A chilling scream pierced the air once more, echoing as if it bounced off every cold, grim stone wall. The maid hurried forward, trembling with fear. The sound of heavy footsteps and the clinking of weapons forced her to shrink into the shadows, silently pleading to the heavens for mercy. She knew this night was death itself, drifting down a river of blood in a small, ghostly boat. Another feud had erupted between the masters of the castle—father and son at odds again—and now warriors roamed the halls, hunting for victims and their lords. Someone had already paid the price; lifeless bodies lay strewn across the corridor, still as statues. The girl crept past them, careful not to stain her dress with the pooling blood.
“I don’t know where he is!” a desperate cry rang out from one of the rooms. The maid recognized the steward’s voice. “He locked himself in his chambers last night and ordered us not to disturb him. Please, don’t kill me, I beg you…”
She let out a quiet sigh and darted toward the stairs, trying to move without a sound. She knew that if they found her, her end would be slow and agonizing. As the personal maid to the duke’s wife, she was a well of secrets from the past. For a fleeting moment, everything fell silent, as if the terror and the frantic pounding of her heart had vanished. She descended into the dungeon, hoping to use the hidden passage that would let her escape the castle unnoticed. But then… a scream tore from her own lips as the duke himself appeared before her, his lips smeared with blood. He stepped closer and sank his teeth into her neck.
Darkness enveloped her again, the shadows playing cruel tricks, leaving only fear in their wake.
***
“Didn’t get much sleep, huh, girl?” Rena said as she stepped into the staff room. “You’ve been skimping on rest a lot lately.”
“Yeah, well,” Felicia waved her off, “I was up half the night working on some dumb assignment for my professor. You know how it is. Then I couldn’t sleep right—kept having nightmares.”
“Those dreams of yours,” Rena frowned, “maybe it’s time to see a doctor?”
Felicia sighed and turned away. Her friend, as always, looked flawless—blonde hair pulled into a neat bun, a crisp white blouse and black pants, the standard waitress uniform. Concern and worry were etched across her face.
She’s always curious about what’s going on in my head, studying psychology and all, Felicia thought, forcing a smile. No way I’m telling her about those dreams. She’ll overthink it and come up with something crazy.
“Even with the lack of sleep,” Rena said, stepping closer to adjust a strand of Felicia’s chestnut hair, “you still look great. I don’t get why your Bart barely gives you a second glance. If I had a girl like you, I wouldn’t let her out of the apartment.”
You’re exaggerating, Rena, Felicia thought, keeping her words to herself. I’m just an ordinary person with my flaws and strengths. I’m no beauty queen, and I never will be. Honestly, I’d rather just fade into the background.
“Felicia,” Rena touched her hand gently, “are you okay? You’re shaking.”
She forced another smile, stretched a little, and then started chatting about mundane things. Their shift was starting soon, and they still had to get ready. David, the owner of the upscale venue, wasn’t exactly running a modest joint. The average small-town resident could hardly afford even the simplest dinner here. He’d mentioned that tonight, “White Star” had been booked by his friends—folks who loved historical-themed parties and masquerades. To Felicia, they were a bunch of eccentrics, forcing the staff to wear long, old-fashioned dresses with corsets. At least they’d been allowed to style their hair as they pleased. She and Rena helped each other get dressed and braided their hair. Once again, Felicia had to pin her hair into a tight bun and spray it down to avoid any mishaps with food or drinks. The old-timers at the restaurant had been gossiping for years about these guests who loved such events and tipped generously. Some said they were descendants of aristocrats, others claimed they were wealthy business tycoons, and there was even a wild rumor about a secret society.
“At least they gave us decent shoes,” Rena remarked. “Not those fifteen-inch heels.”
Felicia smirked, touching up her makeup.
“Let’s go, let’s go,” Rena urged, a whirlwind of energy who’d probably scatter everything in the break room if given the chance. “Two minutes to seven. The guests should be arriving any moment. Let’s see what they’ve cooked up this time. Ravena said last year was a blast.”
Felicia wasn’t thrilled about the waltzes or the live music. She did her job diligently, occasionally exchanging glances with her coworkers, who wore the same dark blue dresses with black corsets and knee-high slits as she did. She carried drinks through a crowd of strange, unfamiliar people dressed in extravagant gowns and suits. The array of colors and jewelry was dazzling, though the masks—carved from wood—stood out the most. Each one seemed unique, adorned with its own pattern or crest. Felicia studied the intricate designs: a bird on the mask of a redheaded beauty, a lotus on the mask of the man beside her. Books, butterflies, flowers—she saw all kinds of symbols. It felt like she was surrounded by beautiful, refined people, and she was the only one who didn’t belong.
Aristocracy, what can you say, she thought. If I had that kind of money, I’d probably be out there dancing with some handsome guy too.
The atmosphere teetered on an edge: opulence mixed with gloom, even a hint of antiquity. It reminded her of the eerie dreams that haunted her from time to time. She had to pause at the bar counter now and then, setting down drinks to steady herself. A nagging feeling crept into her mind, a sense that she’d experienced something like this before, making it hard to focus on her work.
“Hey, Felicia,” David, the owner of “White Star,” appeared behind her. “Come here, I need your help.”
His pristine white suit stood out among the crowd. David was a kind man, though he was pushing forty and still had no wife or kids. Rumors swirled among the staff, but Felicia didn’t care about his personal life or the gossip of her colleagues.
As long as I’ve got a paycheck, she thought, as long as I’m not out on the street or stuck in some worse job, as long as I don’t have to go back to my stepfather’s house.
“The client requested a few dishes,” David said, handing her a tray. “Take these up, please. Drinks will come later. Head to the second floor, to the VIP section.”
She walked off, carrying herself with the grace of a model, just as she’d been trained. Working at a high-end place and earning a decent wage for a college student meant catering to every whim of the owners and strictly adhering to etiquette and dress code.
It seemed like the crowd deliberately avoided the entrance to the balconies overlooking the dance floor. Even a burly stranger gave Felicia a harsh look at first, as if to say, “What are you doing here?” But he stepped aside when he noticed the tray of food in her hands.
She plastered on a smile before the two men seated on leather couches noticed her. They were deep in conversation, gazing down at the crowd below.
Probably the hosts of the evening, she thought. They’re a bit odd, though.
A dark-haired young man with brown eyes didn’t take his gaze off her as she set down the food. His attention made her uncomfortable. His companion, a slightly older blond man, didn’t even glance her way.
“I’d like you to bring us some whiskey,” the dark-haired man said. “Call David over!”
The waitress nodded and walked away. The smile faded from her face, but she could feel it—someone was watching her from behind.