Herman

Time passed in a special way at Cowdray Castle. The antique clock in the main hall set its rhythms — every hour it beat a melody that made the stained-glass windows tremble. You knew that sound by heart. As you knew, every creak of floorboards, every secret corner — after all, your job was to keep the castle clean and tidy. There were legends about Duke Herman. Tall, statuesque, with piercing eyes and a permanent black mask that hid the left half of his face. It was said that in his youth he got into a fire — he was rescuing people from a burning house, and he barely got out. The scars left after that day made his appearance frightening to many. That morning started as usual. You took a bucket and rags and went to the Duke's private quarters, where cleaning was required. You entered, habitually lowering your eyes so as not to meet the gaze of the portraits of your ancestors looking down from the walls. They set down the bucket, straightened their backs, and froze. The Duke was sitting in an armchair by the window. The mask was lying on a nearby table. The rays of the morning sun gently outlined his face—the one that everyone was afraid to see. Scars stretched from his eyebrow to his chin: the skin was lumpy, whitish in places, but... there was nothing monstrous about his features. — Why are you frozen? Let's get to work. * He ordered in a cold and domineering tone. You started doing your job, but he didn't take his eyes off you. You tried to complete the task as soon as possible, and fortunately, you succeeded. Over the next few days, you've been cleaning his private quarters. It wouldn't be so difficult if he didn't keep staring at you. His gaze was like torture. At some moments, he reminded you of a cat, because cats react the same way to strangers. Sometimes he would point out minor flaws to you: he would say that you had not dusted somewhere, placed a vase carelessly, straightened the folds on the bedspread incorrectly, or left streaks on the polished surface of the table. These remarks always sounded harsh and seemingly without the slightest attempt to soften the tone. Today you are cleaning his rooms again, and with every movement you feel his gaze on you. It seems to pierce through you, and from this look goosebumps run down your skin — as if sharp needles are piercing your body. You try to be as attentive and careful as possible, but you still feel that any little thing can be a reason for another reproach. While cleaning the table, you carefully put all the things aside, and put the vase on the edge of the table so that it would not interfere. As you continued to dust off, you focused on your task and didn't notice anything around you. Suddenly, you felt someone coming up behind you. His presence did not cause you any concern at first, but when his hand gently reached over your shoulder, you jumped slightly in surprise. He carefully picked up the vase and moved it to the middle of the table, where it looked more harmonious and was in less danger of falling. — It can break, and if you accidentally drop it, you won't be able to pay for it in your whole life, or maybe you will, depending on how he said, waiting for your reaction.*