The father of the current Lord Cliff Redgrave — Sir Albert — had been considered a worthy and prudent ruler during his lifetime. The servants whispered among themselves around him, but he paid them no mind.

  He sat before a canvas long gone dry, still holding a brush in his hand, painting as if each work were a part of himself.

  The child cried. Juliana did not.

  His wife’s portraits hung in the chamber for a long time — like shadows of the past settling in the depths of memory, fading, but never truly vanishing.

  Meals were brought in and taken out untouched. Barely sleeping, he spent hours staring out the window, oblivious to day or night. He forgot about appearances, responsibilities… and even his son — the last piece of his late wife left in this world.

  The former chambermaid to Juliana could not watch this decline indifferently. She had always been quiet, always smiling.

  “My lord… you must eat,” she said, placing a tray of food on the table.

  Albert did not respond.

  She began talking about small things — the weather, the market, a stray cat she had seen — even though he never answered. Day after day, the lord seemed to fade — slowly, without resistance.

  One day, Esther brought a blank canvas and paints into the room.

  "Paint," she said timidly. "Even just a little."

  He didn’t respond. But that night, for the first time in a long while, he picked up a brush.

  Sometimes Esther would hum — softly, sadly, with hints of warm memories.

  Stroke by stroke, Albert was returning to his art. His paintings were cold, dark… yet with each new piece, more light appeared.

  The room was often dirty, but Esther cleaned it patiently, without complaint.

  One evening, drunk from wine and loneliness, Albert saw in her the features of his wife. For the first time, he spoke her name softly.

  One evening she laughed at a stain of paint on his cheek — and Albert realized he hadn’t heard laughter in months. Something else began to bloom between them, something warmer...

  He returned to work, spent time with his son, and painted with wild passion, recreating portraits of his wife and embedding memories within them…

  Later, his new model would be the one who had saved him from loneliness — not a servant, but much more.

  “You’re my muse,” he said one day.

  Esther was an orphan. She had dreamed of seeing the sea — a dream she had never had money to fulfill.

  Albert was teaching her to paint in various styles and genres.

  “You’re a genius! Did you know that?” he asked.

  “I’ve got a great teacher,” Esther replied shyly.

  “One day, you will see the sea. Hear the seagulls, feel the sea breeze… I promise.”

  Yet their happiness could not last forever. Her service was ending. She told him she would leave.

  “I must leave…”

  He was drunk, consumed by doubt and fear, growing heavier with every moment. In a surge of emotion, Albert struck her.

  “You’re leaving me too?” he whispered.

  Esther didn’t scream; she simply left him alone in silence.

  That evening, Albert looked in the mirror — and was horrified by what he had become.

  Esther knew:

  This is wrong… Our feelings have no place in this world. They will bring only pain.

  They belonged to different social classes, and at that time, they were never meant to be together.

  He tried to convince her, promising her everything — even the world itself.

  “Forgive me, I can’t…”

  “Why?! Answer me! If you don’t… I won’t let go,” he said, caught in emotion.

  “This is wrong. I’m not her. And I never will be.” she whispered, clutching at her chest.

  “No… it can’t be… you’re lying, right?..”

  From that moment, Albert did not trouble her again.

  Before her departure, he took Esther up to the third floor. The right wing had long been abandoned and was to be bricked up. All that remained was a narrow passage inside.

  “I want to show you something important,” he said.

  They crawled through and entered a space resembling a large room. There were all the most precious things — paintings, letters, family relics.

  “It’s… so beautiful…” whispered Esther.

  It was dark; the only source of light was a beam from the passage they had entered through.

  Taking advantage of the moment, Albert seized a heavy object and hit her on the back of the head.

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  I won’t let you go, he thought.

  Esther lost consciousness before she could comprehend anything.

  She heard bricks sliding into place, one after another, and woke to complete darkness.

  Her hands and feet were bound with chains, the entrance was sealed, and the pain in her head reminded her sharply of itself. Touching the back of her head, she felt warm, sticky blood trickle down her neck.

  “Help me…” her weak voice dissolved into the void.

  With time, she understood.

  Albert… Could it be… I’m going to die here?..

  Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Esther could see the paintings — landscapes, portraits of herself. Everything he loved.

  “So… this is how you decided to leave me here…” she said through clenched teeth, barely audible.

  Two days had passed without food or water. At this point, her throat hurt even more than the wound on her head.

  She had no strength left to rise, forced to relieve herself right where she was. The air turned suffocating, heavy with an acrid stench.

  Her cries for help went unanswered, swallowed by the oppressive silence.

  How long have I been here? A day? An hour? A few hours? A week? No… I’d be dead already.

  Sleeping in that position was impossible. From time to time, she felt as if insects were crawling over her body… Esther looked dreadful; dehydration was taking its toll.

  Maybe he’ll come?.. I doubt it… What am I even hoping for?

  The darkness before her eyes faded, giving way to visions of the sea — its gentle breeze, the distant cries of seagulls, and warm sand beneath her feet.

  The revolting stench pulled her back to reality.

  Will I die?.. No. I’ll escape! And I’ll see it for myself!

  AAAAHHAAH…! — with a wild scream, in despair, Esther tore herself free from the chains.

  Her hands and feet were lacerated, the skin on her wrists and ankles oozing blood.

  “WHY?! FOR WHAT?!”

  Free — weak, yet consumed by rage and betrayal — she destroyed everything in her path.

  “Albert… why…?”

  The bricked-up wall refused to give way to her blows; her hands were becoming more and more covered in blood. The pain was numbed by emotions that raged uncontrollably within her.

  “I… you…”

  Rage turned into disappointment, accompanied by tears.

  Exhaling, she noticed a wooden chest in the corner filled with canvases.

  Taking one, Esther began painting portraits of Albert with her own blood — again and again. She created with her hair, nails, and tears, pouring herself entirely into her work.

  Memories surfaced as vivid images, relentlessly changing one after another, like a kaleidoscope of madness…

  Bleeding and gasping, Esther pressed the perfect portrait to her chest. It was still warm when her arms finally fell.

  Her love, anger, grief, despair, disappointment, hope, and loneliness would not allow her to depart in peace.

  In the dead of night, Albert heard breathing beside him in the empty room. His body tensed instantly. Esther tried to touch him, but her hand passed right through.

  Murderous intent burned in her eyes, yet she lacked the strength to make it real.

  She stayed close, never leaving, watching him — his carefree existence. The sight triggered a surge of emotions rapidly growing.

  Slowly, she began to drive him mad, reminding him of his sin through anomalies.

  Months later, panic-stricken, he dismissed the servants. Only he, his son, and one maid — Megan — remained in the mansion.

  When Esther finally managed to materialize, she prepared to kill him… but he stood before a painting.

  “Forgive me…” he whispered gently, touching a seascape, letting tears fall.

  Esther froze, sensing his sincerity.

  At that moment, the maid — Megan, the only remaining servant — entered.

  She began blackmailing the lord, demanding wealth in exchange for her silence. During their conversation, it became clear Megan had heard the faint female scream and knew about the sealed right wing.

  Esther’s anger shifted.

  A mercenary bitch…

  That same night, the maid disappeared. Later, new staff were hired, and monthly disappearances of women became routine.

  The otherworldly events stopped haunting the lord. The nightmare began to torment women.

  Feeling guilt, Albert expelled everyone from the mansion, hoping to deal with everything alone. He dismantled the masonry and opened the passage — but never dared enter. The baron fell and begged, begged for forgiveness…

  There was no answer.

  Esther stood behind him, not fully understanding who she had been and who she truly was.

  The narrow passage was sealed again, leaving the past in the past.

  The mansion remained empty for a time, yet strange disappearances in towns, villages, and other countries continued, leaving no trace. Accepting punishment, the family estate returned to normal life.

  Albert lived in the house for years, finally meeting his death. Just before the end, he saw Esther again.

  “I am so sorry… Come with me…” whispered the lord with his last strength.

  She touched him — and let go. At the same moment, Esther began dissolving into white light, walking through the mansion one last time…

  The servants whispered in corners, twisting the truth, turning the baron into a monster, sullying the goodness that had been in him.

  He had made a mistake, yet… How dare they?!

  The light surrounding her faded. The chance to rest had vanished, and the darkness that had once been within her only deepened.

  Years passed, memory warped and faded. Esther herself barely noticed she had begun acting on autopilot. First — once a month. Now — weekly.

  Little of her personality remained…

  ***

  “This is my version of the events. It’s based on testimonies from former staff — especially those who took part in sealing and preparing that place. As for the emotions and sensations I described… they come from my own experience,” the detective said coldly. “Perhaps it happened differently — less cruel, or far worse. But we’ll never know.”

  “Her fate was a hard one…” murmured Lynette. “I feel sorry for her.”

  “Everyone has their problems,” Dorian replied dryly.

  He turned to Cliff:

  “Please join the people outside.”

  “Alright, I won’t intrude… And thank you for telling me about my father.”

  The baron left. Dorian handed Lynette the satchel.

  “Let’s begin,” said the detective. “Inside is a medallion — that is where we will place Esther.”

  She hesitated before reaching for the black handle of the bag.

  Dorian went first, Lynette followed. Silence fell in the manor. Their footsteps echoed dully, yet seemed to dissolve into the space.

  Anxious… I just hope I don’t mess this up!

  Along the way, Lynette noticed no anomalies. She continuously shared with Dorian everything she knew.

  Reaching the third floor, they headed to the right wing and stopped in front of an unremarkable wall. Dorian placed his hand on it; his muscles tensed slightly, but his face remained calm.

  The wall cracked — and in that instant collapsed, raising a cloud of dust.

  “Cough-cough…” Lynette coughed, covering herself with the bag. “You could’ve warned me!”

  Where does he get such strength?!

  The passage opened, releasing a heavy, nauseating stench. Lynette immediately covered her nose.

  “I’m going to be sick…”

  Dorian turned, as if to say something — but his face suddenly went cold and focused.

  What’s wrong with him—

  The next moment, Dorian was beside her and pushed Lynette away.

  Where she had stood a second ago, a straight strike tore through, sending even more dust flying.

  Visibility vanished almost entirely. In the gray haze, no breaths, no footsteps — only the whistle of cut air.

  Something hit the floor beside her.

  She looked down.

  It was his hand.

  Blood poured downward rapidly.

  “Tch…” he hissed. “Run.”

  He… saved me?

  Lynette sat stunned.

  Come on! Get up!

  Her body refused to obey.

  Clutching the satchel, she bit her lip and ran down the stairs.

  Her legs wobbled, her breath faltered, but she didn’t slow down, even stumbling a few times. The taste of blood reminded her of the deadly danger they were in.

  “He… phew… in danger… huff… I… can’t help… only get in the way…” she gasped, pressing the bag to her chest, as if protecting it — or her own heart.

  Reaching the people outside, Lynette stopped, trying to catch her breath and calm herself. Not only her body, but the bodies of those around her trembled, yet no one could take their eyes off the mansion where they had just been…

  What the hell is going on over there?!