Chapter Sixty-Six

The maids looked at Shadow Moon in terror; the once delicate and beautiful girl now resembled a vengeful spirit crawling out of the depths of hell. Her face was deathly pale, hair disheveled and dull, streaks of blood smeared across her cheeks, a trace of crimson at the corner of her mouth, and her eyes hollow and vacant. The maid’s uniform she had worn, once intact, was now tattered beyond recognition. The white apron had vanished, leaving only a shabby gray skirt, stained with blood. When Shadow Moon stretched out her hand, the nails, which had once been clean, were now caked with blood and bits of flesh—it was impossible to tell whether it was her own or...

The ladies screamed in terror, “A ghost!” and rushed down the stairs as if lingering for even a second longer would drag them into the abyss with Shadow Moon.

Her outstretched hand froze in the air. She stared blankly in the direction the maids had fled, into the endless darkness of the stairwell. Time seemed to suspend itself. Eventually, she withdrew her numb arm, slowly knelt down, wrapped her arms around her knees, and buried her face in her tattered clothes.

A chilling laughter echoed through the empty stairwell, so mournful and haunting that anyone who heard it would feel their heart tremble with cold.

Buried between her knees, Shadow Moon suddenly let out a grotesque laugh, startling a male servant climbing the stairs. He stopped, hesitating, unwilling to take another step.

Her laughter faded, leaving only a desolate silence in her heart. Without his protection, she realized she was nothing—not even worthy of being a maid. Even the maids looked down on her. With this thought, Shadow Moon lifted her head; the pain in her eyes flickered and then resolved into determination.

At the very least, she must endure until he returned—there were still things she needed to say to him.

She comforted herself, a faint smile returning to her lips, and she walked resolutely down the stairs.

The male servant who had cowered in place saw her descending. He jumped in fright, but upon closer inspection, found that Shadow Moon—though dirty—appeared normal enough, not as deathly pale or terrifying as the maids had claimed. He steadied himself and addressed her with the same contempt as the maids, “The lady instructs you to cleanse yourself and rid your body of that filth.” He sneered at her before descending the stairs ahead of her.

Shadow Moon barely wavered at his words, making only a slight, almost imperceptible movement, then followed him without further reaction.

After winding through the lavish rooms, she finally stopped with the servant before a small bathroom. Standing at the doorway was the maid who had earlier led her to the hound’s room. The male servant nodded to the maid and departed.

The maid glared at Shadow Moon with undisguised disgust, tossed the clothes she held onto Shadow Moon, and snapped, “Hurry up and wash away that filth. The lady is waiting!” Without mercy, she shoved Shadow Moon inside.

Shadow Moon staggered into the bathroom—a cramped space barely a meter square, barely taller than a person. There was only a shower and a small wooden table for placing things, nothing more.

“Is there no shampoo or soap?” Shadow Moon poked her head out to ask.

The maid looked at her as though she were a creature from another world, as if she’d just heard the most ludicrous joke imaginable.

“You want shampoo? Soap? Ha! Are you truly so naïve, or has your head been injected with wrinkle remover, leaving not a single crease to think with? How can you ask such absurd questions?” The maid bent double with laughter, finally straightening to snap, “You have ten minutes!” With that, she slammed the door shut.