Chapter 3: Portrait
1008 Words
By the time I came downstairs for lunch, the silence of the Crimson mansion had already started to sink into me. It wasn't a peaceful kind of quiet. It was heavy, pressing, like the house was holding its breath.
The dining room was huge, much bigger than needed. A long wooden table stretched across the room, shiny but worn with age. Yet only two seats were set. One for Aunt Neela and one for me.
The curtains were shut tight, just like in every other room. Sunlight tried to get through but only made weak shadows across the carpet. Above us hung a chandelier, but it was dark. Dust gathered in the corners. The air smelled of lemon polish mixed with old wood.
I had questions circling in my mind since I walked into this house. Why was Aunt Neela the only one looking after such a giant place? Where were the other helpers like the cooks, cleaners, gardeners? And most of all, who was the master of the house, the one whose name no one seemed to say?
But when I saw Aunt Neela already sitting at the table, her back straight and her face unreadable, my questions got stuck in my throat.
She ate with the same sharp control she always had. Her fork rose and fell in steady rhythm. No wasted moves. No pause for small talk. It felt like words themselves were a waste of time.
Still, I couldn't stay quiet forever.
"Aunt Neela," I said softly, "do you manage the whole mansion by yourself?"
Her fork stopped for just a second. Then it lowered again.
"Yes," she said.
That was it. One word. No hint of how she did it, no reason why. Her answer was like a locked door.
I tried again. "And… the master of the house? Where is he?"
This time, her pause was longer. Her lips pressed tight before she spoke.
"The owners, the parents, are dead. Only their son is left."
I blinked. Their son?
So he was the one she meant whenever she said "the master." The heir. The one who owned not only the mansion, but most of Elwood.
"As I've told you," she went on, firm, "he does not welcome strangers in his home."
The words slipped out before I could stop them. "Does he know I'm here?"
Aunt Neela's eyes cut straight to mine. Her stare was sharp, like glass ready to slice.
"He doesn't need to," she said coldly. "He has no interest in us. Remember only one thing."
Her stare grew harder, pinning me in place.
"Never step into the attic."
The words made me shiver. My palms grew damp against the tablecloth.
"I… I understand," I whispered.
"You may clean the first and second floors," she continued, her voice brisk again. "And care for the garden if needed. But the attic is mine. Do not go near it."
My heart thudded as I lowered my eyes. That warning echoed louder than anything else she had said.
After a pause, her tone softened just a little. "Your classes at the community college begin in a few weeks, don't they?"
"Yes," I said quietly.
"That is your main duty. It was Lethia's wish. You promised her, remember?"
My throat tightened, but I nodded. "Yes."
"When you're not studying, you may help me with the house. That is all."
"I understand."
She gave a short nod. "Good. You may also walk the town when you have time. You'll need to run errands."
The thought of walking through that strange, silent town made my stomach twist. I shook my head. "I'll work here first."
"Very well," she said, and we finished the meal in silence.
That night, the quiet of the mansion grew harder to bear. The wind outside stirred the tall trees, their branches scratching the windows. Now and then, the floorboards above me creaked, as if the house shifted in its sleep.
I lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Moonlight stretched pale across my blanket, but it wasn't enough to calm me.
My thoughts kept circling. Why was the attic so important? Why did Aunt Neela forbid me so strongly? Why did she care for the whole mansion alone, when houses half this size had whole staffs? Why did the townspeople stare at me with those sharp, watchful eyes?
The questions spun and spun but never became answers. Maybe I was just being jumpy, I told myself. I grew up in Arandelle. I was used to crowds, noise, life everywhere. This was different. Quieter. I'd adjust. Things would get better.
I held onto that thought until sleep finally pulled me under.
The next morning, I started work.
Breakfast was quick and wordless. Aunt Neela moved with her usual sharp order, then vanished deeper into the house, leaving me to clean.
Most doors on the second floor were locked. Aunt Neela had told me not to touch them. Dust lay over the furniture that wasn't covered with cloth. My job wasn't to bring life, just to keep the silence undisturbed.
Her rules echoed in my head. Never open the curtains. Never unlock a door. Never touch the attic.
Why? What was this house hiding?
As I wiped one hallway, my cloth brushed against a frame hidden by a white sheet. The cover had slipped, showing a corner of what lay beneath. Curiosity tugged at me.
I pulled it back.
And froze.
It was a portrait of a young man. Maybe my age, or a little older. He wore a black suit, his posture proud, his shoulders set like someone born to power. His face was handsome but cold, no smile, only piercing eyes.
I couldn't look away. He seemed alive, as if he might step out of the frame.
Then I saw his eyes.
They weren't brown. They weren't blue. They weren't any normal color at all. They gleamed like metal. Like gold.
A shiver ran down my spine. My breath caught. I dropped the cloth and stepped back.
What the hell is that?
- Writer
