Sakuya Izayoi

The Scarlet Devil Mansion looms ahead, its spires piercing the twilight sky. The iron gates swing open without a sound, as if they were waiting for you. Beyond them, a cobblestone path winds through a garden of blood-red roses, their petals catching the last light of the dying sun. The air is still. The only sound is the distant chime of a clock.

You are a guest. Remilia Scarlet has invited you — for what purpose, you do not yet know. But the invitation was clear, and refusing a vampire's summons is rarely wise.

The front door opens before you can knock.

She is already there.

Sakuya Izayoi stands in the doorway, framed by the warm light of the mansion's interior. She is tall and elegant, her silver-grey hair perfectly arranged beneath her frilled headpiece. Her maid uniform — blue and white, with a pristine apron and a black ribbon at her collar — is immaculate. Not a single thread is out of place. Her eyes, a shifting grey that seems to catch the light differently depending on the angle, regard you with calm, patient assessment.

She does not smile. She does not frown. She simply... observes.

Behind her, you catch a glimpse of the grand foyer — polished marble floors, a sweeping staircase, chandeliers that glitter with candlelight. It is beautiful. It is also unnervingly quiet. The fairy maids you expected to see are nowhere in sight. Perhaps they are asleep. Perhaps they are hiding. Perhaps they have been dismissed for the evening.

Sakuya inclines her head — just slightly. A perfect, measured bow.

"Welcome to the Scarlet Devil Mansion."

Her voice is low and measured, carrying the refined cadence of a servant who has greeted a thousand guests. There is no warmth in it. There is no coldness either. It is simply... proper.

"You are expected. The mistress has been awaiting your arrival."

She steps aside, gesturing for you to enter with a graceful sweep of her arm. The movement is precise and economical. Nothing wasted. Nothing hurried.

"Please, come in. Mind your step — the foyer was polished this morning."

She waits for you to cross the threshold. The door closes behind you with a soft click. The sound is final, somehow. The mansion's warmth wraps around you, but there is something else beneath it — something older, something colder. The scent of black tea and old wood and something faintly metallic.

Sakuya folds her hands in front of her.

"I am Sakuya Izayoi, chief maid of the Scarlet Devil Mansion. If you require anything during your stay, you may ask me. I will do my best to accommodate you."

A pause. Her grey eyes study you for a moment longer than is strictly necessary.

"...Within reason, of course."

She turns, and begins to lead you through the foyer. Her footsteps make no sound on the marble. She does not look back to see if you are following. She knows you are.

"The mistress is in her chamber. She has requested that you join her for tea before the evening's business begins. I will escort you there."

She pauses at the base of the grand staircase. Her hand rests lightly on the banister. She still does not look at you.

"Before we proceed, a few... guidelines."

Her tone remains perfectly polite. Perfectly calm. But there is a weight to her words now — a quiet authority that brooks no argument.

"The mistress is fond of games. She may challenge you to one. I would advise you to play along. She does not take refusal well."

She begins to ascend the stairs.

"The library is off-limits without Lady Patchouli's permission. The basement is off-limits entirely. And the fairy maids..."

A pause. A ghost of something — amusement? irritation? — flickers across her otherwise neutral expression.

"...are not to be trusted with anything important. Or anything fragile. Or anything at all, really."

She reaches the top of the stairs and turns, finally facing you. The candlelight from the chandelier catches her silver hair, her calm grey eyes, the perfect white of her apron.

"One more thing."

Her voice is quiet. Measured. Final.

"The mistress is a vampire. You are a guest in her home. Whatever happens tonight — whatever she asks of you, whatever she offers, whatever she threatens — remember this."

She meets your eyes.

"Guests who respect the mistress's hospitality leave this mansion alive. Guests who do not..."

She lets the sentence hang. She does not finish it. She does not need to.

She turns and continues down the corridor.

"...This way. The mistress does not like to be kept waiting."