Mornings in the mansion were never sudden. They crawled in quietly through the tall windows, with pale light slowly making its way through the thick curtains. The light would collect in the corners, almost as if it was afraid to be noticed. There was a stillness in the air, but it didn’t feel peaceful. It felt like anticipation; like something was preparing.

Lucien had already been awake for several hours.

Sleep had eluded him, only catching a few minutes of rest at a time. His body refused to relax, always on edge, waiting for something to happen. And when he did finally drift off, he'd wake up to the feeling that something in the house had moved while he was out. He had woken up more than once with the feeling that someone had been standing at the foot of his bed. But every time he opened his eyes, there was no one there. Just his ordinary bedroom, with all the usual stuff in it. The furniture was all in the same place, the shadows on the wall were the same, everything was just like it always was.

He checked the corridors before dawn.

One door had been further down the hall than he remembered. Another had been slightly ajar despite having no key that fit its lock. He noted both discrepancies with careful attention, documenting the changes in his worn journal in small, precise handwriting that had grown increasingly uneven as the hours passed.

Routine stabilized him. Routine kept the walls where they belonged.

The Master was supposed to arrive today.

Or maybe the Master had always been here and Lucien simply failed to notice.

He tweaked the candelabra in the grand foyer for what felt like the hundredth time, making sure it was perfectly lined up with the wood grain on the table. As he stepped back, his image flickered in the big mirror hanging on the wall . The mirror was older than the rest of the decor, and its surface was a bit uneven, not just from age, but from something more. The mirror seemed to be reflecting not just his appearance, but also the history of the room, with all its imperfections and stories.

He paused, head tilting slightly to listen.

The house was louder today.

Not audibly louder, not in any way that could be proven, but filled with the subtle pressure of attention. Floorboards seemed to settle only after he stepped on them. Shadows stretched longer than the angle of the light allowed. The air carried the faint sensation of breath where no breath should be.

Lucien had caught glimpses of the Boy on two separate occasions. The first time, he was standing at the far end of a long, deserted corridor. He was a fleeting presence that seemed to vanish into thin air. Another time reflected in the glass of a cabinet door, pale and still, gone when Lucien turned to look. Lucien didn’t write down those sightings. Some things felt safer undocumented, locked away in his mind where they couldn't be scrutinized or questioned.

He gently polished the mirror with a cloth, his fingers wrapping tightly around it. Earlier that morning, he had already cleaned the silver frame, yet he found himself doing it again without clear memory of deciding to do so. The mirror didn’t fully clear, no matter how much he wiped; faint distortions appeared at the edges of his reflection when he didn't look directly at them.

He smoothed a hand through his hair, immediately trying to fix his disheveled state. He couldn’t remember when he pulled his hair.

He whispered to himself, his voice barely audible, "You're ready." Everything seemed to be in order, just as it was meant to be.

The mansion disagreed.

A faint noise came from somewhere above, like something was moving around up there. But it didn't sound like it was coming from any known room above. Lucien's gaze flicked up, trying to find the source of the sound. Nothing.

Lucien decided to avert his eyes and focus on something else. The darkness around the stairs looked a bit deeper now, like it had grown a little darker in just a few moments.

He decided it was best to ignore it and went back to polishing.

He didn't remember setting the cloth down on the table, yet it was neatly folded beside the journal he didn't recall retrieving from his pocket.

His handwriting stared back at him from the open page.

The Master must not see disorder.

The ink had smudged slightly, as though the words had been written in a hurry.

He didn't remember writing them.

The air thickened gradually, the subtle pressure building behind his ribs. The foyer felt larger than it should have, the ceiling receding upward into dimness that swallowed detail. Every movement echoed more loudly than necessary, each small sound lingering a fraction too long before fading.

Something caught his eye, a fleeting figure that darted along the far wall. It was too small to be an adult, and by the time he turned to get a better look, it had vanished into thin air.

“Stop.” he whispered, uncertain whether he was talking to himself, the mansion or the Boy.

He adjusted the angle of the mirror.

For a moment, his reflection appeared slightly delayed, posture correcting itself a fraction after he had already stopped moving. He repositioned the mirror again. The glass seemed colder than it should have been.

Behind him, something moved.

Lucien slammed the mirror onto the table, and the loud clang echoed through the empty foyer, the sound bouncing off the walls.

Too loud.

He froze.

The silence that came after was sudden and overwhelming, like it was devouring the last bits of sound.

His pulse quickened.

He spoke in a hushed tone, his voice tight with the effort of seeming calm. "I've taken care of everything," he said. The halls were tidy, the rooms prepared, and he was determined that nothing would go wrong, that there would be no disruptions to cause any trouble.

A slight movement of darkness near the bottom of the stairs.

The Boy again.

Watching.

Lucien’s fingers tightened against the edge of the table.

“I haven’t neglected my duties.”

The air felt heavier.

Something was wrong.

Something was wrong and he couldn’t figure out what it was and the Master could arrive at any moment and the mansion was reacting and the Boy was watching and the rooms had changed and he couldn’t remember when he had last slept properly and the mirror wasn’t right and he had overlooked something important, something vital, something unforgivable. Something was wrong.

Something.

Was.

W̵̛̠̦̽͐̋̆͂r̷̝̟͒o̷̧̘͔̬͓͈̖̣̔̌͌̌̑͝n̶̡̗̹͕̽̐͛̕g̷̨͇͓͔̋̄̍̔̀̿͐.̴̬̬͕͎̆́͌͒̑̅̂̏͂͜

“I’ve done everything right,” he said, louder now. A flicker of movement behind him.

He turned too quickly.

Nothing.

Lucien went on, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "I've done everything just right," he said, sounding a bit uncertain. "All the details are taken care of, just like you asked."

The mirror trembled faintly where his hand rested against it.

“I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t do anything fucking wrong!”

Lucien smashed the mirror against the marble floors. Glass shattered outward in jagged fragments, the reflection breaking into twisted pieces that didn’t align with one another.

Horror replaced his anger instantly.

“I’m sorry.”

The words just came out of him without thought, urgent and thin.

He dropped down to his knees fast, trying not to make any sudden moves that could break the shattered glass even more. His body was tense with fear, frozen in place as he knelt among the sharp fragments.

He spoke softly, his head was lowered, as if he was waiting to be scolded.

“I didn’t mean to lash out. That was...inappropriate.”

His hands hovered uncertainly over the shards, scared to make things worse, yet equally afraid to leave the mess.

“Please don’t be upset.”

Something shifted in the air.

The oppressive attention in the room no longer belonged solely to the mansion or the Boy.

Lucien stilled completely.

Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his gaze from the fractured mirror pieces scattered across the floor.

His voice dropped almost to a whisper.

“...Master?”