Chapter 1
There weren’t many things little Lucy could do in this grand mansion.
She fed the horses, goats, and cows at the right times, helped prepare every meal, and once she finished cleaning the stairs assigned to her, the sun would already be setting into the late evening.
And on days like today, when dark clouds threatened to pour rain at any moment, her aunt’s errand to fetch kerosene always awaited her.
The storage shed where the oil was kept wasn’t far from the mansion, but because the piled-up crates blocked the windows and made it pitch dark, Lucy didn’t like this errand very much.
“Lucy. Hurry along now.”
“Yes, Auntie…”
Her aunt, who was sitting down at a table with other servants sorting sewing materials, urged her on.
Unlike Lucy, who went to bed early because she was still young, her aunt worked late into the night. Lucy knew she couldn’t keep dawdling any longer for her aunt’s sake.
Though Lucy was a little slow and awkward compared to other children her age, she still felt grateful to her aunt for taking her in when she had nowhere to go after her parents died of a fever.
Realistically speaking, if she didn’t do her work properly and was thrown out of the mansion, there would be nothing waiting for her but a harsh life wandering the streets.
“Aunt Raila, sweet candy, Lucy’s two favorite things…”
Humming a tune she made up herself, Lucy headed toward the shed but suddenly felt a chill down her back and quickly turned her head.
But other than the occasional damp breeze, the backyard looked as empty as usual.
Though summer was near, she kept feeling cold, so she pulled the hood of her worn cloak tighter around her head. Before she knew it, the shed was right in front of her.
With a creak, the door opened like the mouth of a dark cave.
She suddenly remembered a story she once heard from a storyteller at the market when she went there with her aunt—a terrifying monster living deep in a cave in a huge mountain on an unknown continent beyond the Empire.
Her hand, gripping the doorknob far above her eye level, trembled.
Shaking off her pointless fear, Lucy reminded herself of her aunt and the other servants waiting impatiently for her and steadied her mind.
Dragging a bucket full of water to hold the door open, she could see a bit better thanks to the evening light seeping in from outside.
Glancing back several times, she reached the oil drum, quickly plugged the mouth of her leather pouch into the opening, and began to fill it. All the while, her emerald green eyes kept darting sideways to the wide-open door.
Only when the pouch was finally full did a small sigh of relief escape her lips.
Having completed her heavy task, Lucy wanted to get out of the creepy shed as quickly as possible and moved in a hurry.
After returning the bucket to its place and carefully locking the door latch, she turned back with a light heart—only for the oil pouch in her small arms to tumble to the ground with a thud.
A soft breeze blew by, knocking back her hood and letting her fine hair flutter like golden threads.
But Lucy was too terrified to notice her hood had fallen off or that she had dropped the oil pouch. It was because she saw, far off by the mansion’s back door, a small figure glaring in her direction.
She secretly called him ‘the little master’—and a devil child.
The pale face with crimson lips and ashen hair was unsettling enough, but those pale sky-blue eyes, so clear they almost turned transparent in the sunlight, made her knees weak every time she saw them.
Just meeting his gaze made her heart pound wildly, and since the day she first arrived and greeted him, he had followed her around, staring fixedly—it was all too strange and eerie.
The wind blew again.
Only when the little master’s gray hair fluttered like smoke did Lucy snap back to her senses.
She quickly grabbed the fallen oil pouch and pulled her hood back on. But just as she turned to hurry away, her steps froze.
The back door would have been the quickest way back, but with the little master blocking it like that, there was no way she could go in.
A shadow of frustration clouded her flushed eyes. In the end, she circled around the mansion to the front door, where her aunt scolded her for being so late.
When her aunt told her there would be no snacks tomorrow since she hadn’t done her errand properly, Lucy drooped her shoulders and trudged off to her room.
She hated the little master. His eyes, always watching her every move, made her shiver.
Tonight, too, she would probably dream a nightmare of running from his cold, piercing gaze.
Sighing, Lucy grabbed the doorknob to the small room she shared with her aunt at the top of the stairs, but turned her head again when she felt another chill.
Sure enough, there he was, far off again, staring holes through her as if he’d been waiting all along.
So terrified, she completely forgot her aunt’s warnings to always behave quietly and politely. She slammed the door shut with a bang.
Then she threw herself onto the bed, buried under the blanket, and prayed to any god who would listen. Please, please make the little master stay away from me.
And so, Lucy couldn’t fall asleep until her exhausted aunt finally returned from her long day’s work.
That pale face floated endlessly through her mind, tearing at her tender heart until dawn.
“Lucy, Lucy. Wake up now.”
“…Are we there yet, Auntie?”
“Yes. Once we pass that big tree, it’ll be Baron Aiden’s estate.”
On a spring day when the fields overflowed with flowers, Lucy barely managed to open her eyes inside the cramped carriage, clutching her pounding head.
Her frail body had reached its limit after the long journey. The rough forest road made the carriage jolt so much that she had thrown up more than once.
The thought that she could finally stand on solid ground made her dull eyes sparkle.
“Wow… Auntie, the mansion is so big!”
“It is… Looks like there’ll be no end of work.”
Unlike Lucy, who admired the mansion, which was even grander than the previous earl’s estate, her aunt, worn out by the harshness of the world, could only sigh.
If only there were enough servants.
She steeled herself, remembering the previous house where, despite the title of earl, there hadn’t been twenty servants because of their declining fortune.
Thankfully, the steward who had thought well of them had personally written a letter of recommendation for this place. Even if it meant collapsing while working, she had to bury her bones here.
“Lucy. What did I tell you to do once we get inside?”
“Don’t make eye contact with the masters, don’t answer back, don’t talk too much, and… always greet them properly. Walk quietly, as if I’m not even there.”
“That’s right. Our Lucy is so clever. You’ll do well, right?”
“Yes, Auntie. I’ll do my best.”
A dry finger stroked the head of the child who nodded vigorously with her lips pressed tight.
Feeling comforted by that, Lucy pressed closer to the figure walking ahead of her.
Her aunt had told her that this mansion was the best place they could hope to live. Now, and in the future too.
Past a wide garden where roses were in full bloom, they finally reached a door so large it seemed ten times bigger than Lucy.
Knock, knock, knock. Her aunt lifted the heavy, gold-plated knocker and rapped it a few times before a tall gentleman appeared.
Could that be the baron? Lucy glanced at him but quickly lowered her head, recalling her aunt’s instructions.
“Welcome.”
“Hello. We were introduced by Count Lowell.”
“I received the letter. Please, come in.”
Following the polite gentleman, Lucy once again lowered her head under the weight of glances checking them over.
Then, distracted by the pretty pattern on the carpet under her old shoes, her wide eyes drifted to the mansion’s lobby.
The white interior, stretching up to the high ceiling, felt almost mystical and solemn.
The pale furniture looked old but was well cared for, and the windows were spotless without a single smudge.
Rather than being packed with lavish decorations, the minimum number of paintings displayed scenes of forests, fields, and seas—beautiful landscapes.
Lucy, who was used to portraits surrounded by gaudy ornaments, found herself standing in front of a frame of a port without realizing it. The sunlight glittering on the water and the large ships with sails felt so unfamiliar.
“Lucy. What are you doing over there?”
“Oh! I’m sorry, Auntie.”
Caught staring up at the large frame that was taller than most adults, Lucy dashed over to her aunt with a start.
She whispered apologies to her aunt, who was scolding her silently with her eyes, then took a deep breath. They had reached the baron’s study before she knew it.
“My lord, the new servant has arrived.”
“Let them in.”
As the gentleman opened the door, her aunt held Lucy’s small hand tightly.
She had to make a good impression on the one they would be serving from now on—it was important to start things off right.
“Who did you say recommended you?”
“Count Lowell from the North.”
“Ah, I see.”
The baron looked busy. Sitting at his large desk, he was constantly signing paper after paper with a plain-colored quill.
Stacks of thick documents, tied together with string, were piled high on the desk. Seeing them, Lucy worried, What if those fall over?
“It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Raila, and this is my niece, Lucy.”
“Ah, hello, sir.”
At Raila’s gentle push, Lucy bowed so low that her small head nearly touched the floor.
After giving a big greeting and straightening her swaying body, Lucy lowered her gaze and fidgeted with her fingers.
At that moment, she heard a quiet giggle from somewhere.
Startled, she looked up to see a boy sitting alone at a table beneath the window, playing chess by himself.
With the same ashen hair and sky-blue eyes as the baron, the boy stared at Lucy without blinking.
Then, tap—one of the chess pieces in his hand knocked over another piece, sending them scattering.
Lucy quickly turned her head away, but the sharp gaze pricked her cheek like needles.
“The child…”
“She’s still young, but she understands well and works hard. I’ll make sure she—”
“That’s enough. No need to explain further. I won’t turn the child away.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Some employers disliked children because feeding and housing them cost more than their worth, so Raila had been a little nervous.
Fortunately, the owner of the mansion they would now call home seemed to have a gentle nature despite his stern appearance.
The look he gave Lucy carried a surprising warmth.
Raila breathed a soft sigh of relief, squeezing Lucy’s small hand one more time before letting it go.
“Please take good care of us, Baron.”
“I trust you will do your part well. Speak to the steward about your quarters and duties. That will be all.”
“Yes, my lord. Thank you.”
With her head bowed low, Raila gently nudged Lucy’s back, and Lucy quickly bent into another deep bow, mimicking her aunt’s every move.
As they stepped out of the study, the door closing behind them, Lucy could still feel the boy’s sky-blue eyes lingering on her like a cold touch at the nape of her neck.
She stuck close to her aunt’s side, so close that the hem of Raila’s worn skirt nearly brushed her cheek.
The steward, waiting just down the hallway, led them to the servants’ quarters at the back of the mansion.
The hallways they passed through were wide and bright, yet Lucy found herself glancing behind her every few steps.
The image of the little master’s pale eyes was still sharp in her mind, like a ghost that wouldn’t fade.
“Lucy, you mustn’t look so frightened,” Raila whispered, leaning down as they walked. “We’ll be safe here if we do our work properly. Understand?”
“Yes, Auntie…”
Lucy clutched the handle of the small bundle that contained all her belongings—a spare dress, a handkerchief with faded embroidery, and the little wooden doll her mother had carved for her.
The servants’ quarters were small but clean. The room Lucy and Raila were given was even smaller than the attic back at the count’s house, but the floor was swept, the window let in soft light, and the straw mattress looked softer than any she’d slept on in months.
Raila turned to her with a tired but firm smile. “We are fortunate, Lucy. It will be hard, but if we work well, we won’t go hungry or cold.”
“Yes, Auntie. I’ll work really hard.”
Lucy’s voice was small but steady. She laid her bundle on the bed and carefully unfolded her thin blanket on top of the straw.
She peeked out the window as her aunt spoke with another older maid who came to greet them.
Through the branches of a huge, spreading oak tree, she could see a small figure walking in the garden below.
It was the little master again—his ash-gray hair pale in the morning light as he stepped among the flower beds alone.
Lucy’s small hand gripped the windowsill so hard her knuckles turned white.
She had promised her aunt she wouldn’t cause trouble. She had promised she would work hard. She must not get noticed. She must not draw his attention.
Yet somehow, that cold gaze found her every time.
Lucy’s days settled into a pattern quickly.
Each morning before the sun rose, she swept the wide front steps, polished the brass handles of the heavy front doors, then helped in the kitchen peeling vegetables or carrying buckets of water to fill the washbasins.
Though her small hands turned red and raw and her back ached before noon, she clenched her teeth and endured it.
Her aunt, who worked even harder than she did, praised her with a tired pat on the shoulder every night.
“You did well today, Lucy. You make me proud.”
Those few words were enough to fill Lucy’s tiny heart with warmth.
If only it weren’t for the little master.
Whenever she looked up, he would be there—in the corridor’s shadow, at the far end of the garden, on the stairs just as she turned a corner.
He never said a word to her. He never came closer. He only watched.
Sometimes, when she was alone in the dark storage room or carrying firewood to the cellar, she would feel his gaze on her back so clearly that she would drop whatever she was holding.
When she told Raila about it in a trembling voice, her aunt only pressed a finger to Lucy’s lips.
“Hush. He is the young master of this house. Do not speak of him carelessly. Just keep your head down and work.”
So Lucy did.
She worked and worked and worked—scrubbing floors until her knees bruised, dusting high shelves she could barely reach, washing vegetables in water so cold her hands turned numb.
And always, those sky-blue eyes.
One evening, after a day of heavy rain, Lucy was alone in the narrow corridor that connected the servants’ entrance to the back garden.
She was carrying a basket of clean cloths, the ends of her sleeves soaked through from hanging laundry under the dripping eaves.
Just as she turned the corner, she froze.
There he was again.
The little master stood under a flickering wall sconce, the pale flame making his ashen hair glow faintly gold.
His eyes met hers, wide and clear and impossible to look away from.
Lucy’s small chest tightened so hard it hurt.
She clutched the basket to her chest, lowered her gaze, and stepped aside—just as her aunt had taught her.
But as she tried to pass, something soft brushed the back of her hand.
Startled, she looked up.
He was so close she could see the pale down of baby hair at his temple, the faint curve of his cheek.
His lips moved as if to say something, but no sound came out.
Lucy’s breath caught in her throat. Her knees wobbled.
And then—like smoke—the little master turned and slipped away into the shadows, leaving only the soft echo of his bare footsteps behind.
Lucy stood there for a long moment, clutching her basket so tightly the cloths inside were crushed and wrinkled.
That night, under her thin blanket, Lucy squeezed her eyes shut and prayed as hard as she could.
Please, please… let the little master forget about me.
But somewhere in her heart, deep down where even her prayers couldn’t reach, a tiny, cold fear whispered that it was already too late.
1
