The first ball of the season had already passed, but in two weeks came the crown prince's birthday—his thirtieth—and the timing was perfect.
Gabriel promised to secure an invitation. He would also take on the task of commissioning the dress and finding a suitable companion. Like a true romance novelist, he was attentive to every detail.
_Now he has to teach me to dance as well. I think I've burdened him too much..._ Evangeline felt a pang of conscience, but then she remembered that Gabriel had brought this misfortune upon himself, and she cast all doubts aside with a light heart.
Yes, it was Gabriel himself who had offered to be her partner. It was always like that in love: whoever loves most, loses.
_By the way, how did Dolline know Gabriel would be my partner? I didn't tell her anything._ Evangeline's brow furrowed slightly. _Have rumors that Gabriel invited me to the ball already spread throughout the city? Gossip in high society spreads with terrifying speed._
---
"Have a good trip, Dolline," Evangeline said.
"Thank you," Dolline replied with a polite smile and hurried out of the room. She closed the door carefully behind her and took a deep breath. Only once she was beyond Evangeline's sight could she breathe freely.
_Damn it. Damn it!_
Her hands trembled as if she were deep in withdrawal. She should never have agreed to the bishop's request.
Recently, rumors had spread throughout the city that Count Rohanson was seeking governesses for his daughter. Word was that the ailing lady had miraculously recovered and was now preparing for her debut in society.
Since Evangeline Rohanson had long since passed the typical debutante age, she had become a delicious morsel for gossips.
Some claimed she wasn't sick at all—merely deformed and therefore hiding from the world. Others whispered that the real Evangeline had died, and the Count had found a double to take her place. There were also those who allegedly saw her in the temple and described her as an angel in the flesh.
Since Evangeline, citing illness, communicated with no one, she had no friends to refute these rumors. And so the gossip multiplied day by day, each tale more outlandish than the last.
Dolline had never been interested in such idle chatter. But then Bishop Javaniya contacted her. As usual, she had come to him to secretly purchase holy water.
"This is a very simple task," he had said, his aged voice smooth as oil. "If you succeed, I will reward you generously."
He asked her to become Evangeline's governess—to observe, to learn what kind of person she truly was, and to discover the nature of her relationship with Captain Gabriel. In exchange, he promised to supply her with holy water every three months.
Dolline was an addict. Her addiction had already cost her a husband.
When the cravings became unbearable, she drank holy water to cleanse herself. But both the drugs and the holy water were expensive, and Dolline, perpetually struggling for coin, had accepted Javaniya's offer without hesitation.
She hadn't even asked why he needed the information. Now she regretted it bitterly.
Thanks to Javaniya's forged references, Dolline had landed the position without difficulty. At first, everything seemed simple enough. What could be so difficult about looking after a sickly girl?
She had been wrong. **Devastatingly** wrong.
Evangeline Rohanson turned out to be... strange. An angel? Sick? Ugly? It was unlikely that any of those who spread rumors about her had ever seen her in person.
_She was not an ordinary girl._
Even Javaniya's description had proven worthless. The old man must have developed cataracts. How could he have been so mistaken?
With skin so pale and thin that blue veins showed through like rivers on a marble map, and bright red eyes like two rubies set into hollow sockets, Evangeline looked less like a human being and more like a temple statue of an angel given breath.
Dolline's head spun. Her mind felt as though it were being torn apart from the inside.
Voices echoed in her skull, as if someone were whispering directly into her ear. It was like insects crawling into her ear canals, causing an unbearable, maddening itch.
_Prostrate yourself. Kneel. Praise. Glorify. Honor. Worship. **Admire.**_
These voices haunted Dolline whenever she was near Evangeline.
She did not succumb to their influence only because she was already accustomed to such voices—the ones that tormented her during withdrawal.
_Jump out the window. Throw yourself under a carriage._ She heard these whispers constantly, so another voice calling for worship made little difference. Sometimes the voices merged into one, hissing, _"Prove your devotion by slitting your wrists,"_ but for now, Dolline managed to ignore them.
But even habit did not make the experience bearable. Dolline understood why the other teachers had fled.
Without a clear goal—like the holy water that Dolline desperately craved—it was impossible to endure. She couldn't fathom how the servants managed to work in this mansion day after day. Perhaps they were all on some kind of drug themselves?
The three maids who constantly attended Evangeline seemed especially unhinged. They must have been brain-damaged, or else utterly devoid of self-preservation instinct.
Red-haired Kanna appeared to have completely surrendered to the voices. Daisy regarded Dolline with perpetual suspicion, her eyes sharp as broken glass. Henna seemed the most normal and friendly of the three.
"Are you leaving already?" Henna asked, suddenly appearing before Dolline. Her gloomy face and quiet voice made Dolline flinch.
_No—Henna left the room before me. She should be long gone by now._ If she was still here, she must have been waiting.
"Do you need to see the butler? Shall we go together?"
Dolline wanted to refuse, but remembering the holy water, she forced herself to agree. This was a perfect opportunity to learn something useful.
While working as a governess, Dolline had recorded everything she saw and heard in the Rohanson mansion, intending to pass the information to Javaniya. She had described her impressions of Evangeline in meticulous detail—the maids, the suspiciously quiet inhabitants, the oppressive atmosphere that hung over the estate like a funeral shroud.
But there had been no response from Javaniya. Should she continue watching Evangeline?
Perhaps he hadn't answered because the information was too insignificant. He needed more important details. _Why didn't he simply tell me what he wanted?_
If this continued, Dolline would really have to lick Evangeline Rohanson's toes to prove her usefulness.
"Let us praise her," Henna said suddenly.
"What?"
"You're the last one left, Dolline. The lady is very upset that the other teachers departed so quickly."
"Really?" Dolline arranged her features into an expression of concern. "The lady is so kind."
"Yes. That is true."
Dolline continued to heap praise upon Evangeline, trying to ingratiate herself with Henna, but the maid remained indifferent to the flattery. Oddly enough, Henna only seemed to respond when the compliments were directed at Evangeline herself—genuine pleasure flickering across her pale features. _Why are the three sisters so different from one another?_
---
In the butler's office, Dolline received a generous payment. The money would sustain her for a whole week of bliss. She accepted it with trembling gratitude.
"And also, Dolline—you are complying with the terms of the non-disclosure agreement, yes?"
"Of course." She kept her voice steady. "I have no one to speak to anyway."
"Then please continue to observe the terms."
Dolline listened to the butler's instructions and made a promise she had no intention of keeping. The moment she left the mansion, she would write to Javaniya. She had learned something today—something that might finally earn his attention.
"Well then, I'll take my leave."
After bidding the butler farewell, Dolline headed for the exit. But the instant she crossed the threshold, someone seized her by the collar and yanked her backward. A hand clamped around her throat, and she crashed to the floor, coughing violently.
"*Cough*... *cough*... What—what are you doing?!"
Henna.
Dolline lay sprawled on the cold floor, her vision swimming. She could see Henna's shoes—polished, perfectly still. What had happened? Had she been exposed? Were the butler's words a warning?
"Prove your loyalty by death," Henna whispered.
_Death?_ So they intended to kill her. They would murder her and cover up the evidence. The other teachers hadn't left at all—they had been **killed**. _Damned Javaniya! He lured me into a trap!_
"She... she'll kill me...!"
Dolline gasped for air, clawing desperately toward the door. But no matter how hard she crawled, Henna caught up in two unhurried steps.
A shadow loomed behind her. It was over. She couldn't escape.
Henna looked down at the despairing governess with something that might have been pity.
"Dolline," she said softly. "There's a window there."
Dolline raised her head.
"What?"
Where the door had been moments ago, there now gaped an open window. They were on the second floor. A fall from that height would hardly kill her outright, but—*why had she mistaken a window for a door?*
She was going through withdrawal. She needed a fix. Desperately. Or at least holy water. **Now.**
With shaking hands, Dolline retrieved the precious packet of powder she guarded like the apple of her eye—her last dose, because she had no money for another. She brought it to her nose and inhaled deeply.
The world around her lurched and spun, transforming into a kaleidoscopic vortex. Henna's face distorted, splitting into two, then ten, then thirty, before collapsing back into one.
Something else materialized on that rotating palette of colors. A drop of black paint fell onto the swirling surface and spread rapidly, consuming everything in its path.
"Oh, I think I was wrong," said something black and shapeless. Thirteen eyes stared at Dolline. Four mouths moved in unsettling unison. "She said to keep you alive for another two weeks."
The mouths twisted into what might have been a smile.
"But in this state, you won't last that long on your own."
The black creature vanished with a sound like wind through dead leaves. The world continued to spin before Dolline's eyes. Someone hauled her roughly to her feet. She recoiled in terror, but the stranger said a name: "Henna."
_Henna._ She had heard that name somewhere.
Henna—with three dark circles marked upon her forehead like ritual brands—seized Dolline by the shoulders, her grip painfully tight.
"Dolline. I'll repeat this once more, and you would do well to remember it." Her voice was quiet but absolute. "If you want to live, do not contradict the lady. Simply obey her. The lady is kind—she will not hold your sins against you."