Before the carriage door swung wide, I leaned toward Ronette, a conspiratorial grin curling my lips.
"Do you know what today is?" I asked.
He blinked, startled. "Is today… special?"
"It most certainly is."
"What day, then?"
"It's Hidden Meaning Day."
His brows knit together. "Hidden… Meaning Day?"
I gasped, hand to chest in scandalized shock. "Tell me you haven't played!"
Ronette shook his head, eyes round, a touch of innocent regret in his expression.
"Well, allow me to enlighten you. The rules are simple: everyone speaks in ordinary sentences, and the listener must divine the secret message tucked inside."
"Oh." He managed a weak smile. "That sounds… interesting."
"Let's play it with the butler," I said, waggling my brows.
Ronette's smile died a swift, miserable death. "I'd rather keep breathing, thank you."
"Come now, trust me. It'll be exhilarating."
"With our lives on the line? Exhilarating indeed." He shuddered. "And how do you plan to get the butler to participate?"
"Easy—he won't even know." I tapped my temple, eyes gleaming.
A parade of question marks marched across Ronette's face.
Seizing the carriage handle, I flashed him a devil‑may‑care grin. "Let the game begin."
Ronette let out a tremulous sniff, whispering a quick prayer to any deity inclined to spare fools and minstrels, just as the door swung open onto what could only be described as one exceedingly dangerous round of Hidden Meaning Day.
The butler stood waiting, immaculate as ever—tailcoat pressed to lifeless perfection, white gloves folded like spider legs across his chest. His smile was purely formal, a cold ripple across porcelain.
As we stepped out, he bowed, voice mild. "Good evening, Young Master Hogg, Young Lady Hogg. We are delighted to meet you."
(Hidden meaning: Welcome, little candles—I've been eager to snuff you out.)
With mechanical grace, he turned, and we followed into the entrance hall. Twin rows of servants stood as silent as tombstones. A flick of his hand—and they vanished into side corridors, swallowed by the walls.
(Hidden meaning: Every soul here obeys me. When the screaming starts, no one will come.)
He pivoted, gaze sweeping over us, voice soft as a knife drawn slow. "Have you had your dinner?"
(Hidden meaning: Should I lace the soup… or the tea?)
I answered with bright cheer, "Indeed. We dined at the inn."
"A shame. Our chef prepared a marvel of a feast." A thin edge of teeth showed behind the smile.
(Hidden meaning: The first cup of venom is wasted, but there are darker flavors yet.)
Ronette forced out a nervous chuckle. "Yes… quite a shame."
The butler inclined his head. "Allow us to guide you to the guest room."
(Hidden meaning: Come deeper. You'll never find the way back.)
Ronette and I exchanged a glance—breath shallow, hearts thumping.
He tilted his head slightly, black eyes narrowing. "Are you not coming? Is something the matter?"
(Hidden meaning: Hesitate, and I'll drag you myself.)
I flinched, forcing a laugh. "Oh—nothing's wrong, sir. Just admiring the décor."
"Ah, I see," he murmured. "Don't worry—you'll have all the time you need to enjoy it tomorrow."
(Hidden meaning: Once I've taken your souls, you'll never leave these halls.)
With stiff smiles and tight throats, we nodded and followed.
We trailed him into a corridor that felt impossibly long—longer than the manor could ever contain. Each step echoed too loudly on marble veined like frozen blood. The hush pressed close, swallowing stray thoughts and breath alike.
The walls glared back: portraits of dead-eyed ancestors, their paint cracked but gazes vivid, following us with hungry stillness. In the shifting lamplight, their smiles thinned into smirks. A draft coiled along the floor, cold and damp, tugging at cloak hems, carrying whispers of wilted lilies and old stone.
Armor stood at every archway—visors tilted just enough to look alive, just enough to suggest that if we dared turn our backs, steel would shriek free of scabbards.
Above, beams groaned, a sound like some vast, dreaming beast shifting in restless sleep. The air thickened with every step, breath fogging between us. Ronette hugged his shawl tighter, eyes flicking at each flicker of shadow.
My fiddle hung heavy across my back, silent now, the usual comforting weight turned ominous.
At last, after a walk that felt more descent than arrival, the butler halted before twin oak doors, hinges black as sorrow.
"This is where you will be staying. We hope you like it."
(Hidden meaning: Welcome to the cage. Let's see how long you last.)
I forced my best roguish grin. "We prefer to stay together. One room will suffice."
An almost imperceptible glint sparked behind his eyes. "Understood. Whatever suits you."
(Hidden meaning: One room is easier to watch… and easier to seal shut.)
He gestured us in. The chamber was absurdly fine: dark walnut panels, a hearth blazing low and steady, velvet drapes pooling like spilled wine, and a four-poster bed dressed in brocade so rich it looked stolen from a royal suite. Lamps glowed gently, gilded light chasing the worst of the shadows.
"It's perfect," I said, voice a shade too bright. "Please convey our gratitude to Madam Lerrington for her generosity."
"I shall." His bow was crisp, his smile no less chilling. "Please, feel comfortable during your stay."
(Hidden meaning: Grow complacent; it makes the strike cleaner.)
He pointed at a silver bell by the bedside. "If you require assistance, do not hesitate to ring."
(Hidden meaning: One tug on the string, and I'll be at the door—whether you wish it or not.)
We murmured agreement, words dry on our tongues.
"I trust you will have a pleasant night. Until tomorrow, Young Master Lucas, Young Lady Ronette."
(Hidden meaning: Enjoy your final hours.)
The door clicked shut. The silence he left behind felt heavier than stone.
Ronette's shoulders quivered. "That was—exhilarating."
"I told you it would be." I dropped onto the edge of the bed, boots thumping lightly.
"If we hadn't played Hidden Meaning, I wouldn't be half this nervous," he muttered, rubbing his arms.
"By the way," I said, crossing my ankles, "we won the game."
"How can you tell?"
"The butler never solved it."
"He didn't know he was playing," Ronette pointed out.
I planted my hands on my hips, lips pursed. "Whose side are you on, exactly?"
"Erm…"
"Besides," I continued loftily, "even if we'd guessed wrong, we'd still earn points for style."
Ronette scratched his head. "If you say so, Louis."
"Of course! I am the creator."
'With more loopholes than lace,' he thought—but kept it to himself.
Silence fell. Candles guttered. Firelight swayed across carved paneling.
"…"
"…"
Suddenly Ronette shot upright. "Wait!"
"What? What?" I half-lunged off the bed, eyes darting for assassins.
"What did you mean you're the creator? I thought Hidden Meaning Day was some real holiday!"
"It is now," I said with a casual shrug. "I invented it just now."
His lips formed the most scandalized pout of the century.
I strolled over, mussing his hair. "Oh, my little pouty cry‑baby. Who cares if it's a holiday or a devilday? If it's fun, that's all that matters."
His glare twitched. At last, he huffed—a small surrender—and let me ruffle his hair until the room's chill seemed to ease.
Then—knock.
Ronette clutched my arm. "Did you hear that?"
"Probably just the wind," I lied, voice dry.
Knock.
He scrambled so fast he nearly wrapped around my ribs. "Louis… there it is again!"
"I heard." Without missing a beat, I scooped him up in a dramatic princess carry, his limbs flailing as I took a bold step toward the door.
"What are you doing?" he hissed, clinging tighter. "Don't! Are you mad?"
"We have to confront it," I said calmly, my eyes locked on the door.
"What if it's a ghost?"
"Then I'll throw you at it and run."
His jaw dropped, scandal and fear in perfect balance. "Excuse me?"
I smothered a laugh. "Kidding. Mostly."
"That didn't sound like a joke," he grumbled, but stayed close, breath quick.
We pressed our ears to the door. Silence, so thick it hurt.
Ronette dared a whisper. "Do you think—"
Knock.
He scrambled back, legs tangling, landing with a thud.
I dropped to all fours, peering under the door. Two plain maid slippers stood motionless.
"Good sign," I whispered. "At least there's no disembodied head."
I stood, unlatching the door.
The maid was there—rigid, doll-still. Wide glassy eyes shimmered with an absent, awful calm. She neither blinked nor breathed.
"Evening, my little dove," I sang, plucking a playful chord. "What brings you fluttering to our nest on such a ghostly eve?"
Nothing. Not a twitch.
A cold tide crawled up my spine.
I strummed brighter. "Ah, but if it's dinner you bring, dear nightingale—regretfully, our bellies are full."
Still nothing. Air thickened around her unmoving form.
Just as Ronette dared inch closer, she stepped back in a glide too smooth for flesh, dipped into a stiff, wrong-angled bow, and her lips bent into a smile far too wide.
"Your bath is ready," she said. Voice flat. Hollow. "Please follow me."
Then she turned, drifting down the hall.
Ronette and I stared after her.
"Did you see her smile?" he whispered, blinking too fast.
"Oui," I murmured. "Now I understand why some people shouldn't smile."
"Are we… supposed to follow?"
"Most likely." I looked down. "But can you actually move?"
He shook his head, paling.
With a resigned sigh, I scooped him up in a dramatic princess carry. "Fear not, my fair maiden. I shall carry thee to thy doom with honor."
With Ronette clinging, my fiddle strung across my back, and shadows creeping closer, I stepped after the maid.
She never turned to see if we followed.
But it felt like the walls themselves were watching. Waiting. Guiding.
'Luckily I had Ronette with me.'
'Or I might already have vanished into this place. Forever.'