A man woke up in a pure white room. He rubbed his eyes, and swung his legs down onto the floor. Slipping on a pair of fluffy white slippers, he walked towards the door. An unlit candle rested atop a wooden stand in the middle of the room. On the wall opposite him, a rectangular outline stood out. A door, he knew it instantly. He looked around. This room, nostalgic. He walked towards the candle. A box of matches lay beside, and he took one out. Striking it against the rough brown side of the matchbox, a flame formed. It was warm, and he brought it towards the candlewick. Once the fire jumped, the room went dark.

---

Francis Rayleigh woke up. A small army of maids greeted him as he rose up from his bed. All of them holding an offering. Fruits, clothes, the like. But he shooed them away, and the butler replaced them. Extending his arms out in a cross, he helped with changing. Gone were the pair of childish blue pajamas, and in was a casual outfit of a white shirt and dark pants.

“Good enough. Now get out.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“And tell them to bring my breakfast up here. I don’t want to see any of their ugly faces.”

“Very well.”

“Where’s your ‘My Lord’?”

“I’m very sorry, My Lord. Please, do not punish this old man.”

“Good. Now out with you. Don’t show your wrinkles here any longer.”

“I apologise, My Lord. I shall see myself out.”

The door closed, and Francis took a seat. The maids were trash, but competent. All evidence of the previous night’s mishap was gone. Francis laughed. Perhaps a compliment once in a while was good.

“My Lord.” A knock came from the door. “May I please come in?”

That voice was familiar. Her screams, and the blood running down her head. He gave his permission.

A maid walked in with her head held low. Francis beckoned her closer. Her hair was untidy, and her footsteps heavy.

“I... I quit, My Lord. I simply cannot serve you any longer.”

“Oh? And why might that be?”

“My Lord, I’m really sorry. But I just cannot tolerate how you have treated me so far.”

“So what was the last straw?”

“Breaking a plate on my head, My Lord.”

“Ah. That was the thing that broke you? Well, actually, it was the plate that broke, not you.”

Francis chuckled at his own observation. The maid gritted her teeth, and bowed before storming out. He couldn’t even quite remember why he chose to smash a ceramic plate over her head. He shrugged. Why would he? Such an insignificant event shouldn’t even have a space within his brain.

---

“So. You lied to me? About everything?” a familiar voice asked.

“Of course. What, you thought I was a beacon of truth?” another answered.

Francis Rayleigh did not notice. As if he was a character in a play, he was oblivious to the outside world. Nothing could affect him. Because everything was set in place long ago.

They sat in the quiet room. Another memory washed over them. And they did nothing to stop it.

---

The cold of the winter’s day bit into his skin. The tip of his nose burned as he took in the crisp fresh air. A new army of maids surrounded him as usual.

“My Lord, please. We should get back inside,” a maid suggested.

“Are you questioning me, you wench?” Francis spat back.

“N-no! My Lord, no! Definitely not.”

“You. Come here.”

Francis beckoned her closer. Another chilling wind blew by. They were outside of the mansion building yes, but not out of that fence. White snow fell from the heavens, and covered the ground in a layer of the cold powder.

“M-my Lord?” she asked in a timid voice.

“Strip down.”

“What?” she cried out.

“You heard me.” Francis rubbed his chin in thought. “Those that strip her get a bonus.”

“Eek!”

Her screams of terror reached no one. Stripped to her underwear, the poor maid was left in a plain black lace bra and her garter belt. She used her arms to hide her breasts and her groin.

“M-my Lord p-please!”

The cold was getting to the poor maid. Her teeth clattered as she shivered, looking like she was vibrating in place. Her clothes were thrown to the side, covered in snow by Francis himself.

“Should we strip her naked, My Lord?” a helpful maid asked.

“What? Ew!

“Are you cold?” Francis mocked.

“Y-yes My Lord!” She nodded her head with desperation.

“Then go run a lap around the estate. That should warm you right up.”

---

“What the fuck? You are a horrible person.”

“And what about you? At least I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Still! You’re a horrible human being. Did she survive?”

---

“I quit!”

The maid threw her headdress onto the floor. Her brown hair was wet, and the clothes she wore dripped water everywhere. Her face was red as a bloodied tomato.

“Oh please. Why are you quitting? Did I push it too far?”

“You did, My Lord. Too far.”

Francis chuckled. That maid gritted her teeth and shivered. Her clothes were wet, and somewhat see-through.

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“I appreciate my own genius.”

“What?”

“Yes, what... Exactly is the point of having a wet maid dress when you’re wearing a bra?”

“You-”

She stomped towards him. Her hands primed and ready for a slap. But, just as her hands approached his face, she pulled it back.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you still going to quit?”

“Of course, My Lord. I wish you a good day.”

“I don’t need your blessings and thoughts. My day has just gotten better from your news.”

“No wonder no one likes you, My Lord.”

“Is that an insult? You know what rudeness to a noble gives you, right?”

“Yes. My. Lord. I’m sorry.”

“Alright. No problem. You may leave. Ask my father for your payment.”

“Duly noted.”

“Also, I’m coming with you.”

“My Lord? Why? I no longer work under you.”

“Just do it.”

“Urg! Fine.”

The maid stomped out. In a casual outfit, Francis followed her. Behind her, his head barely reached midway up her back. And she wasn’t even of the taller half of the maid army. Still, she kept her eye on him as he sulked along with her. Through a left turn, then a right, then up the stairs, well to be honest, Francis was just going by his memory and her. He dragged his feet along.

The guards parted and let her knock on the door. Francis stayed a fair distance behind. The door creaked open, and a small crack appeared.

“Your Grace, may I please have a word about your son?”

“Did he cause trouble for you again?”

“No. I quit.”

“Alright. Do you still want to work here? Or is it out of the Rayleigh household?”

“Out, Your Grace. Your son is just too hard to work with. He pushed me into the river.”

“I understand that he can be hard to work with.”

He stayed behind her, and she spoke through the crack. Without the acknowledgement of his father, it was safe to say that he was hidden. Francis wasn’t quite sure why he did it, but he just did. Almost instinctively.

“Your Grace, he is very hard to work with.”

“I know, I know. Just tolerate him until he’s of legal age to marry. Then I just send him off to marry an old hag of a princess and that’s done with.”

The maid gasped. She shot a glance at Francis, that he noticed. He shrugged. Without a word from her, she continued on, and pretended that he wasn’t there. And he made no effort to make himself known.

“Your Grace, is that really the best solution?”

“Are you saying you have a better way to get rid of him?”

“Surely there must be something.”

“Despite being born in this family, he has no aura potential. I had a mage take a look at his circuits. Weak, and next to no potential for magic. What future does he have?”

“Your Grace, perhaps a knight? That should give him the disciple he needs.”

“Haha! You’re a good comedian.But no, if you were being serious, every one of my knights hates him too. And he tried picking up a sword before, and he crashed onto the ground. There’s no hope for him. And I can’t kill him either. Sad to say, but he’s fated to live.”

“Fate? What’s that about, Your Grace?”

“Oh, just an old tale. Nothing to worry about. Anyway, I’ll prepare your payment. Do you need temporary housing?”

She shook her head. With a bow, she walked away and closed the door behind. His father muttered a goodbye and well wishes for her future.

With a sigh, she turned around. Moving away from the large wooden doors and guards, they walked into the hallway. She squatted down, and patted his head. The water dripping from her sleeves leaked into his hair.

“My Lord, I don’t know your situation. But if you’re acting like this because of them, then I can understand. Still, you still try your best to behave.”

“Don’t worry about it. Nothing to do with you.”

“If you say so, My Lord.”

---

Francis shook his head. He stood up and walked away. The scene playing through the glass wall continued. The only other person in the room stayed seated. In the darkness, he couldn’t quite make out his figure. But he knew who that was. The one that stole his body. The invader.

---

“Father?” he called out.

He pulled his blanket with him as he stepped onto the cold floor. His bedroom was empty, a table with a pot of flowers, and some scrap papers.

“Mother?”

Francis grabbed a stuffed cat from his bed. Its body fit snugly within his hand. He walked towards the huge door, and pushed on it with his shoulder. The door creaked open without any issue. Actually, it didn’t give any resistance at all. Just earlier in the morning, when he tried to push it open, he had to get a passing maid to do it.

He stepped out and looked around. Through the windows, moonlight leaked in. The paintings warped and shifted. All of his ancestors laid their eyes on him. His great grandfather scowled at the sight of him. Everyone else had similar reactions. Twisting their lips, their faces twitching, and their lips moving silently. They could all respond to each other, talking in some invisible language.

“Disgrace,” one of them whispered.

“Burden,” another followed.

Francis covered his ears and shouted out into the empty hallways again. Calling for his parents, yet no one came. No maid, no curious knight, not butler, not even a passing rat. He walked. And walked, forever more. The hallway was endless, repeating itself over and over again. Francis had passed his great grandmother by five times.

A black hand reached out from the skies. The stars, the blemishes on its body. At first, it was just a single one. Just one. But more started coming out. Like an army making their presence known, a horde of inky black hands reached out. Gigantic, fast, and impossible to escape. They went through the glass, not breaking it but just pierced through. Francis screamed.

When he jolted up, his body reeked of sweat. His light blue pajamas stained dark with the cold sweat. A maid pushed the door open and walked in. Was it a nightmare? That was rare. Francis did not dream often, and less so of nightmares. The last time it happened was long ago, when dear sister Estelle had to leave for school. Lucky for him, Elise was there to keep him occupied. But now? He was alone. A pair of sisters that were away learning, and a brother that had disappeared on them.

“My Lord? Are you okay? Was it a nightmare?”

She towered over him. Cruel, stupid adults. She spoke in a mocking tone. Of course she would. An adult would never have a nightmare. He could see the corners of her lips turn up, an insult was on its way. Those ancestors were right. He looked around the room. Flower pot. Esti and Eli were away. He had to stand up for himself. Steady. Steady.

Francis ignored her. His breathing heavy, and his lungs burned. Walking towards the wooden table, he turned around and looked at her.

“Where is Mother?” he asked.

Mother. Mum, she could take care of him. If anyone could, it was her. The maid closed her eyes in thought.

“I believe the duchess is in the training grounds My Lord. Do you wish to see her?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.” Her words calmed him down. Of course, whether his mother would have even looked at him was a different story.

“Alright. Should I carry you, My Lord?”

His eyes widened at the thought. She was an adult. And adults do not get carried. They were strong, smart, and brave. He had to be like them.

“No.”

“Very well My Lord. Do you know the way?”

“No.” Francis shook his head.

“Then please follow me.”

The maid turned around and walked outside. Her large footsteps allowed her to gain a sizable lead on him, and he had to run just to try to stay at the same pace. From where he was, he could barely see above her skirt without straining his neck.

When they arrived, the knights were fighting. Sword against sword. At the centre of it, was Mother. Her sunshine smile was enough to make anyone happy.

“Mother!” Francis said, his little feet propelling him as fast as he could.

“Fran, what are you doing here?” she spoke while keeping her eyes on the field. Shouting out a command, the watching knights continued their practise.

“I wanted to see you!”

“Aw Fran. Thank you. But... Did you come out here in your pajamas?” She squatted down to look at him eye to eye. “And you’re so sweaty. What happened?”

“Nothing, mother, nothing.”

“Is that so? Then return to your room, sweetie. I’m working right now.”

“What about father? Can I go see him?”

“Aww. Look, Fran, I’m sorry. But we’re both busy. Okay, sweetie?”

“But why mother? You two are always working. Can’t I just...”

“Sweetie. Fran, I’m really sorry. You’ll understand once you’re an adult, okay?”

“Oh... But the paintings on the wall... They talk to me. They call me words I don’t understand.”

“Fran? What do you mean by that?” She grabbed onto his shoulders and looked at him dead in the eye.

“Nothing, mother.” Francis didn’t know why he chose to lie at that moment. But just for a second, her eyes turned murderous. Was she looking at an obstacle? Was he the obstacle?

He could feel his heart beating faster and faster. It pounded within his chest, and it drowned out everything. Everything except his mother.

“Good. I don't know what I would do, haha!” She patted him on the head, ruffling his hair as she ran her fingers through the grey clump. “Everyone, continue on. Nothing to see here. And you, make sure he doesn’t have any more issues, alright?”

---

“You know, we actually have pretty similar childhoods. Just that, well, I only had one parent and you had two. That, and you being rich.”

“Oh? You were a commoner?”

“Yeah... See, nobility isn’t really a thing where I’m from. Instead we have these super rich like 8 people that have pretty much 90% of the world’s money.”

“Holy. Actually, now that you’ve seen everything of me, I think it's your turn. Show me your world”

“I don’t think I have a choice.”

“But why is this even happening? Weren’t you going to throw me into the trash?”

“Probably... Uh, probably something went wrong.”