The man adjusted his flat cap nervously. "Uh… excuse me, my name is Milk. I was asked to look for information about the man here.”
“Around here?” Custodio crossed his arms, towering over the much smaller man.
“Yes, uh, around Onzaga. I’ve been traveling through the rural areas, following leads.” Milk pulled out a wrinkled card and handed it to Mortimer. “My employer is Mr. Valentin Periwinkle. He’s the brother of the man I’m looking for.”
At the mention of Valentin, Caruncle scowled. Why now? Ten years—ten years of silence, ten years rotting in that pit, and now he was looking for her? What, to keep track of her? Make sure she hadn’t slipped through his fingers? The thought made her burn with rage.
“You got here late,” Custodio said dryly, gesturing toward the coffin. “The guy’s gone cold.”
Milk's eyes widened. “Oh my God… is that—?” He took a hesitant step forward, peering at the corpse.
“Yes,” Mortimer answered. “He was one of the servants of this manor. Until today.”
“What… what happened?”
“He was mopping the floor and slipped,” Custodio said, lighting another cigar. “Cracked his head open on the desk. Tragic, really.”
“Mopping the floor?”
“Yes. Any other questions?”
Milk hesitated, his gaze shifting to the mangled fingers of the corpse.
“…I see.”
“I’d appreciate your discretion,” Custodio continued, exhaling smoke. “This house has seen better days. Thought I could get some cheap labor by buying him, but, well… lesson learned.” He shrugged. “Wouldn’t you say?”
Milk swallowed. "Uh… right, sir. Excuse me, might I take a photograph? I know this must be incredibly rude, but if I take a photo, I can show my employer that—”
“Go ahead,” Custodio said with a smirk, sinking lazily into one of the chairs. “Might as well take a souvenir now that you’re here.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Milk hurried back to the caleche and pulled out a bulky camera, setting up the tripod with careful precision. As he adjusted the lens, his eyes finally landed on Caruncle.
She was glaring at him, breathing slow and deliberate, struggling to contain the raw anger simmering inside.
Milk’s face flushed at the sight of her. “Oh—uh—excuse me, miss. If I take the photo, you might end up appearing in it and—”
“Don’t worry,” Custodio waved a hand dismissively. “Maybe if she appears in the photo, it won’t look so grim.” He chuckled.
“Haha, right, well—if you’ll allow me, then…”
Before the camera shutter clicked, Caruncle lowered her arms and stared directly into the lens. Wide-eyed. Blank expression. A picture-perfect doll beside a corpse.
The final photograph captured a dead man in his open casket, and a woman with a polite, unreadable face at his side.
“Thank you.” Milk packed up the camera, his movements stiff. “That should be all. Thank you for your help, sir.”
“Right. Make sure you get back to the city before sundown.”
“Y-Yes, thank you.”
“Have a good trip, my good man!” Mortimer called out cheerfully.
Milk gave one last awkward glance at Caruncle, blushed again, then hurried off.
Once the caleche had disappeared down the road, Custodio sighed and turned to Caruncle, his sharp gaze locking onto hers.
“That was on me,” he admitted. “I should take care of all loose ends while you’re still recovering.”
Caruncle held his gaze, her expression unreadable.
Mortimer, watching the tension between them, smiled.
“Mortimer,” Custodio said, still looking at her. “Continue with the funeral.”
“Ah, yes, sir!”
Caruncle was still thinking about the body—still thinking about kissing it.
“Miss Elena,” Mortimer said warmly, “as I mentioned before, you aren’t the first to go through this path, but I do have hope in my heart that you and I will get along. That is all.”
She barely registered his words, still lost in thought.
Mortimer chuckled. “I hope you’ll forgive us for the modest conditions of your funeral, Miss Elena. Your father isn’t particularly fond of priests, and given the nature of this burial, I’m sure you understand the need for discretion.”
Caruncle glanced at the other graves. How many of them were “donors”? And how many were actual family?
“There’s still word spread around about your father’s burials,” Mortimer mused.
Custodio scoffed, flicking ash from his cigar. “A lot of people I know do funerals for their slaves. They just never say that stupid word out loud.” He tossed the cigar to the ground and stomped it out.
Mortimer sighed. “Sir, I just cleaned this spot—”
“Elena.” Custodio’s voice cut through the conversation like a blade. “We will hold two minutes of silence.
“One minute will be for you—to say goodbye to your old life in your own way.
“The second minute is given out of respect.
“For all that you were. For all that you lost.
“When these two minutes pass, that will be it.”
He met her eyes.
“Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“Then, let us begin.”
The two men fell silent.
Caruncle tried to turn her chair away from the corpse, but before she could move, Mortimer gently held it in place.
She was forced to face it.
One minute. That’s all she had. A minute to say goodbye to her old self.
But no words came.
She traced her steps backward, searching for something to hold onto.
Her first life—the other world, the one that now felt impossibly far away. Then, this world, where she had to grow up all over again.
How old was she when she left?
Then, the basement.
No.
She skipped over it, pushing it out of her mind as quickly as it surfaced.
Instead, she focused on the now—on the fact that she could still write. I haven’t forgotten how to write. That’s funny.
There had been a beautiful afternoon once, at the top of Pisces Library’s hill.
For a long time, she had believed that single moment gave meaning to her life.
Maybe I should have died that day.
And then—
“Now, time for the prayer.”
Custodio stood up.
Caruncle flinched. Had it really been two minutes?
His voice rang through the still air:
“She who drowses in the shadows,
Where twilight dwells vice,
The mistress that from her whims we dawn from,
No more than a harlot or a whore,
Abandoned us in this soil,
Retaliation for our ire we still seek,
Until we finally leave our mortal coil.”
I sighed and sank into the third chair, the one that had stayed empty.
Bored.
Custodio and Mortimer moved the coffin into the grave, the dull thud of wood against dirt echoing in the silence.
And then, the digging.
Stolen novel; please report.
Or—well, Custodio throwing dirt over the coffin. Whatever.
Caruncle was finally allowed to turn away, though I found it odd they hadn’t let her before.
But then again—she had been weird about the body too, so whatever.
The wind picked up, whistling through the graveyard.
I shivered.
God, it was so cold.
***
"Though your movement is limited, Elena, it is no excuse to let grace falter."
Mortimer adjusted his gloves, standing over Caruncle like a particularly judgmental scarecrow.
"Even while seated, a lady must maintain the elegance that defines her station. Your back, my dear—straighten it. Imagine a string pulling you upward from the crown of your head."
Caruncle sighed through her nose and tried to obey, but the corset and layers of clothes made it feel like she was being slowly suffocated by dignity itself. She shifted uncomfortably in the wheelchair, feeling hot, tired, and distinctly un-elegant.
As she adjusted her posture, a sharp sting shot up her injured leg. She winced, but Mortimer was relentless.
"Your hands, Elena. A lady’s hands should never betray her emotions. Release the tension. Control, my dear—everything is about control."
Caruncle forced her fingers to relax. Her shoulders slumped slightly before she caught herself and straightened again.
"It has only been a few days since you fell from the window, miss. Your leg will take time to recover, but that does not mean we should delay your education. Again—straighten your back."
From inside the manor, Custodio watched her struggle through the window, cigarette in hand, face unreadable.
He had already finished one cigar and was halfway through another.
Across from him, at the other side of his heavy oak desk, sat a meek-looking man—probably around thirty, just a few years older than Caruncle. The man fidgeted nervously with his hat, eager eyes darting between Custodio's notebook and the window.
"And you are telling me you’ve found a way to bring back the dead, Mr. Esparza?"
Sebastian leaned forward eagerly.
"No," Custodio replied flatly, scratching at his notes. "Not exactly. You can’t just take a rotten corpse and bring it back to life like some fairytale."
Sebastian deflated a little.
"If I have enough fresh parts, and I use the enchantment properly, it stitches them together into a functioning human."
Sebastian blinked. "And how does the spell know how to stitch them together?"
"My theory is that it uses a template."
"A template?"
"I don’t fully understand it yet." Custodio tapped his pen against the desk. "But it only works on humans. If you try to bring back another animal, it doesn’t find the right parts to assemble, and the spell fails. I’ve already tested it on several cats."
Sebastian paused.
"...What happened to the cats?"
"We have a crematorium in the lower levels of the manor."
"I... see."
Custodio took another drag of his cigar and exhaled lazily. "I might try with other animals later. So far, cats, dogs, parrots, cows, pigs, chickens—nothing. Only humans work. But they have to be fresh. If they aren’t fresh, the spell doesn’t work."
Sebastian nodded slowly.
"...Oh wow, I sure hope Lassie doesn’t come around here."
Custodio stopped writing.
Sebastian gave a nervous chuckle. "She’s a Siamese cat, very adventurous. Sometimes disappears for weeks. Haven’t seen her in... oh, about two weeks now, actually."
Custodio did not look up.
Sebastian’s smile faltered.
"You haven’t seen her around, right, sir?"
Custodio flipped a page in his notebook.
"I think that’s the last log for today..." he mumbled.
Sebastian gripped his hat. "Sir? You haven’t... done anything to her, right? Right?"
Custodio took another drag of his cigar.
Sebastian swallowed.
"Miss Elena, straighten your back."
Caruncle scowled.
Sebastian shifted uncomfortably. "...So, um. What happens to the people you bring back?"
"Oh, they eventually die." Custodio said casually.
Sebastian stared.
"I test the limits of the enchantment," Custodio continued, jotting something down. "Remove body parts, see how much the spell can withstand before it stops working."
Sebastian’s hands clenched his hat. "...And then you put the organs back in?"
"No. Organs don’t last long."
Sebastian’s mouth opened, then slowly closed.
Custodio took another long drag of his cigar. "Getting a crematorium wasn’t cheap," he muttered. "Might as well use it."
Sebastian paled.
"R-Right," he murmured, shifting in his seat.
He glanced toward the garden again. His gaze kept drifting back to Caruncle.
Every few seconds, he’d steal another glance.
Custodio sighed loudly.
"What is it, Sebastian?"
"Oh!" Sebastian jumped. "I, uh… It’s just…" He scratched the back of his neck. "Your daughter is, um… quite lovely. It really brightens one’s day to see her."
Custodio narrowed his eyes.
"Yeah, well, I’m not looking for suitors."
Sebastian waved his hands. "Oh! No, no, sir! I didn’t mean anything like that. Just—uh—you know. She’s… very well-mannered! Very ladylike."
"Right."
"...Why is she learning etiquette, though? She seems rather old for that sort of—"
"She has amnesia."
Sebastian blinked.
"Amnesia?"
Custodio exhaled smoke.
"Yeah."
Sebastian hesitated. "...What happened to her?"
"You ask too many questions, Sebastian," Custodio muttered, rubbing his temple. "If you’re here for magic, ask about magic. Otherwise, leave me alone."
Sebastian cleared his throat. "Right, sir, of course. It’s just…"
Custodio sighed, already annoyed. "What now?"
"Well… Can I talk to her?"
"To who?"
"Your daughter, sir. If it’s alright, I’d like to introduce myself. Maybe chat a little?"
Custodio raised an eyebrow.
"She doesn’t talk."
Sebastian blinked. "...Pardon?"
"She’s mute."
"Oh. I… see." Sebastian shifted awkwardly. "Even so, I feel it would still be polite to at least introduce myself—"
"Sebastian." Custodio leaned forward slightly, voice low. "I didn’t invite you here. You tracked me down, practically begged me for a meeting, and I tolerated it. But I’m not letting you nose further into my life—or bother my daughter."
Sebastian held up his hands. "I understand your need for privacy, sir. If you want me gone, I’ll leave right away. But I thought, perhaps, the lady might enjoy some company. She must feel rather lonely here. Surely a small friendship wouldn’t hurt?"
"Still a no." Custodio stood, already walking toward the door. "And I expect you out of my manor in ten minutes or less."
"Sir, please—!"
Outside, Caruncle was finally taking a break.
Mortimer had left to prepare coffee, promising he wouldn’t take too long.
Sebastian stepped out onto the veranda, spotting Caruncle gazing absentmindedly at the sky. The clouds above were thick and gray, as always. It almost felt like the sun had never existed in this place.
Sebastian approached cautiously.
"G-Good morning?" he said hesitantly.
Caruncle flinched so hard she nearly jumped out of her chair.
"Oh! My apologies!" Sebastian waved his hands nervously. "I didn’t mean to startle you!"
Caruncle studied him, scanning him from head to toe.
The guy looked normal. Non-threatening. Dressed in a stiff suit, holding some books under his arm. She recognized him as the man Custodio had been speaking to earlier.
Her leg was still injured, so she couldn't run even if she wanted to. But what did he want with her, anyway?
"So, uh…" Sebastian hesitated before offering a shy smile. "My name is Sebastian. Nice to meet you, ma'am. I’m an acquaintance of your father, and… well, since I was already here, I thought I should introduce myself."
Caruncle shook her head and tapped her throat.
"Oh! I know about your condition, ma’am. Don’t worry."
She relaxed slightly but continued staring at him, scrutinizing his features.
His **eyes, nose, lips—**he had a strange expression, and she couldn't quite read it. That unease made her wary.
"Uh… Your father and I go a long way back," Sebastian continued. "Do you know what we study?"
Caruncle shook her head again.
"Well! It’s actually a very interesting subject!" His face lit up with excitement. "We study arcane magic!"
Caruncle raised an eyebrow.
"See, ‘arcane magic’—or, well, that’s what we call it—is the art of controlling reality." He placed one of his notebooks on the table in front of her. "In my society, we theorize that the world wasn’t created by the god Xenothropides, but by a goddess named Jazmin."
Caruncle nodded, flipping through the notebook.
"Jazmin abandoned this world," Sebastian explained, "but her creation methods were recorded in a grimoire. A group of scholars found some of its pages fifty years ago in ancient ruins. I wasn’t there, of course—" he laughed awkwardly, "—but since then, we've been trying to decipher the spells!"
As she scanned the book, something clicked.
She recognized these symbols. These exact pages.
She had seen them before—back at the Library of Pisces.
Her heartbeat quickened.
If these were real spells…
Then that meant—
…Wait.
She frowned.
She couldn’t use any of these. They all required spoken incantations.
She sighed through her nose. Useless.
"I’m sorry, miss," Sebastian said sheepishly. "I must be boring you with all my talk, aren’t I?"
Caruncle pointed at the pen in his hand.
"Oh! You want my pen?"
She nodded.
"Here you go, miss."
She skimmed through the spell list.
- Echo of the Forgotten – Summons whispers of lost souls, but with no guidance or knowledge—only meaningless fragments of their last thoughts.
- Death’s Lullaby – Puts the caster into a deep sleep for three days.
- Veil of Eternity – Renders the caster immune to time. Unfortunately, it also kills them.
- Infinite Echo – Amplifies a sound endlessly. Theoretically useful for communication… but in practice, it just creates an annoying, inescapable noise.
Caruncle’s eyelid twitched.
"These are all useless."
She then noticed an incomplete spell.
Perfect Memory – Helps the caster remember any specific event with absolute clarity.
She frowned.
She couldn’t remember any of the useful spells she had read at the library… but this one?
This one seemed unfinished.
She picked up the pen and completed it in seconds.
"Miss, you’re lovely and all," Sebastian said, reaching for the pen, "but I’d rather you not scribble in my—"
His eyes widened.
Caruncle tilted her head.
He was staring at the spell.
It had taken him two years to decipher half of it.
And she had just finished it in two minutes.
Caruncle examined the completed spell.
Another useless enchantment.
She grimaced.
"Sebastian!" Custodio’s voice boomed from the entrance.
Sebastian nearly jumped.
"I told you to leave! Now!"
"Oh! Right, sir! My apologies!" He snatched the notebook from the table.
Before leaving, he hesitated—then took Caruncle’s hand and kissed it.
Caruncle’s face turned red.
She yanked her hand back and looked away, waving him off with a flustered scowl.
As Sebastian rushed off, they heard him shouting at his driver.
"Wake up! Wake up right now! We have to leave!"
"Where to, sir?"
"Home! Where else?! Let's go—NOW!"
Caruncle buried her face in her hands.
Mortimer returned with coffee.
As she drank, she stared up at the perpetually gray sky.
"Magic is stupid," she muttered.
She was definitely just trying to distract herself from the hand kiss.