The city of Verilia—
was beautiful.
At night, it glittered as if it knew nothing of blood,
nothing of screams no one ever heard.
Oil lamps reflected off the cobblestone streets.
Markets buzzed with life.
Women exchanged chatter and laughter.
Vendors shouted calls the night had long grown used to.
And in the corners—
drunken bodies swayed,
laughter rang too loud,
songs clashed out of tune.
Inside a crowded tavern, thick with smoke and the stench of alcohol, men and women flirted shamelessly. Glasses were raised. Trivial conversations spilled out, as if the world held not a single dark secret.
At one table sat four men, their faces flushed with drink.
One of them slammed his glass down and scoffed.
“Can you believe it? My wife left me! Just because I won’t quit smoking! What’s the problem? It’s what I like! Besides, she enjoys sleeping with other men!”
They burst into laughter.
Another wiped his mouth with his sleeve.
“Women are all the same… selfish. They don’t understand a thing.”
At that moment—
the bartender approached.
A young server.
Thick black hair fell in soft strands across his face, lending him a quiet, striking handsomeness.
Wide blue eyes—clear enough to draw attention.
Simple black clothes, clean and neat.
A small notebook in his hand, where he wrote orders in silence.
He stopped at their table.
“Your order?”
His voice was calm… too calm.
The men began to flirt with him, their laughter rotten, their words soaked in alcohol and shamelessness.
One of them grinned.
“What a pretty face… are you a boy or a girl?”
The server slowly lifted his gaze.
The smile vanished.
Coldly, sharply, he said,
“If you don’t order now, I’ll consider this table empty.”
Silence fell.
Something in his voice—
it wasn’t shouting,
it wasn’t an open threat,
yet it made the air grow heavy.
They exchanged glances. One of them hurriedly said,
“J-Just bring us beer.”
He wrote it down without another word, then turned and moved toward another table—his steps light, efficient.
One of the men whispered after he left,
“So thin…”
Another added,
“And that pale skin… like porcelain…”
A third laughed.
“He’s way too soft-looking for a boy.”
Then a brief silence.
“What’s someone like him…”
one muttered, staring at his back,
“doing in a place like this?”
The tavern owner shouted hoarsely as he beat eggs violently, oil splattering everywhere.
“Elian! Come help me!”
Elian stepped forward at once, grabbed a glass bottle, and began shaking it at incredible speed—precise and powerful at the same time.
The owner froze for a moment, staring in surprise. Then he laughed and slapped Elian’s shoulder hard enough to make bones cry out.
“Well done! I really rely on you.”
He turned away to talk to a friend.
Elian’s head dipped slightly from the force of the blow. He clenched his teeth and whispered,
“You broke my shoulder…”
Then—
He smiled.
A light, clever smile.
He lifted his gaze…
not at anyone in the tavern.
But at us.
At the fourth wall.
And said cheerfully, as if sharing a delicious secret,
“Hello… did you enjoy that pacing, dear readers?”
Then he added, still shaking the bottle vigorously,
“I’m Elizabeth.”
Part of the world stopped.
“I disguised myself as a boy and pretend my name is Elian…”
she chuckled softly,
“for the sake of money.”
Her hands kept moving automatically, her body working—but her mind was with us.
“Let me explain.”
Her tone softened, grew deeper.
“After everything that happened at the manor… a crazy idea crossed my mind.”
She smiled to the side.
“I’ll run away.”
She sighed.
“Surprised? I doubt it.”
Then, realistically—mercilessly:
“But running away requires money. A lot of money.”
“My monthly pay at the manor? It wouldn’t even buy me a single road far away.”
She shook the bottle. Foam rose.
“And so… here I am.”
Her voice dropped slightly, and she laughed bitterly.
“And I realized something else.”
“My room… and Lucy’s room…”
She paused.
“...is cursed.”
She looked at us again, blue eyes glinting under the tavern lights.
“So… I’m sorry, Lucy.”
A sad, honest smile.
“I’ll leave you there…”
“Alone.”
She continues explaining, as if she’s telling an ordinary story…
not outlining an escape plan from an entire life:
“I asked Mr. Andrew—the head butler—for a day off.”
She shrugs casually.
“I told him I needed rest. It sounded convincing enough.”
She lets out a light laugh.
“And that day… I went shopping.”
Her voice drops slightly, like she’s sharing a secret:
“I bought boys’ clothes. Simple. Dark. Unremarkable.”
“Then—and purely by coincidence… or maybe the manor’s curse itself—”
She pauses.
“I found a boy’s wig… under the drawer in my room.”
She raises a brow, her surprise still genuine.
“I don’t know how it got there. I don’t know who it belonged to.”
“But it was… perfect.”
A small smile curves her lips.
“And that’s when everything became clear.”
She waves the bottle in her hand.
“By day: a maid at the manor.”
“By night: a server at this tavern.”
Then a voice calls out from one of the tables:
“Elian! Come sit with us!”
She turns, hesitates for half a second—then goes.
She sits among them like a slender boy, crosses one leg over the other with practiced confidence, and picks up a glass.
They talk about random things—
women, work, bad luck.
She laughs with them.
She drinks.
One of them pats her shoulder.
“You’re young, but you understand how the world works, Elian.”
She takes a sip and thinks:
If only you knew…
She takes another sip.
The alcohol burns her throat slightly, and she smiles inwardly—
as if savoring a small victory.
By the way…
she thinks casually,
my assignment was changed.
She laughs silently.
I was unconscious for an entire week…
I was replaced. Just like that.
Then she lifts her head a little, her eyes shining with sincere, almost childish pride:
And I was assigned to the stables.
The word stables alone makes her chest feel lighter.
I take care of the horses.
I groom them, feed them… and break every rule with a smile.
Her grin widens.
I feed them more than I’m supposed to.
I let them wander wherever they want.
Kyaaah…
How adorable.
A strange warmth fills her whenever she remembers their noses brushing her shoulder, their soft neighs when they see her coming.
Animals are better than people.
As the saying goes: animals are more honest than humans… because they don’t know masks.
She lifts her glass slightly, as if in celebration:
And I managed to get away from that psychopath—Adrian.
A silent laugh echoes in her chest.
Hahahaha…
And I’ll succeed in escaping.
I’ll finally live a normal life.
The thought slips in—clear and gentle:
Her, on a small farm.
Waking up with the sun.
Working with her hands.
Cooking simple food.
Falling asleep exhausted… but unafraid.
No manor.
No blood.
Just life.
Ordinary.
…
Comments (1)
See all