Marked By The Gaze

A howl tore through the night like it was trying to rip open the sky.

Not a dog. Not a wolf.

It sounded… wrong, deep and unnatural. Like a scream that had grown teeth.

I sat up in bed, heart racing, knife already halfway out from under the pillow.

Silence.

I stared at the window. Trees, mist. Nothing.

Then I rolled back onto the bed and muttered, “Who lets their emotional support bear out this late?”

I closed my eyes. But I didn’t sleep.

I waited.

The next morning, I was dressed before the sun finished waking up.

James, forever carved from old marble and unresolved trauma waited at my door.

“The master will see you now,” he said.

“Oh good,” I yawned. “Was worried I’d miss today’s 'Stare Like a Cult Leader’ meeting.”

He didn’t blink. I’m convinced he doesn’t need to.

The easy study was everything I expected. Dramatic bookshelves, unnecessary candles, and curtains so heavy they could double as body bags.

Standing by the window, back perfectly straight like he practiced, was Master Ivan.

Tall, sharp and moody. The kind of man who probably practiced brooding professionally.

“You’re early,” he said without turning.

“Traffic was light. The ghost carriage really sped things up.”

He turned. Eyes locked onto mine.

And in that exact moment, my mark burned.

Not fire. More like an electric pulse zipped down my spine, like someone had zapped my nerves awake.

My whole body stiffened, but only for half a second.

I recovered quickly.

Must’ve been the weather. Nerve glitch. Scar tissue acting up.

Yeah. That made more sense.

“You may call me Master Ivan,” he said, voice crisp, direct.

“Of course,” I replied with a polite smile. “Happy to serve, Master Ivan.”

I hated every syllable, but if I’ve learned one thing in this business, it’s better to play dumb than play dead.

He nodded once and gestured to the table between us.

“These documents require sorting. Prioritize urgent ones for my review,”

“Urgency by what?” I asked, already flipping one open. “Explosiveness? Lawsuits? Threats of blood curses?”

He blinked at that.

The room felt heavier for a moment. Or maybe I was just imagining it.

“Business correspondence, mostly,” he said calmly.

Right. Because businesses send handwritten letters sealed in wax with symbols that look like wolf claws.

Still, I nodded and got to work. Eyes scanning, hands moving, brain memorizing.

Play the role. Gain his trust. Learn everything.

Every few minutes, Ivan would look up from his silent brooding. And every time our eyes met, that buzz happened again in my shoulder.

The mark.

What the hell was happening?

I started keeping count.

Mark reaction count, three. It's triggers, direct eye contact. Duration,1.5 seconds. The effect? Minor disorientation.

I logged it mentally.

Either he was bugged with some kind of frequency or I was having a very targeted neurological malfunction.

Either way, I’d find out.

“That’s enough for now,” Ivan said at last.

I closed the final folder and stood up.

“Productive morning. I only hallucinated twice,” I said with a fake grin.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Noted."

He left the room without another word.

Rude. But also easier to snoop after.

As I stepped into the hallway, I bumped into a maid carrying a tray of tea.

She was small. Barefoot. Hair like a storm cloud. Her apron had chalk symbols drawn on it like some kind of kindergarten wizard cosplay.

“Oops! My fault,” she said brightly.

"You’ve got those, 'I work for dark Lord eyes. Easy to miss.”

I stared at her. “Are you okay?”

“Oh, no. I was cursed with charisma and boundless energy. But I manage.”

She winked and shoved a cookie in my hand.

“You’re new. You smell like new.”

“Thanks? I think?”

She extended a hand. “Name’s Merlin.”

“Like the wizard?”

“Exactly like the wizard. But with better tea.”

I blinked at her. “Is this a real place or a theatrical fever dream?”

Merlin leaned in and whispered. “Mystique Gore is the kind of town that keeps its secrets wrapped in fresh linen and smiles. You’ll see!”

She winked again and skipped down the hall.

Okay. Officially unhinged.

I chalked her up as “possibly delusional,” but somehow I didn’t toss the cookie.

Later, in my room, I opened my encrypted phone and logged the day.

Encrypted Report – High Table

Observation Log: #003

Master Ivan: Interacted directly. Commands presence. Possible neural frequency interference—triggered physical response in mark. Frequency unknown. Investigate further.

Mansion: Heavy symbolism. Letters sealed with unknown sigils. Herb smell present. Fireplaces burn something other than wood—composition pending.

Staff:

— James (butler): Emotionless, possibly trained in high-level stillness. Unnerving.

— “Merlin” (maid): Exhibits bizarre behavior. Highly verbal. Possibly unstable. No threat detected.

General Notes: Mansion architecture non-standard. Mirror reflection delayed slightly on the first-floor west hallway. Might be a lighting issue. Will test again.

Personal Note: Maintaining submissive persona to gather intelligence. Master Ivan may be linked to the memory disruption or mark activation. Continuing observation. Zero indication of anything “supernatural”—likely tech or drugs involved.

That night, I wandered the hall again.

Not snooping. Not exactly.

Just observing. Listening. Waiting.

Until something moved.

A shadow flickered across the corridor at the far end too quick. Too silent.

I reached for my knife.

Paused.

It was gone.

No. Not gone. Moved. It was on the wrong hip.

I’d never misplaced a blade in my life.

I reached for it, adjusted, and scanned the corridor. Empty.

“Okay. Definitely something weird going on,” I whispered.

Still—not supernatural. Not ghosts. Not werewolves. Not whatever.

Just… weird.

And I was going to find out exactly what kind of “weird” this place was hiding.

Even if it meant pretending to be the most well-behaved little assistant on earth.

For now.