Chapter III

She did as Emile said and poured herself a drink despite the glass being dusty. His brother, Basil, still eyed her with suspicion while Emile cleaned the mess. 

"I apologize for my brother's behavior." he said. "He's just a bit... pessimistic."

"I cannot blame him." she said. "This place is as terrifying as it is beautiful." 

"It used to be beautiful." Basil said, his eyes now showing a hint of loneliness. "It was the gem of nobility in these lands. Parties were held nearly every week, and the Master was always happy." 

"Then what happened?" she asked.

"Then she happened, that's what!" Basil spat angrily as he took a swig from another wine bottle, much to Emile's chagrin. "If she was never even part of this household--"

"Brother, enough!" Emile said, finally done with the cleaning. "The Lady Dorothy did not do anything wrong!"

"Ha, you're one to talk!" Basil said. "She's a witch, that's what she is! Drove the master to madness she did!"

"Madness?" What do you mean?" she asked. She patted her pockets, and to her relief, found the journal written by Dorothy. "And Dorothy, you mean Dorothy Stein? She wrote this, didn't she?" She took out the journal, and Basil instinctively flinched at its sight.

"Get that damned thing away from me!" he roared. "That witch... it's her fault!" Still puzzled, she opened up the journal to try and find anything about the brothers who worked for the mansion. Fortunately, she found a short entry about them in one of the pages. 

It's been quite a day here in the mansion. The guest list is getting longer as Michael's annual business party will begin in a few days' time. The servants, Emile and Basil, are hard at work along with the rest of the kitchen and house staff in ensuring the ballroom is properly decorated. I find Emile to be a very trustworthy companion, but Basil seems to be a bit aloof around my presence for reasons I know not. Anyway, I'll do my best to stay out of trouble and help whenever I'm able to. 

Well that answers the hostile behavior, she thought as she pocketed the small journal.

"They used to have parties here all the time?" she asked. 

"Oh yes, just like what my brother said, they had parties all week." Emile said. "You see, the master is born of nobility from the kingdom of Edessa, and he made even more money by selling this wonderful wine that you see here." He indicated the barrels of wine, and the bottles that were labeled "Sanguinis". "

"Then... what about Dorothy?" she asked. "What did she have to do with him?" 

"The Lady Dorothy was his wife." he answered. "She came here from a family of lower nobility, but the master fell in love with her. She was a kind-hearted and proper young lady who was able to comfort the master and even found time to spend with us, the lowly staff."

"Oh please, Emile!" Basil said, throwing his hands up in the air. "Stop patronizing that witch! Everything went to hell here the moment she stepped in the mansion!"

Emile simply shook his head. "Though my brother has some reservations about her, I still believe she's kind. Everything that happened here... oh dear, even I cannot fathom."

"What really happened here?" she asked. 

"I believe you must find it out for yourself." Emile answered, rather sadly. "Now, it's time for you to make your escape." Basil looked somehow pleased that this mysterious young lady was going to leave his haven, as part of him shuddered as he looked at her. She looks so much like Lady Dorothy, he thought. How is that even possible? 

- - -

"Will you go with me?" she asked, as she and Emile made their way through another rocky passage. "I'm afraid not, milady." he answered. "I must tend to my cleaning duties, else the Master will have my head. Please follow this passage, and this should lead you to the garden outside. From there, I'm afraid you're on your own. Just do your best to avoid the master... and do mind the voices and sights." 

"Wait, what does that mean?" she asked, but Emile had already pushed her out of the small iron-wrought gate at the end of the passage. When she turned back to look, he was already gone. Before her was the mansion's garden, lush and green with an assortment of flowers. There were also statues that adorned the place and as always, the hedge maze. God I hate mazes, she thought, but with no other way, she went into the hedge maze. 

- - -

The sound of an angry scream echoed throughout the hallway as Michael had finally returned to his room, only to find she was gone. But he had tied her up tight, how could she escape? Did she risk breaking her own wrist? Whatever the case, he was not going to let her out of his sight again. 

"Emile! Emile!" Michael called out, and Emile came running from the direction of the library. 

"Yes, sir?"

"You didn't happen to see a lady in this room, have you?" he asked, pacing back and forth angrily. Emile shook his head nervously. 

"N-no, sir... I've been in the library the whole time, cleaning as scheduled." the servant replied. 

This answer seemed to anger Michael further as he backhanded the servant, hitting him clean in the jaw. "I'll look for her myself. Everyone in this bloody estate is useless! Useless!" The grounded Emile could only look on as the insane master of the house began his hunt. Rubbing his jaw, he picked himself up and prayed that the lady wouldn't be found, unlike last time. 

- - -

The maze seemed endless and every turn she took, it was one dead end after another. It was getting irritating. Why would Emile even point her here? Every twist and turn seemed all the same to her, but one right turn finally got her someplace, a small fountain in the middle of the maze. The statue resembled a weeping angel with wings that were cut off, its feet shackled. She couldn't help but remember her own situation: she too was shackled in this hell house. Approaching the statue, she saw another one of those cards from earlier. This one depicted a skeleton hanging upside down, and it said "Hanged Man". She took it, and on the back of the card was another note written in red:

The ultimate sacrifice would be paid if you get caught. Blood for blood, flesh for flesh. A soul is the currency of the Devil, and there is no escaping that sad truth. But for you, there might be hope yet. 

The note was a bit darker. A soul is the currency of the Devil? It didn't make sense but she took the card as it could lead her to finding out the truth behind what was happening. She took a left turn and followed wherever the path led until she saw another small iron gate. Fortunately, the lock was rusty andd she was able to force it open. The passageway was a lot smaller compared to the one she and Emile traversed earlier, and here she had to crawl. As she did, she could hear what seemed to be people chatting above her. 

"Yes the party will be exquisite as always."

"Michael sure knows how to throw parties!"

"Will we see Dorothy? I've heard nothing but good things about her!"

"She's probably one of those low-class women who latched onto him like a leech!"

"Please, let's not pretend like it's not a common occurrence."

How are there any people here, she thought. And a party? Really? It was strange, very strange indeed, that a party would be taking place at this time. Did the guests even know that their host was an insane man who tied up somebody in his room for God knows what reason? In any case, the way they spoke about Dorothy and the party really did reflect on their cluelessness. 

As she kept crawling, she noticed an iron grate above her. It wasn't big enough for her, but it was enough for her to peep through. She looked through it, and saw that she was beneath another ballroom. There were guests who wore beautiful suits and dresses, and there was waltz music playing. 

It unnerved her as she kept crawling until she reached the end of the passage. There was a small dirt mound underneath a larger iron grate that she could fit in. Curious, she sifted through the dirt mound and found a small wooden box. There was a small lock that kept the box closed, but it was rusted. She took the box and opened the grate.

She poked her head out and found that she was in a hallway that led to several rooms, possibly one of them being the ballroom. She heard footsteps coming from one of the corridors and decided to hide once again, closing the grate quietly. 

"When I get my hands on her, I swear..." came the angry voice of Michael as he passed walked down the hallway. From the grate she saw him walk past her, and thankfully he didn't look down, but from the way he stomped, she could tell he was angry. His footsteps disappeared, and she was able to finally able to get out of the underground passage. 

She ran down the length of the opposite corridor, and at the end there were three doors: one in front of her, one on the right and another on the left. Something was poking out of the gap on the door at the right, and approaching it, she saw there was another tarot card which depicted a hooded skeleton wielding a large scythe. She didn't need to be a fortune teller to know what it meant, as the card was "Death". She flipped it and saw another note, which said:

When you open this door, here you will see the end of all things. The end of happiness, the end of love. Open at your own risk.

Now she knew better than to open a door with a warning that said "Open at your own risk". After all, she wasn't some sort of horror movie character who had poor decision-making skills, but she couldn't dawdle here, and whenever she saw those tarot cards with the red notes, it seemed to be a clue that led her...somewhere. The truth? A way out? Either way she couldn't stay and chose to enter that door.

She expected something along the lines of a bloody torture chamber, given the macabre warning on the card, but she found herself in a library once again. Unlike the other libraries she'd seen, this one seemed...abandoned. Cobwebs were all over the shelves and dust had caked onto the luxurious sofa and the book covers.

The writing desk looked very well-made but years of neglect caused the paint to fade, and the leather on the chair was torn. The curtains on the windows were so moth-eaten, there was barely any fabric left. On the dusty table were sheets of yellowing parchment, and the writing wasn't so faded, so she decided to read it.

They said it was madness.

They said it was heresy.

I care not. Heaven does not answer me. The Church had turned me away. 

I am all alone. 

If He will not answer his faithful child, perhaps his wayward son will hear my pleas. 

- Michael

It seemed to be the beginning of a journal entry, and as she leafed through the sheets, she saw nothing but images of pentagrams, medieval drawings of what seemed to be demons, and on the final sheet, there seemed to be an incantation written in an indecipherable alphabet, and judging from the somewhat rusty color of the ink, it was written in red ink, or probably blood. She wouldn't put it past the madman to use his own blood as ink anyway. She then heard his tell-tale footsteps from behind the door, and, seeing no other place to hide except behind a large dresser, she ran to it and made sure not to make a single sound as the door opened.