An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege

This particular maid didn't stand out—at least, not at first. She was like a mouse: hesitant, timid, unassuming in every way. There was a freshness to her, a quiet strangeness the others completely lacked, while they stood with their noses looking to the heavens and the earth below their feet nothing but a nuisance, she stood with her head bowed, in meekness, he eyes lowered and her presence small. If Romeon were to describe her in colors, while the others looked like shadows of grey—monotone, predictable—hers was a black that disappeared from sight, yet still held your gaze, drawing you to seek out and unravel the mysteries hidden within, a darkness that did not feel oppressive or sinister, but one that promised a light at the end of it all.

She stood docile within the train of maids, unlike the rest who seemed to be there to show him just how little he mattered and that even maids looked down upon him. Even though she held power over their princess, she didn't seem to carry the weight one might expect.

There wasn't even the usual air of caution from those in the vicinity that one would have for someone capable of influencing their so deeply master.

Did they understand the extent of her power? Did they know whether she was loyal or not? Did they not question just how it was that she could influence someone as powerful; as his wife?

Perhaps they didn't believe she could do much. Or perhaps their arrogance blinded them so thoroughly that they believed themselves invincible and inviolable. Or maybe—just maybe—he was out of his depth here and was failing to understand the dynamics at play to see the hidden threads that maybe held them all tethered to the whims and desires of their master.

Out of slight curiosity, he glanced at the old butler. But aside from a slow-rising scorn and a flicker of joy at Romeon's expense, there was no hint of concern for the maid who had put their princess to sleep. He seemed too confident, too trusting, so stupid... and a flicker of disgust flickered in Romeons eyes, this was no attitude he expected from those who had shed their mortality.

Romeon frowned despite himself. The maid looked too innocent—too harmless—to even kill an ant. And maybe that's exactly why she unsettled him in ways that didn't make sense.

Nothing made sense, a no-name character was making him question so much in so little time. His life on the battlefield had taught him the importance of always questioning his surroundings, everything was an enemy until it was proven otherwise, every corner, every blade of grass, even the earth they walked was an enemy until with undefiable doubt it was proven otherwise, so he always questioned, once, twice, even a fourth if he was still not sure enough.

Though he was still a mortal back then, and being young at that, he had never faced the more dangerous foes, those that made the walkers have to step out since they would have been taken care of before they were called into the fray, to clean up the rabble. But even the lessons picked up in passing were ones he could never forget, so questioning himself over something seemingly so insignificant was not the problem, with his instincts it was normal to have doubt.

What confused him more was why this situation occupied his mind at all, and not in ways of one who had seen an enemy in the making but in ways that seemed more suggestive every passing moment, especially when his heart was a storm of fury. Why was he thinking about a maid at a time like this?

And yet, it didn't change anything. The maid, with her large, expressive eyes, would occasionally glance at him from the corner of her vision. And all he could see in those glances… was pity and something else that disappeared just too fast to capture.

Her hands occasionally shimmered with pinks and violets—deep, enchanting colors that, if stared at too long, made him stumble in his thoughts. The power radiating from them was one of extremely quiet and serenity as if his mind was pulled into a waking dream. And that was merely from a subtle glance at how she worked. The aura around her was one of the same mutedness and timidity that her demeanor had, so it was hard to tell the depth of her power.

She seemed to have power over sleep, which would explain how they were able to work on his wife without waking her. And all of a sudden, Romeon found himself strangely more curious about her.

A head butler who was a Walker was already a surprise. But a maid who was also one? That made three Walkers he had seen so far. And yet, before coming near the war zone, he had hardly seen even one—until he met the Duke, not even of his own violation for the Duke approached him first. But back then, he hadn't even been a Walker himself, and thus, unworthy of perceiving them, so even if he had a run-in with them he may have never known.

Now he wondered: just how deep did the foundations of the Northern Duke's Household run if Walkers could be found working as mere servants?

Now that he was paying attention to this particular maid, he realized she was more beautiful than the others.

Her demeanor was delicate, the kind that made men instinctively want to protect her. She was on the shorter side, her hair tied into a formal maid's bun—though he couldn't tell whether it was truly short or merely hidden. The style gave her a look that was... subtly suggestive and his quietened blood seemed to simmer within his veins.

Her eyes were large and innocent, colored like rubies or blood-red roses—it was hard to tell from where he stood, but either way, they were striking. Rare.

Romeon didn't even realize how deeply his thoughts had wandered. What started as a passing observation had turned into something else. All because a maid had dared to pity him. He had even forgotten the rage he had when she did and now all that occupied his mind was his curiosity about her.

Despite her modest uniform, her body—well, it didn't escape his trained observation. Her figure was quite endowed, just shy of a transformed Rena's. And though she wore her uniform properly, it was his sharpened instincts—enhanced after knowing a woman's touch—that allowed him to notice these things. She didn't need to bear herself for Romeon to know her body was something to behold, the thoughts teased his mind like a mouse unaware of the lion's bite he felt annoyance, and yet it never fully turned to rage, it was just there.

She didn't possess the overwhelming allure Rena carried—his wife's charm was woven into every cell of her being, that was the one thing that made him feel that even with all the scorn he had suffered, in the end, he had won out, his patience rewarded with the epitome of female fatale, and yet her pride was a bone he had yet to truly settle. Romeon had seen it firsthand. There would never be another woman who could match that.

But this maid's allure… it was different. It was the kind of quiet beauty that hid itself away aflower that shyed at the touch closing off its petals from even the rays of light. A beauty that comforted instead of overwhelmed. With Rena, he had to constantly worry about others looking at her the wrong way. But with this maid…

Romeon stopped himself before his thoughts could go any further—thoughts that would get him killed if they continued. And yet, even after looking away, her image remained vivid in his mind.

Her hair was the color of frosted blue, or perhaps a dreamy lavender so pale it appeared blue—it was hard to tell just as it was with her eyes, everything about her felt like it should not make logical sense and yet it did. Her skin held both a sunny glow and a subtle mercurial undertone, making her heritage difficult to pin down. Her features were small and delicate, falling on the more adorable side of beauty.

He found his mind consumed, mentally listing every detail. And if not for the fact that she was focused entirely on his wife, he would have thought she had done something to influence him.

By the time he snapped out of it, the maids had finished their work. The room was restored to its pristine condition—like how it should've been before he became her husband.

With a gentle, almost theatrical clap from the old butler, the maids began to file out in a line. Most of them didn't even dare to look at Romeon—not out of fear, but from the disdain they held for him. All for one gaze. One moment, where he had stared for just a second too long.

A pair of red—no, rosen—eyes…