A sleek black BMW glides up the winding paved driveway, catching the glare of the midday sun. It navigates gently around the expertly sculpted topiaries that stand like silent sentinels along the way.
As the mansion came into view, the car eases to a smooth stop at the foot of the grand entrance, a set of intricate stone steps flanked by marble pillars.
The lawn is a crisp green, meticulously manicured, not a blade out of place. The home itself was an architectural marvel - all smooth lines and modern finishes combined with old world charm.
But the true luxury lay not in the home itself, but in the immaculately kept triple garage, housing expensive sports cars and limousines that boasted of a life of excess and indulgence.
Orianna steps out of the black car in her cream and yellow plaid school uniform, tailored to her slim figure. Before stepping towards the entrance, she adjusts the gold buttons glinting in the sunlight that matches the emblem stitched onto the breast pocket.
Her eyes briefly trace the familiar, grandiose topiaries. She pauses, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "Horns would make these more honest," she whispers, a hint of dry humor in her voice. She shuts the car door with a snap while her heels click along the paved driveway.
The wind cuts sharply through her. She shivers, reminded of the long wait after school. "Four hours in the cold," she whispers, her voice laced with a quiet frustration. Annoyance flashes through her mind, but fades quickly as she draws closer to the trees lining the drive.
She hugs herself against the chill while straining to recall what she heard this morning. About servants disappearing by the trees. ‘Even my classmates somehow know about it.’ Unease trickles down Orianna's spine.
She looks around nervously, and somehow finds white fur tangled in the bushes. Orianna squints but can't determine what it is.
"Bunny?" Her eyebrows raise
Looking deeper past the trees, a tall shadow passed behind the trunks. Orianna's heart quickens, her head snapping around, but she finds only silence and stillness. "Just the cold playing tricks," she reassures herself, yet an unsettling sensation of being watched lingers as she ascends the stone steps.
She shakes her head, putting it out of her mind as she reaches for the door handle. But just as Orianna opens it, a figure appears in front of her
One of the household staff emerged, an older woman whose pleasant smile barely masked her disdain "Miss,"
Orianna jumps, "Shit… I mean Miriam" she says, hands to her chest to catch her heart.
"You're late, aren't you?," Miriam remarks coolly, her pale skin seeming to grow paler. "Your parents await you in the dining hall."
Orianna waltzes through the door. "I know, Miriam. The roads were tight" She meets her gaze, noting the unusual tightness around Miriam's eyes. "But what's wrong? Your face is scrunched up..."
"Yes, well, with the staff we are down, being late is even more inconvenient," Miriam interrupts briskly.
Orianna pauses, recalling the gossip. "The others...they haven't came back?"
Miriam's features pinch tighter, making her age lines dig deeper. "That's two servants disappearing without notice in as many weeks. And now Gary has vanished as well. No notice, nothing!" She twists a handkerchief, distress cracking her stern facade. "Who will wash the good linens for the gala, I ask you!"
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Orianna's expression softens, 'Yes, because dirty linens is the worst part' Her lips curve a bit
Miriam, lowers her voice: "Miss, I fear there's something sinister at play here. I bet it's that horrid creature! But the Master and Mistress brush it all off. We should be searching the grounds for Gary this instant, not entertaining guests..."
Orianna gives a reassuring nod: "Thank you Miriam." She smiles, "I'll keep that in mind. Now, I should join the Lindworth's."
"A-Ah yes," She snaps authoritative fingers, summoning lower staff. "Go along with her to the dining hall," Miriam turns on her heel, not waiting to see if Orianna follows through the ornate doorway.
Resigned, Orianna trails the servants, keeping her focus on the plush hall carpet. Paying little mind to the scornful stares of generations of Lindworths gazing down from their oil portraits. Not one painted face offered a smile in her direction. Their dour disapproval hardly fazed her anymore.
She clasps her hands as she walks, lost in contemplation. "Everything is in chaos lately..." she mumbles under her breath. She had immersed herself in her room for days, but was certain she would have heard servants whispering about a monster in the manor.
As the group shuffles along, Orianna notes their sagging shoulders and the stumbling steps of the footman. No doubt from lack of sleep. Dark bags rim their downcast eyes. They look utterly exhausted, half-crazed from overwork and irrational fears.
Orianna stops abruptly, the servants nearly crashing into her back. "You've all done more than enough today," she says, her voice softer than usual. "Please, take the rest of the evening for yourselves."
The servants halt, exchanging surprised glances. A hesitant murmur of gratitude begins to rise among them, but Orianna raises her hand, silencing them gently. "It's okay" She offers them a genuine smile, one that rarely graces her features.
As they disperse, their expressions transform from fatigue to faint smiles. Orianna stands still for a moment, watching them retreat. She feels a pang of solidarity with these shadows that kept the mansion alive, yet remains largely unseen and unappreciated.
Orianna proceeds unfazed towards the dining hall. More disapproving ancestors watched in silence as her heels clicked across the cold marble floors. The massive mahogany table sat empty, save for two figures seated at the far end.
Orianna hesitates at the threshold of the dining room, her eyes locking onto Charles, her foster father. His stare, as intense as the emerald hue of his eyes, always seemed to probe deeper than she was comfortable with.
His bushy mustache, a stark contrast against his deep brown skin, twitched slightly in what might have been a greeting or a challenge. He was a stark figure in his impeccably tailored dark suit, an imposing presence even in silence.
Beside him, Louise, her foster mother, radiates a different kind of intensity. Her features were sharp, like chiseled marble, softened only by the faint lines that betrayed efforts to conceal her age. Her pixie cut, unnaturally dark, frames her face with an almost militant precision. The silk dress she wore clung to her slender frame, adorned with diamonds that seemed to mimic the cold gleam in her eyes — eyes that had seen much, yet revealed little
Louise taps sharp red nails on the tablecloth, "You're late," she snaps as Orianna silently takes her seat.
Orianna's eye twitches and shoots her a small glare. Not too long for her foster mother to catch on, however. She meets her gaze and offers a polite, empty smile as she sits. "I apologize, I left at such a 'late' time that traffic was backed up."
Orianna veins start to pulse,"I do hope your driver wasn't terribly inconvenienced having to pick me up from school so 'late' in the cold."she replies, voice steady,
Louise lets out an exaggerated sigh. "The gala preparations have everyone working overtime already. But I suppose you wouldn't understand responsibility." She gives a humorless laugh
'This shit is getting old' Orianna smiles, not letting out any sign of irritation.
Charles clears his throat. Orianna, observes quietly noticing the familiar furrow of Charles's black brow. A subtle warning in his otherwise composed demeanor.. "Louise, perhaps we should temper our expectations with understanding." His tone is gentle but firm. To Orianna's ears, it sounds patronizing rather than supportive.
"Time for grace, then?" Charles says, his voice trying too hard to sound warm.The servants emerge synchronously from the shadows to remove plates and serve the next course.
Orianna bows her head, her mind racing with doubts and silent prayers that seem to go unanswered. As she raises her chin slightly, she extends her delicate hands to either side, bracing herself for the subtle familial skirmishes that lay ahead.