and soda.
Going crazy from thinking about it, I just wished the mission reward would be a table full of food to make up for these two days of hunger. I just didn’t know when I’d receive it or in what form.
[...]
Continuing my area exploration, now accompanied by the boy, we divided tasks. Each of us would pick up what we thought was most important.
I started with the papers on the desk, reading each one while sitting in the armchair. Most were financial documents or authorizations for something, signed with the surname Vespertino. All the writing was legible, in my own language.
Aside from the documents, five volumes were found suspiciously hidden under the pile of papers. They were the family diary.
I’ve seen certain old customs related to this in fictional stories, and the idea of someone recording everything you do seemed strange to me.
The boy seemed distracted by an illustrated book he had found, sitting cross-legged on the floor, deep in thought. Meanwhile, I was about to start reading these five massive books.
[...]
Comfortably flipping through the pages for long minutes, lying on the desk, my vision grew tired.
Ready to start dozing off, the last book fell from the desk, opening to the final pages.
As if it were a understood message, I immediately stopped wasting time with the others, which only talked about acquired territories and family trips, and picked up this book from the floor, open to this exact part, stumbling upon the following report:
“February 30th, year 486, We received a visit from the Sun of Solvariun at our country house. It was requested that this not be recorded, but we needed future proof in case we were accused of rebellion and blasphemy.
The emperor brought with him a demonic beast, caged in silver bars. Without much context, we were asked to lock it in our tower, which had been unused for a long time. Soon, the Vespertino family would be relocated to another mansion in the capital, as our country house was slated for demolition. The location where it was built was a risky area due to the strong tidal waves that slowly eroded the peak it stood on. It almost seemed like a test for us, a ducal family far from the line of succession to the throne. Regarding the house, the emperor was informed that this place wouldn’t last much longer, but we received the following response:
‘If this demon is truly a divine gift, the mansion shall not collapse until the moment this creature is called to its purpose. But if it is merely a repudiated being, no god will save it from being swept away by the sea.’
This, respectfully speaking, was inhumane. To ensure secrecy, the Vespertino family must leave immediately, leaving everything behind, as the emperor said. I believe that if there truly is a divine purpose behind these events, the house will not collapse until someone finds this document. If you have found it and are not affiliated with the empire, come to the capital to meet us at the main house.
Signed: Butler Jasper”