XVII
The manor's doors close behind them with a heavy, echoing thud — the kind that sounds less like wood meeting wood and more like a verdict being sealed.
The redhead doesn't hesitate. She strides across the marble foyer, soft leather shoes clicking against the floor, her bright hair a flare of color in the dim candlelight. I follow behind her like Mary's little lamb, half‑dazed, half‑entranced by the sheer opulence of the place.
The air smells faintly of dust and perfume — old, expensive, and wrong. Portraits line the walls, their painted eyes following every movement. The chandeliers above sway gently, though there's no breeze.
At the far end of the hall, a figure waits.
She's sat tall, poised, and dressed in mourning black that gleams faintly like oil. Sparkling sapphire jewels adorn deep pale cleavage and ear lobes. Her hair is two toned, half ebony-dark, and half silver‑white, pinned in intricate coils. Her skin is pale, almost translucent, and her eyes — sharp, intelligent, and unsettlingly calm — seem to catch the candlelight and hold it prisoner. Her wine dark pupils reflected crimson red in the flickering candles.
She reminded me of my great-aunt, regal bearing and all. The lady screamed aristocratic beauty, blurring age with well preserved beauty and shiny accessories. Yet underneath that facade she still felt like all the others had, she was also a specter, a very well preserved one. There was no line like mine to a living body. No tether, she was the same as the rest. A silver and sapphire ring glitters as she gestures to the maid holding my hand. "What matter is this, Louise?"
The redhead stops short, straightens her posture, and bows her head slightly. "Madam," she says, voice suddenly respectful. "Found a stray. Still soul tethered. She tisn't shielded from anyone at all. Anything could have found and eaten her."
The woman's gaze drifts to the protagonist. For a moment, she says nothing — just studies her, as though weighing the brightness of her soul against the darkness of the room.
"A living one," she murmurs at last. Her voice is smooth, cultured, and cold enough to frost glass. "How rare."
She steps forward, the hem of her gown whispering across the marble. "You've wandered far, child. And you've brought the fog with you."
The redhead shifts uneasily. "She didn't mean to, Madam. The hat‑man's been sniffin' around."
The woman's lips curve into a faint smile. The smile seemed not kind but more knowing. "He always does."
She turns toward the grand staircase, gesturing for them to follow. "Come. The night is long, and my house does not welcome the uninvited usually. But for now, this situation is quite unusual and we shall make adjustments accordingly."
Her eyes flick back to the protagonist, gleaming like candlelight through crystal.
"…you may rest. Unless you wish to venture back into the fog where the monsters remember your existence. Until tomorrow. Then my dear girl, we have plans to make. It's been a long time since we've found someone as spirited as you." She half smiled lifting her hand elegantly.
"Louise, bathe her, clean her, dress her in some spares. Tomorrow, we have plans to make, things to do. We must gather a little party of friends to deal with this little situation. In the morning introduce her to the staff and the majordomo so they don't accidentally step on her or take an inopportune bite."
Louise let me to the back of the house past the kitchen and pantry, down the steps to the servants' quarters. The servants' stairs looked steep and precarious. Small bells attached to the many rooms of the manor were mounted to a wooden rack on the wall, small plaques labeling them for each room. Master bedroom, master bath, foyer, dressing room, dining room, tearoom, library bells on the first row. All the second floor and third floor bells lined the above rows. Second bedroom. Nursery. Third bedroom. Sunroom. Library. Bath. All the bells had their assigned space and made the manor seem huge in comparison to most modern houses.
I bathed in what seemed like a small but complete bathroom with white porcelain tiles. Everything seemed unadorned and utilitarian. This was obviously the bathroom for the female servants as it was just a few steps off their quarters. Male servant rooms occupied the opposite wing closer to the garage and stable. In the center lay the dining area for the servants and smaller prep kitchen with food storage areas. The main chef's kitchen was directly upstairs from there closer to the main dining area to keep the food as warm as possible. Despite this being a parallel death world full of ghosts and monsters the rich seemed to live a comfortable fancy life. I puzzled at where they sourced all of these human world things. It all seemed old fashioned but still so well kept.
I was given a set of clean, dry clothes. My modern clothes had been worn to almost rags from all the survival and running away. It was a blessing to lay in that tub and just breathe in the steam for a little bit. The plain woolen skirt and socks, and the white linen top was long and flowed a little too loosely. One quick jerk and a shoulder would pop out of the collar. The Louise and the cook, Martha looked at me as if I'd grown another head.
"Silly girl, let me help. Those are under things, a chemise, you don't wear them on the outside." Louise took me back into the bathroom and adjusted the chemise, putting corset stays around my waist. "These are to hold up the bits and bobs and to give you a little shape. You looked straight as a board in them other things of yours." Another thicker woolen over-garment was buttoned up and lace white collar adjusted at the neck. Louise twisted and pulled my hair into a chignon, their loose brown waves tamed with a pin or two.
I felt stifled. I felt like a stuffed goose waddling around. Once my own clothes were washed and I got them back I'd give these back to Louise and her century.
"Now you look proper, "Louise stated. "After a bite, we'll be off to meet the lady."
I was escorted to a breakfast nook where small plates were set up in front of the madam and she packed up small bites with a tiny silver fork. Everything looked green and appealing. There seemed to be no meat or eggs. Wine and juice filled small crystal glasses to the side. I wondered if the madam was a vegetarian.
"Come, sit. It is time for a small repast." The madam announced, gesturing for me to take a seat. One of her male servants pulled it out for me as I sat across the table from the madam. "Sit a little closer. I do not bite guests." Madam had the male servant pull out a seat to the right of hers, setting up a table setting and a plate of small vegetables. A glass of juice at the side.
I took a sip. The juice tasted of orange, but a little flat. There was none of that familiar tanginess orange juice usually has. I looked closer at the plate of vegetables the madam called breakfast. A small dark rye bun sat at the corner. Artfully designed shapes masked vegetable leaves that were obviously dark and wilted. I sighed. No bacon and eggs even for aristocrats it seemed. They were shades of the dead anyway, they all probably forgot what good food was like.
"You look disappointed my dear, and I am not surprised." The madam stated as she chuckled to herself. You forget that we are not in a world that supports abundant life. This shadow world lacks the variety and tastes the living world enjoys every minute. We do not eat to enjoy ourselves here dear. We eat to consume life, to preserve our spirits, to survive another moment."
I asked the madam what she meant. The madam gave me a small education during breakfast. There was very little that existed to this plane in terms of living matter. All the energy came from the faded sun that drifted down from the mirrors above. Without energy every being on this plane would start to fade from existence, some slow, some fast depending on how much they had appeared with or were connected to. The monstrous entities native to this plane developed means to consume the energy that comes from other worlds.
In this place energy equaled existence. Simple plants like the ones on the plate fought for every bit of that other worldly solar energy, or adapted to other sources, like the fog. The fog itself absorbed energy from the fading spectral beings trapped here. All the spectral beings were slowly corrupted by the fog, then eventually consumed by the fog. Those without a living body tethered to them had no source of energy, only whatever was leftover from their prior life, and whatever they consumed from sources found here.
The night roaming monsters like the hat man or the fog hounds consumed energy from their victims. I nodded, that's why he seemed so lively compared to everyone else she had met.
I asked the madam if she knew about the aliens. The madam nodded. There were other planes of existence through every mirror. Other world beings could be remnants like on this world, or another type of alien existence entirely, running on a different sort of energy than the mirror suns. They had the means to jump between worlds using the mirrors and snatch souls from death. She had heard many tales of other beings, of alien overlords and scientists. There were dreadful beings on many other worlds. Those that I had met seemed mild in comparison.
"You are so wise and beautiful madam. I humbly thank you. It was my own great luck meeting you, Louise, and everyone."
"You are a good girl," madam patted my hand, obviously flattered. Do you have a name yet? If you have forgotten your name, like the many shades here. I shall gladly give you one. I gave all the servants a name. Names have power in this place you know. They make your spirit more solid and life easier to remember. Having a name makes your spirit stronger, and your time here more real." I looked back from the beginning. Huh, I seemed to have misplaced my own name. I remembered great-aunt Olivia's name. I remembered the priest, Lance Corporal Carl. The old man in the graveyard didn't have a name. I didn't ask the hat-man's name, but he was a monster anyway. Let him be forgotten.
"I'm sorry my lady, I have forgotten to ask your name. I don't mean to seem ungrateful."
"It's alright silly girl. I don't blame you. It's all part of the process. Everyone forgets bits of their life as their bodies fade." She explained. First is always the name, then the recent life, then older memories, eventually you forget that you have drawn an independent breath in another world. The ones who forget everything become just another gray shade without identity, doing the same routine day after day, mechanical dolls that only remember these few tasks. Their living source is cut off, and their spiritual battery drains until they become particles of the fog of this world.
Having a name is just like having a physical anchor for the spirit to cling to for a while, becoming a little more of the human they were. Ah! That's why Louise and the servants in Madam's house were so animated, more real and less gray and wispy. They all had names and positions to anchor themselves down, and obviously this place was like a sanctuary. They were somehow safe here from the monsters and the fog.