[Malach]
Malach was replaying the previous night when something pulled him sharply back to the present.
A muted patch of daylight shone through a tinted window, reminding him he was still searching the manor for any sign of life. The sight unsettled him more than it should have. He reached into his pocket, found his small metal blade, and slipped it between his fingers. His hands were numb from last night's cuts, but he still held the blade out of habit. It was hardly a weapon, but it gave him the slightest sense of control.
He continued down the corridor.Hallway after hallway.Room after room.
Then he saw his first body.
He crouched slightly and looked at the face. She was a middle-aged cleaning attendant he had seen only once. A gentle roundness in her cheeks, faint lines at the corners of her eyes, and the kind of tired posture that suggested years of quiet work. He felt a weight in his chest as he considered whether she had anyone waiting for her. He wondered how long she had been here before he noticed her existence at all.
After a short pause, he stood and forced himself to keep moving.He glanced back once before leaving the room.
As he pushed deeper into the manor, more bodies appeared.One at the door of the laundry room.Two collapsed together in a hallway.Several more near a staircase.
Each time his breath grew shorter. He could tolerate seeing one body. But room after room filled with perfect stillness made his nerves fray. If someone had been walking beside him, he might have held himself together. Alone, every quiet space felt ready to swallow him.
The scenes were always the same.Dim rooms.Unmoving faces.No sign of struggle.
The calmness of it all felt worse than violence.
When he finally reached the central gathering room, the sight inside stopped him cold.
The bodies from the night before were still there, arranged exactly as they had fallen. Those deaths had been strange enough, but what lay among them now was far more disturbing. These new bodies did not resemble peaceful rest. The expressions, the positions, the atmosphere around them felt wrong in a way he could not describe.
A wave of dizziness rolled through him.His thoughts scattered.Instinct took over.
He backed away from the room, then turned and ran. He did not care about the sound of his footsteps. He did not care that he let out a small cry as he moved. He only knew he needed distance from whatever he had just seen.
With nowhere certain to go, he ran toward the servants' wing. Empty bedrooms, quiet storage rooms, scattered belongings. Everything felt abandoned. Eventually he found the small side exit used by the laundrymaids and pushed it open, stepping into the sunlight.
Outside, he slowed to catch his breath.
The fresh air did not calm him completely, but it gave him space to think. He stood there, trying to decide what made sense. Should he go to a neighbor's home? Should he try to alert authorities? He was not even sure whether anyone beyond these walls was still alive.
He moved into the back gardens. The plants and hedges were untouched, as if the world inside the manor and the world outside were two separate realities. He almost sat on a bench, but stopped himself. Staying still felt too close to giving in.
Instead, he kept walking.
He looked for any sign of motion. A person would have been ideal, but even a bird or a small animal would have offered some reassurance that life continued beyond this estate.
As he reached the far edge of the property, the memory of the central room returned. Part of him wanted to push it away, but another part insisted he had to confront it.
He took a slow breath, steadying himself, and forced the image back into focus.
He needed to understand what he had seen.