[DISCLAIMER: All the characters in this work of fiction are meant to be over the age of 18. In no way, shape, or form have I, as the writer, wanted to imply that any character who indulges in sexual activities, or any other activities that are prohibited for people below the legal age, in this chapter, or the subsequent chapters, is underage.]
THE WOLVEN MANOR
Chapter II: Sophie
Like it usually happened, Sophie was the first maid to wake up in the morning. When she opened her eyes, rays of early sunlight were only beginning to pour into her tiny room through an equally tiny window. She winced as a reddish beam sneaked onto her fresh face, then yawned, stretched groggily, and, clad in her plain and helplessly overworn nighty, shuffled barefoot over to the door. As expected, it opened with the customary creak, and the young servant peered into the hallway. Not a single soul in sight, or even a faint trace of sound. For now, the mansion was still asleep. She was perhaps the only one awake at this unholy hour.
It was a rough night again. The animals had been howling louder than ever, and the youngest of the maids could swear that at some point one of those ungodly creatures had got perilously close to the manor. One of the howls had sounded so distinct and clear, so near the mansion, that Sophie had almost jumped out of her skin. Whatever those beasts were, they were getting brazen and much more venturous. Could they be attracted by the smell of food waste? The hoarded garbage piles hadn't been taken away in weeks, so it was only natural that animals with keen noses would be approaching the premises to feast on the scraps. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to talk about this problem with the housekeeper, Mrs Sullivan, when she woke up. Surely, she could convince the lady of the house that it was about time to get rid of the trash. If wolves, bears, or whatever other dangerous wild animals living in the woods were to get used to snooping around so close, the manor's residents would be in grave danger even in daytime.
With these thoughts in mind, Sophie hurried towards the servants' washroom. One of the perks of waking up before everyone else was that she could wash her face without having to fight her fellow maids for the right to use the basin. After splashing her face with lukewarm water, the lass glanced at her reflection and couldn't help but notice just how pale and weary she had become over the past few weeks. Her blue eyes looked tired, and so did the rest of her face, now moistened by rivulets of water trickling down her cheeks. Otherwise, she was the same pretty girl who had come to serve the Gladstones some years ago, when she had turned sixteen. The maid smiled and cupped her cheeks in front of the mirror, her long chestnut curls softly bounced as she tilted her head from side to side, admiring the youthful glow of her ruddy skin.
Having freshened up, Sophie felt significantly more awake and ready for another busy day, so she tied her hair into a neat bun, returned to her room, and pulled on her uniform. Other maids would wake up soon and begin their usual bickering with each other as they got ready for the job. Then, everyone would gather in the kitchen to eat the leftovers from the previous day, before being given individual instructions by the housekeeper. Fortunately, the young maid had all the time in the world before all that happened, and she decided to take a walk around the ground floor to see if anything specific needed to be done.
The hallways were awfully quiet at this early hour. The only sounds the lass heard were the muffled echoes of her own footsteps, and perhaps the occasional rustle of her black and white dress as it brushed against the floor. The mansion was painted deep crimson, and the dark colour only served to highlight the silence. Every once in a while, Sophie would pass by one of many portraits of Mr Gladstone's family members that had been lined up on the walls for ages. Most of the ladies and gentlemen glared at her with disapproval, as if they found her, a lowborn country girl, unworthy of setting foot inside their prestigious home. There were, however, a few exceptions, for some of the mostly late Gladstones watched her with mild curiosity, interest even, like they were expecting something from her.
Before Sophie realised, she walked past the door leading to Miss Anabelle Gladstone's bedchamber, which made her halt and take an unsure step back. The daughter of the maid's master and mistress and the twin sister of Mister Daniel Gladstone was the only family member who preferred to sleep on the ground floor, in one of the guest bedchambers, essentially sharing the floor with her servants. The relationship between the two girls were complicated, for Anabelle had been trying hard to befriend her handmaiden ever since their first meeting in the capital, while Sophie herself had been stoically trying to keep her distance, afraid that too much familiarity might cost the maid her job. But even so, she found herself drawn to the young miss's kind nature and secretly looked forward to their small, idle talks whenever they had the chance to spend time in each other's company. She really wanted to get closer to her lady, too, and it pained her to act cold and distant to someone who had been nothing but nice to her, but the maid simply couldn't afford to risk losing this job, not with her little siblings depending on her.
And though Sophie knew that she shouldn't disturb the young noble, especially this early in the morning, something nudged her to reach out for the doorknob. She couldn't tell what exactly. A bad feeling hidden somewhere at the back of her head? A premonition of sorts? Or mere curiosity? Whatever the reason, it was enough to make her crack the door open, just enough for her to slip in, and close it right away.
The first thing she noticed was a strange smell that permeated the chamber despite the open window. It was a bizarre, musky stench that didn't quite fit her understanding of a noble lady's boudoir, though at a glance, the room looked quite tidy and proper. Normally, Sophie and her fellow maids would add a droplet of lavender oil or rosemary essence to the sheets in an attempt to sweeten the air, but she couldn't smell any of the usual scents. What she did smell was a good deal stronger, to the point of it being pungent, but surprisingly enough, not entirely unpleasant. The closer the young maid plodded towards the large canopy bed, the thicker the smell grew, so much so that it began to tickle the back of her throat. By the time she reached the bedside, her eyes had got used to the reddish dimness of the chamber, enough to make out the figure sprawled on top of the creased and crumpled bedsheets.
"M-Milady?" the lass whispered.
She was not wrong. The figure really belonged to Anabelle Gladstone. The aristocrat was lying on her back uncovered, her blonde hair dishevelled and nightgown rolled up past her waist. Her face looked peaceful, probably too peaceful for someone asleep. To add insult to injury, Sophie noticed that in some places the bedding was torn, as if someone had taken a knife to it, or ripped with claws. However, the most alarming of the sights were dark stains smeared over the linen, with the biggest of them soaking through the sheet right underneath the noble lady's somewhat splayed legs. This, and the flapping curtains of the open wide window, made the serving girl think of countless terrible possibilities, all of them suggesting the worst.
As soon as Sophie regained her wits, she shrieked at the top of her lungs.
"Miss Anabelle! Oh, dear Lord... Are you alright?" the maid cried out while shaking the woman's shoulders.
"Ugh... Sophie? Wha... What are you doing here?" Anabelle languidly opened her eyes, her tone sounding subdued as she turned to look at her servant in between the strands of messy hair covering her face.
"Are you hurt? What happened here?"
The blonde sluggishly raised her head and made a pained grimace as she propelled her upper body off the mattress and supported herself on her elbows. As she did, one of her hands accidentally brushed against the damp sheet, and she hastily recoiled it, surprised by the wet and sticky sensation against her skin. As the reality dawned upon her, the colour in the noble's face drained, and her emerald eyes darted towards the window. Her expression changed from blissful tranquillity to one of abject terror within a split second, and she simply sat there, motionless, staring blankly into the void while she recollected the events of the night. Words seemed to fail her, and Sophie understood that something terrible must have happened.
"I-I don't have any scratches, do I?" she finally brough herself to say and ran her hands over her bare legs, stomach and buttocks. "Or bite marks? Anything at all?"
Sophie quickly examined Anabelle's body and shook her head.
