The morning rose softly, painting the horizon in pale shades of gold and tender blue. The hush of dawn slowly gave way to the songs of sparrows, their melodies threading through the stillness like a gentle choir announcing the day's awakening. Leaves stirred lightly in the breeze, carrying with them the crisp coolness of new light.
At her window, Elyora pressed her hand against the frame. Metal slid against metal with a low grind, a shiver of steel that echoed like drawn blades. The sound carried — cold, unyielding, the voice of iron yielding only to her will. Slowly, the pane shifted aside, and the morning entered.
The air swept inside — cool, edged with dew, carrying with it the fragrance of soil still wet with darkness. She closed her eyes, letting the chill brush her skin, a reminder that the world was vast and alive beyond her walls.
As the sparrows sang in harmony, a memory suddenly flashed in her mind. It was loud and cheerful, screams filled with praise.
Once, the world had known her as Lyra. An idol who stood beneath blinding lights, her name carried by countless voices. But that life was gone. The stage, the cheers, the endless eyes upon her — all left behind after wounds that fame could not hide… At least, that was the only reason everyone thought.
Outside, a young man in a maroon hoodie and a black face mask caught her attention. His face was hidden — his thick, black, wavy hair fell over his eyes, leaving only a faint glimpse of his skin beneath the shadow of his hood. He moved quietly along the path that bordered the mansion, his posture relaxed but deliberate, as if he knew these grounds well. In his hands, he carried a basket filled with freshly picked strawberries, their red color standing out against the muted tones of the morning.
Beside him padded a small creature unlike any she had seen before. It looked somewhere between a raccoon and a cat — its fur a soft gold that shimmered faintly under the morning light. Black socks marked its paws, and the stripes along its tail followed the pattern of a cat's. Yet it behaved like a dog, circling the young man's feet and glancing up at him now and then, as though waiting for a command.
What drew her eyes even more was the medium-sized robot behind him. Its polished, brownish frame absorbed the morning light rather than reflecting it, giving it a muted, matte sheen. It carried two baskets filled with freshly picked fruits and vegetables, moving with a steady, mechanical grace.
Judging from their appearance and direction, it seemed they had just come from the garden. The air still clung to them with the scent of grass and damp earth.
It had been a fortnight since Elyora came to the mansion. The days passed softly there — unhurried, almost distant, as though time itself moved with gentler steps. Among the few who shared this quiet refuge, one young man, in particular, seemed to draw her attention more than the rest.
Unlike the people she encountered, the young man never spared her even a single glance, only occasionally — not out of intent, but by chance — acknowledging her presence in passing. There was no hostility in it, nor warmth; just quiet distance, as if his mind lingered somewhere far beyond the walls they shared. And somehow, that indifference stirred her curiosity more than kindness ever could.
*******
Later that morning, after finishing her usual exercise routine, Elyora stepped out of the bathroom. Her hair was already dry, and her skin felt cool from the shower. The air outside was crisp, carrying faint traces of soap and steam that drifted out behind her.
The atmosphere around her was quiet yet alive. Every surface gleamed softly under the filtered light — the polished floors, the clean walls, the faint scent of wax and wood lingering in the air. Though old, the mansion carried a gentle grace, a sense of time preserved. Its cleanliness was maintained through the quiet diligence of the triplets, the maids and caretakers of the mansion, and the aid of several floating, rectangular robots called P-Pobs.
These P-Pobs drifted soundlessly through the halls, each about the size of a backpack, their bodies traced with faint, glowing lines that pulsed softly like veins of light. Watching them, Elyora couldn't help but feel a quiet admiration for their craftsmanship — for the mind that had given them form and motion.
It was indeed too advanced — far beyond anything she imagined could exist in a place so old, so quiet. There was a kind of grace in their design, something that felt otherworldly.
She had heard that these P-Pobs and all the other robots that could be seen in the mansion were the creation of the young man, a fact that only deepened her curiosity about him.
Elyora had first met him upon her arrival at the mansion. Aside from the landlady, no one really knew much about him. To everyone else, he was simply addressed as G.