_We need to search everything!_
Perhaps there's a diary I missed yesterday. I've already turned Evangeline's bedroom inside out, so it's time to investigate the rest of her quarters.
This door leads to a toilet. This one, a bathroom. Here's a sitting room... and *here* we go!
The door barely budged, swollen in its frame, but behind it lay a storage room. Shapes draped in dust cloths. Wooden crates stuffed with miscellaneous items. I stared at the chaos and wondered how anyone could possibly transport all this during a move.
Beneath the fabric, I discovered paintings. And paints. So Evangeline had been interested in art. Bookshelves lined one wall, which meant this space served as both studio and reading room. No wonder the curtains were drawn so tightly—she'd been protecting her work from the sun.
I set the paintings aside for now and turned my attention to the books. I still couldn't read, but a diary would be handwritten; I'd recognize one when I saw it. And there—*there* it was! The black leather cover was slightly disconcerting, but this was definitely a personal journal. Ink stains marked the edges. Numbers at the top of each page—dates, surely.
_A dead giveaway._
While flipping through the pages, something slipped out and fluttered to the floor. A loose note? I picked it up.
My breath caught.
"A summoning circle?"
The paper depicted a circle filled with geometric patterns—triangles nested within triangles, strange symbols arranged in precise formations. This was *unmistakably* a summoning circle. And I'd found it tucked inside the villain's diary.
_It seems I've stumbled into a rather old-fashioned story. Contracts with non-human entities haven't been popular in fiction lately._
But I didn't hesitate. I *had* to draw this circle.
It didn't matter what crawled out—a spirit, a demon, a dragon—the important thing was to complete the ritual. A villain needed protection, and right now, I had none.
Fortunately, paints sat right at hand. I lacked a blank canvas or suitable paper, so I'd have to paint directly on the floor. In books, people always drew summoning circles on floors anyway.
I selected the red paint—I had the most of it, which would prevent me from running out mid-ritual. The brushes had dried stiff and refused to bend properly, so I abandoned them and dipped my fingers directly into the pigment.
First, a large circle. Then triangles. Stars. A cascade of arcane symbols copied meticulously from the diagram.
I got carried away.
At some point, I pricked my finger on a rough splinter in the wooden floor. Thankfully, no wood lodged beneath my skin, but blood welled up immediately. It hurt *terribly*. I finished the remaining symbols with a hardened brush instead—awkward, certainly, but bearable.
_I should have done it this way from the start. A fool pays twice._
"Ready!"
The circle was slightly crooked, but complete. I sat back on my heels and waited.
In the books, something always happened immediately—light, smoke, a dramatic crack of thunder. But nothing stirred. The paint glistened wetly on the floorboards and remained utterly inert.
_Perhaps I need an incantation?_
I examined the paper again. There *was* text written beneath the diagram—presumably the activation spell. But what good was a spell I couldn't read?
Still, it seemed a waste to let all my efforts go to nothing. I cleared my throat and tried anyway.
"Oh, great lord of... spirits? Spirit? Dragon?" I felt ridiculous. "Hello? Is anyone there?"
Silence.
"Perhaps someone would like to sign a contract?"
More silence.
_Humiliation without results. Wonderful._
It seemed I couldn't proceed without the proper incantation. I'd have to learn to read first, then attempt the summoning again. An illiterate person couldn't even call forth a minor imp.
_What an unfair world this is._
---
## — The Count's Study —
Count Rohanson studied the maid standing before him.
Daisy wasn't a criminal, yet she stood with her gaze fixed on the floor, trembling like a leaf in a storm. Considering the Count was a rather lenient master—far more so than most noblemen—her fear seemed excessive.
But this was hardly surprising.
Daisy had been serving *that creature* for the past two days. Whatever occupied his daughter's body now, it wore Evangeline's face perfectly. The maid surely saw echoes of the real Evangeline in every gesture, every expression. The resemblance must have been unbearable.
Understanding this, Count Rohanson kept his voice gentle. Daisy had been a close friend to his late daughter despite the difference in their stations, and she had volunteered to serve "this creature" when no one else would. He spoke slowly, carefully:
"So. What did she do?"
"She asked about Evangeline." Daisy's words tumbled out in a rush. "How old she was. Who her family was. What her favorite foods were, what dishes she usually requested. And she *acted* like she was the real lady. She announced that a proper lady takes her morning walk at eight o'clock, and then she simply... went. Put on the lady's dress and strolled through the gardens as if she belonged there..."
Daisy's sweet, freckled face contorted with emotion. Her tightly closed eyelashes fluttered. She blurted the rest in one breath, as though confessing sins:
"She looked... *looked* at everyone with such contempt... as if..."
Her angry outburst gradually died away.
_...as if she wanted to become the real Evangeline._
She didn't finish the thought aloud, realizing she was being too emotional. Count Rohanson, Evangeline's father, would hate such a suggestion more than anyone.
"She didn't even notice when the maids fainted at the mere sight of her," Daisy added quietly.
And that wasn't all.
Daisy remembered watching "Evangeline" observe a maid being led away by guards, the poor woman's mouth gagged to silence her screams. The servant had begged so desperately for mercy, but the *creature's* red eyes showed only cold disgust. It was as if she were regarding a worm writhing on the ground—something beneath contempt, barely worth acknowledging.
The Lady Evangeline that Daisy had known was *different*. That frail, gentle girl would have made herself ill before uttering a harsh word to anyone. If this impostor wanted to play at being a lady, she shouldn't look at people with such naked disdain. She shouldn't wear that expression.
Daisy kept her head lowered, afraid to meet anyone's gaze.
_I wonder... are those eyes still watching me even now?_
"And then," she continued, "she suddenly wanted to learn to read."
"Read?" The Count's brow furrowed.
Daisy nodded. "She claimed that due to her memory loss, she had forgotten how to read. She asked me to bring her a primer."
Since Daisy had promised to serve "her," she couldn't leave to fetch the book herself. She'd asked another maid to go in her place and stepped away only briefly.
When she returned, the room was empty.
Fearing the creature had escaped while wearing her lady's body, Daisy searched the entire fourth floor in a panic. Finally, she noticed that the door to the farthest room stood slightly open—the room Lady Evangeline had *never* allowed anyone to enter. There was no key, so Daisy had always left it alone. She wondered how the creature had opened it. The door had been locked.
The gap was narrow. Opening it wider would make noise. And then Daisy, too, would be subjected to that same disdainful gaze. Holding her breath, she peered through the crack.
The creature was holding a book.
"She lied to me," Daisy whispered. "Said she couldn't read so I would leave. But when I returned, she was reading as though she'd never forgotten. And... *and*..."
Daisy remembered what happened next with terrible clarity. No matter how desperately she tried to forget, the images only grew sharper.
"She was bleeding from her finger. Drawing some kind of... *disgusting* picture on the floor. Using her own blood."
The creature had painted with her finger, but beneath the wet sounds, there came a strange scraping noise—like fingernails dragging across wood.
"And then, when she finished, she muttered something. I could only make out one word clearly." Daisy's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "*Contract.*"
She had pressed her ear to the door, straining to hear more. And accidentally pushed it open.
Daisy prayed the creature wouldn't notice, but their eyes met—red meeting brown across the dim room.
Daisy had squeezed her own eyes shut in pure terror. That was the last thing she saw.
"A contract..." Count Rohanson stroked his chin thoughtfully. "A drawing made in blood. And a contract."
Whatever it meant, it didn't bode well. Some form of witchcraft? He was already agonizing over "that creature" possessing his daughter's body. Now this—summoning something with blood, muttering about contracts...
Count Rohanson sighed heavily.
This was all because his daughter had taken her own life. The temple had refused to hold a proper funeral or even accept the body for burial. And so an evil spirit had possessed the empty vessel. The trouble was, holy water couldn't exorcise it. Nothing they tried had worked.
All that remained was to watch. And wait.
The Count wanted to encourage Daisy, to ask her to be patient a little longer, but he suddenly noticed something strange. The maid was still standing with her eyes squeezed shut.
"Why have you been standing with your eyes closed all this time?"
"Why?" Daisy sounded genuinely puzzled by the question. "I'm scared. *It's* still looking at me, my lord."
Looking?
Count Rohanson turned around abruptly.
And met the gaze of many eyes staring back at him from the shadows.
---
## — The Next Morning —
I was chosen by a three-eyed leopard cat.
What kind of world *is* this? Why are even the cats here so unusual?
I don't know how he got into my room, but I woke with him curled against my chest, purring like a small engine. His third eye—centered on his forehead—blinked at me sleepily. Perhaps he was a pet kept somewhere on the estate? I'd have to ask the maid.
Although, a different one came today. They must work in shifts.
"Are there many cats on the estate?"
"Cats?" The maid's expression flickered. "We killed them all long ago."
_Killed them all?!_
She explained that an epidemic had been traced back to cats years ago. It seemed this world had experienced its own version of the plague—and blamed felines for spreading it.
*Meow.*
"...Don't you hear that cat meowing?"
"No, my lady. I don't hear anything."
"Strange... I can hear it so clearly..."
I tried my best to appear confused rather than panicked. *Of course* I could hear it clearly—he was right *here*, tucked behind my pillows! No! Baby, don't meow! They'll notice! They'll kill you!
I held my breath until the maid finished her duties and left without searching the room.
_Phew._
My heart nearly leaped out of my throat. I've always been firmly against adopting pets without family consent. I *hated* those stories: "My father was against getting a cat, and now he loves it more than me!" So what now? I was the one who'd acquired a cat without permission!
But they would kill him if they found him. If all the cats had been exterminated during the epidemic, his family was likely dead too. He was alone in the world.
Perhaps I could take him to the doctor and priest for examination. If he proved healthy—free of whatever plague had terrorized this land—I could keep him. Surely no one would dare touch a pet belonging to the Countess herself.
But first, I needed permission from the Count.
His office was on the second floor, wasn't it? Good thing I'd remembered that much. I made my way downstairs and knocked on the heavy oak door. The butler emerged.
"I wish to see the Count."
"One moment, my lady. I shall inquire."
The butler returned quickly, his expression carefully neutral.
"I beg your pardon, my lady. The Count is occupied at the moment and cannot receive you."
"Is that so?"
_What a bastard, this villainous father._
His daughter had *died* and *come back to life*, and he'd never once visited her. Never even invited her to share a meal. I came to him myself, and he turned me away at the door? *This* was why daughters became villains. He was *busy*, apparently!
"If you wish to convey a message, my lady, you may tell me."
The butler bowed his head—deeply, almost to the ground. Who exactly had Evangeline been, that an elderly man would prostrate himself before her like this? I reached out to help him straighten, placing my hand on his shoulder.
He flinched violently.
_Hey, I'm not going to hit you!_
"I want to keep a cat."
"A... cat?" His voice wavered with confusion.
"Is it forbidden?"
"No, my lady... it is not forbidden..."
_Hooray! Permission granted!_
I returned to my room, humming a cheerful tune under my breath. The three-eyed creature was exactly where I'd left him, watching me with all three of his golden eyes.
I scooped him up and held him close.
"Your name will be **Pudding**."
---