3. The Girl
“Emily, we have to clean the VIP room inside today too, so let's start there and tidy the regular guest rooms later.”
As soon as they arrived at the supervisor's quarters, Marie handed Emily a dry cloth and spoke to her.
Emily nodded silently. She was quite used to it by now. At first, she'd only followed her mother because she hated being alone, but after the first day of cleaning the guest rooms, all the miscellaneous tasks had become Emily's responsibility—fetching extra cloths, sweeping the fireplace ashes, running errands for Head Maid Sarah. Some days, she even cleared the staff dining hall on the first floor after the employees' breakfast. She'd stack the plates scattered with stew stains and egg yolk remnants, carry them to the kitchen, sweep up the scattered bread crusts and crumbs to feed the horses. Once everything was done, she'd clear the tables, wipe away every stain with a wet cloth, and dry them with another.
Though Emily wasn't officially on the supervisor's quarters staff, she was treated like unpaid labor during Marie's shifts, helping with the chores. For Emily, it was better than wasting time in a dark room lost in exhausting thoughts—being among people at the quarters, moving her body for a clear purpose. After about ten days of staying busy, her appetite had returned, and the negative thoughts had faded.
―Kiiik.
Opening the door to the largest guest room on the second floor of the supervisor's quarters revealed a whole other world, like stepping into paradise. The VIP room was a standalone little house within the quarters itself, complete with a parlor, bedroom, and bathroom. An exceedingly luxurious little house. Glossy, antique elegant furniture gleamed inside, while curtains thickly embroidered with lace adorned the windows in splendor. But what truly elevated the room's luxury was the crystal chandelier hanging from the parlor ceiling's center—sharp and delicate like a snowflake.
There was a chandelier in the first-floor parlor too, but this was the first time Emily had seen one inside a room. One wall featured a grand wooden mantelpiece above the fireplace. Emily turned her head, surveying the VIP room. There were signs it hadn't been used much, but it seemed well-maintained; a basic cleaning would make it spotless. Marie must have thought the same, as she began tidying with a bright expression.
The rooms in the supervisor's quarters required meticulous care. Though fairly upscale, the aged furniture could rot easily if water touched it. So they had to polish it with dry cloths. Especially the lambrequins above the VIP room's fireplace and the tapestries on the walls—they needed every speck of dust meticulously removed to stay pristine, making room cleaning labor-intensive. Despite only doing the basics—removing dust from the large room, changing the bedding, wiping the window frames and glass, dusting the curtains, chandelier, and fireplace—the afternoon had arrived before they knew it.
Emily stretched her aching back after squatting for so long and took a moment to rest. Seeing her, Marie said she'd finish changing the bedsheets herself and left the VIP room, telling Emily to rest more since she'd handle the rest alone. At her mother's words, Emily sat on the floor between the bedroom window and the bed, staring blankly toward the window.
A cool breeze blew in from outside. The white lace curtains below the open window for ventilation billowed roundly, embracing the wind. Emily looked around the room. Golden sunlight streamed in, making the fine furniture sparkle. Lost in a daze, Emily wondered who stayed in this VIP room filled with such luxury. Nobles, perhaps? Come to think of it, she'd heard the new Scren Mine supervisor was a noble too. What kind of lives did nobles lead?
Emily took in the beautiful lace curtains fluttering like feathers through the open window. Delicate beauty shone in every tightly woven white pattern. Even those swaying lace curtains must be enormously expensive, yet every window in the VIP room had them paired with thick, deeply pleated, lavish silk curtains. With the windows open for post-cleaning ventilation, the heavy red curtain folds gathered in the room's corners looked like the grand stage drapes from the village festival.
―Kiiik.
Then, the VIP room door opened again. Thinking her mother had returned needing help, Emily looked toward the open door leading to the parlor.
―Click.
The heavy door shut firmly. But no call from her mother came. From the bedroom, she could only see the parlor's center, not the entrance, so Emily's curiosity grew. Footsteps shuffled this way and that over the thick purple carpet. Soon, the hesitant steps seemed to decide something and drew steadily closer to the bedroom where Emily sat. The shoes on the carpet didn't make much sound, so probably a woman or child. One thing was certain: not her mother. Mother's clunky shoes couldn't produce such quiet steps.
The person who quickly entered the bedroom was, as Emily guessed, a woman. A young woman. Her face looked about Emily's age, still childish, but her body had passed puberty—her voluminous dress in rich yellow emphasized her full breasts and slim waist, exuding feminine allure. She was more beautiful and elegant than anyone Emily had seen in Exangciras, a mere mining village. Honey-brown hair fell to her waist, beautifully curled as if carefully styled by someone. Beneath her slightly lowered bangs, transparent ruby eyes gleamed like jewels. Her prominent nose, sharply defined pink lips, and graceful jawline atop white skin made her look like a luxurious doll in yellow.
Emily kept staring at the woman, but the fast-walking girl didn't notice her sitting on the floor behind the bed. As soon as she entered the bedroom, she hurried to the large wardrobe against the wall like she was being chased. She flung open the wardrobe door—previously locked—and peered inside, furrowing her brow in thought. Emily held her breath, watching silently.
The woman hesitated a moment, then stepped straight into the large wardrobe, gathering her dress skirts inside as she tried to close the door. But with a person inside, the bulky dress prevented it from shutting. She awkwardly tugged at the door from within a few times, but it was no use. When she turned her head irritably to climb out, her eyes met Emily's, sitting on the floor behind the bed.
The woman's eyes widened in an instant.
“You……!”
That was when it happened.
―Kreek! The VIP room door burst open roughly from the parlor outside.
The woman, who had glared fiercely at Emily, clamped her mouth shut and anxiously rolled her eyes toward the parlor. Thudding male footsteps echoed across the carpet.
“Olivier! I know you're in here.”
The voice booming as soon as he entered was a man's, rough and furious with anger. The footsteps lingered noisily in the parlor for a moment before quickly heading to the bedroom. The already frightening male voice sounded enraged, so Emily jumped up and hid behind the thick, billowing curtain folds between the window and bed. Through a slight gap, she saw the man arrive before the wardrobe where the woman stood. He was as tall and broad as an adult man, but his face didn't look old.
“Teasing me and running away... so you were here all along?”
The man glared at the woman with an angry face. The moment Emily glimpsed the expression on the face of the woman called Olivier through the curtain gap, a sense of familiarity washed over her. Olivier's face was etched with terror—the unique fear only the powerless and helpless could wear.
“O-Onii... I...”
As Olivier stammered, avoiding his gaze, the man sneered unpleasantly. Then he reached out, roughly grabbing a fistful of her long hair.
“Aak!”
Olivier cried out in pain as her head jerked back, gripped by his arm. The man kept yanking her hair toward him, twisting it tightly.
“Agh! Aaak!”
Ignoring Olivier's agony, he yanked her honey-brown hair back over her shoulder, and she collapsed into his arms. “Olivier,” the man continued in a low voice. “......You have to be a good little sister.”
He kept twisting and pulling her hair. As her slender white neck bent forward powerlessly, he bit mercilessly into her nape. His beastly tawny eyes glared at Olivier.
“Ugh...... Uuht!”
Olivier bit her lip to endure the pain. The man clenched his jaw, biting her nape harder. She swallowed the pain inside her lips. Soon, he ground his teeth into her nape. Her face twisted in agony.
“......!”
The man dug his teeth deep into her nape. Despite the ongoing pain, Olivier made no sound, and only then did the man tormenting her for so long show satisfaction. When he pulled his mouth away, red, swollen bite marks like bruises marred her paper-white skin.
“Hic, hic......”
As Olivier sobbed weakly, the man's eyes darkened. He flung her gripped hair down toward the floor like trash. Olivier screamed shrilly as she tumbled across the floor, her long hair still firmly in his grasp. He snatched it again, shaking her this way and that. She shook feebly under his brute strength. Unable to even resist properly, her face contorted in pain as she was helplessly flung about.
“Ah, ugh......”
The man bit his lip and mercilessly dragged the fallen Olivier by her hair. She had no choice but to arch her thin neck and half-rise. Where her head stopped, swung powerlessly by his hand, was right at the center of his glossy, high-end black suit pants.
“Now...... let's finish what you started earlier? Good little sister.”
The man looked down at Olivier's disheveled crown, his lips curling into a long smirk. It was a thick, chillingly low voice. Emily swallowed dryly in shock.