"What the…" she breathed, hesitantly entering the room a little further.
The room was completely emptied of all its furniture and all its particularities. The cracks in the walls, the ravages of time and even the traces of paint that the child had left while playing, everything had vanished. It was as if the place that was in Aina's memories had never existed.
All of this made no sense... How could the room, furnished with enormous furniture which, to be moved, would have required the work of several men, have been completely stripped of its contents?
It was beyond comprehension.
'What is this witchcraft...?'
She was alone in this large, bare, and impersonal room, which even made her doubt where she was.
Disturbed by this discovery, she stuck her head through the door frame to observe the corridor. It might seem stupid, but she felt compelled to check that she was in the right place...that she hadn't just walked into another room without realizing it.
'I was not wrong...'
Where was the bedroom furniture and – more importantly – its occupant?
An unpleasant shiver ran down her spine and she had a bad feeling, as if something gloomy had happened here and she felt it. All this seemed particularly curious to her, to the point that she wandered around the room for several minutes, staring at every corner, as if hoping that all this was just a common visual hallucination and that everything would return to normal if she concentrated enough.
After a few minutes, she realized the obvious: it was not a mistake, nor a dream. Désespoir's room and the young child were gone.
This fact disturbed her as much as it intrigued her and she had no other idea than to leave the room and head towards the room of the only member of the Signavit whom she felt able to question: the wife. Although this woman was one of the illustrious members of this family, she was certainly the one with whom Aina would find it easier to talk.
Lady Chagrin was, after all, a kind and understanding woman, one she was hopeful she could talk to. Curiosity was not particularly well appreciated within the manor, but according to her, the wife would be the most susceptible to ignore her affront, because she seemed to feel a certain affection towards her that she couldn't explain.
Thoughts swirled in her mind as she walked down the hall to her mistress's room. She was alone in the long ebony corridor, hearing nothing more than the sound of her shoes on the wooden floor and the sound of her discreet breathing. She was surprised not to see anyone at this hour, even though the servants of the estate were supposed to prepare the meal and polish the house from top to bottom. If someone knew that she herself should have been in the kitchen, or in her masters' bedrooms, but that she instead took advantage of the unique and rare consideration of the patriarch, to wander around the house and break the rules that he had always hammered.
Walking on tiptoe along the wall, she felt like a fugitive wanted by the authorities.
'If the Patriarch or Envie catches me...'
It would surely be the end of her. Her good and loyal service over several years would probably not be enough to appease the anger into which her master would plunge if she were discovered.
After a few minutes, she stopped in front of the wife's bedroom door and held her breath for a few moments before knocking. At first, she heard only silence before a creak sounded from the other side of the door and a small voice beckoned her to enter. The young servant took her courage in both hands and turned the wooden handle, before rushing into the now half-open room.
At its center, she found the matriarch, who was facing the window overlooking the garden. She looked attentively at a large grayish willow, on which a pair of charcoal pumps hung, hooked together by the laces. She seemed absorbed in her contemplation, to the point that she did not even turn her head to greet the young servant, who could only look at her in silence. Thus motionless, her golden hair waving in the caress of the wind, she reminded her of a statue, which would have been delicately sculpted by the finest craftsman.
Aina did not see her face, which was camouflaged under her wooden mask, but she had the strange sensation that a powerful melancholy escaped from her to the point that the young servant could smell its scent in the room. She seemed terribly alone, like the first star in the night sky, patiently waiting for the others to join her.
"Mistress Chagrin," Aina called out to her, bowing.
Enveloped in silence, the young woman remained with her eyes fixed on the ground. It was customary for servants to wait for a sign from their master to get up, so she stood still without flinching, carefully examining the carpet that was spread out under her feet, to forget the cramps that were beginning to creep into her calves and the pain in her abdominals, which she contracted relentlessly so as not to flinch.
It was strange that the wife remained silent, although she usually answered her immediately. The time seemed so long that the young woman thought she had forgotten her, before a deep sigh reached her and she heard the slight rustle of the fabric, indicating that Lady Chagrin had just moved.
"Aina," she replied soberly, her voice slightly hoarser and colder than usual.
Hearing this, the maid pursed her lips somewhat worriedly.
'She doesn't seem to be doing well...'
She didn't know what could be tormenting the matriarch, but she was suddenly no longer sure that the moment was right to speak about young Désespoir, to this woman who was clearly already troubled.
Seeing that her mistress was staring at her with a curious look, as if inviting her to point out the reason for her presence, the young woman hesitated, before opening her lips, avoiding her gaze .
"Madam, I…" she began, stopping abruptly as she realized that her voice betrayed the confusion within her.
The wife observed her a little more attentively, before heading towards the library and towards the table which sat right next to it.
"You look troubled." noted the woman, opening the golden door of the bird cage that her husband had given her for their wedding.
Aina could not deny Lady Chagrin's words and simply lowered her eyes, as if worried that the latter could read her.
"I...I couldn't find Miss Désespoir this morning and..." she began before the wife cut her off.
"Who ?"
She seemed surprised by what she heard and Aina attributed this to the fact that she had just told her that her youngest daughter had left her room, without her permission. The slightly alarmed tone she assumed in her voice told her that the matriarch was urging her to continue, so she cleared her throat in embarrassment, before continuing.
"Miss Désespoir was not in her room and it had been emptied."
A long minute passed without Aina obtaining any response from her interlocutor. The silence seemed so heavy to her that she even doubted it had made her angry. However, as attentive as she was to the changes in her mistress's gaze, she only managed to distinguish a deep void and a hint of something else that she could not name.
Aina noticed that Lady Chagrin's delicate hand, which had earlier been caressing the top of her little golden chick's head, had stopped in its tracks and was staring at her with a strange look, which almost made her have goosebumps.
"Désespoir..." she breathed, casually rolling the name off her lips as if it were unknown to her. "Who are you talking about ?"
An involuntary gasp escaped her now parted lips as she considered the wife's words with incomprehension.
'Did I... Did I hear it wrong?'
Lady Chagrin had asked who Aina was talking about, as if the name Désespoir meant nothing to her and this fact caused a violent tremor in the young servant, who felt her blood racing.
"Miss Désespoir... Your daughter ma'am. »
This time it was up to the matriarch to widen her eyes slightly, as if she didn't understand what it was about.
Aina felt her heart begin to pound and her breathing become shorter as the conversation continued. Something was wrong and her whole body was screaming at her.
"What are you saying, Aina…" she replied, as if to a child to whom something implacably obvious was being explained. "I only have one daughter. Vide."
The young servant's breath hitched and her ears began to ring, as she realized with horror what the woman in front of her was saying. Désespoir, the youngest child of the siblings, whose words and face she still remembered perfectly, seemed not to evoke the slightest memory for her mistress, who was nevertheless supposed to have given birth to her.
'What... What's happening?'
For a moment she thought it was a bad joke, but the serious and truly troubled look of the wife made her say that she was not lying and that the woman who suddenly seemed unfamiliar to her believed with conviction that she only had one daughter.
The situation made no sense and its absurdity almost made Aina dizzy, who felt like she was in a daydream. Had Lady Chagrin lost her memory in the few hours Aina had been passed out...?
'My fainting... Now that I think about it.'
She pushed back the panic that was beginning to take hold of her to try to understand what was happening to her mistress, who had now put her animal back in its cage to observe it curiously, leaning against the edge of her desk which was now perfectly tidy.
"I fainted during the banquet, after speaking to Mademoiselle." she tried, her hands trembling and her voice feverish, as if hoping that her mistress would confirm her words and bring her back to earth.
From Lady Chagrin she only received a vague sigh, before she elegantly crossed the room to stand in front of her. From where she was, its recognizable fruity scent reached her, the same as a beautiful spring afternoon in an orchard would have.
"Aina..." she breathed in a soft and almost... sad voice, before placing her frail and pale hand on her, which was firmly gripping her coat as if trying to maintain her calm.
The woman's skin against hers disturbed her with its obvious and intense coldness, which she did not believe possible in a human. She had the impression in that moment that the person – or thing – in front of her was nothing more than a porcelain shell adorned with a soul. Seeing her mistress's sorrowful eyes rest on her, Aina held her breath, as if afraid of not hearing what she was going to say to her.
Tic.
Tac.
Tic.
Tac.
She had the impression of hearing a clock which would become faster and faster, as if the last judgment was approaching.
"I don't think you're thinking clearly." she began, without seeming to notice that the young servant was visibly paling in front of her. "You had a seizure in the middle of the banquet and Elvan carried you to your room. That's all that happened this morning."
Aina felt like the sky was falling on her.
'Absurd... This is all absurd!'
She couldn't believe everything she heard. Lady Chagrin must not be in her normal state, it could not be otherwise.
"Madam, I assure you that I am not lying." she defended herself, her hands trembling.
"I didn't say that, Aina." Chagrin replied gently, as if to a child who said she had seen monsters under her bed. "But no woman of that name lives or works at the mansion. »
Aina's breathing hitched and a wave of cold sweat slid down her back.
"No... That's not true..." she muttered, after placing her hands against her mouth.
She was in a dream... It couldn't have been otherwise... Aina realized that she was starting to get confused and that she was starting to lose her composure, but the obvious contradictions she was facing plunged her deeper into fear, to the point that she was no longer able to repress the emotions that flowed through her like a torrent.
"Aina, are you okay?"
" You're lying !" she screamed, pressing her palms against her temples to stop the shrill noise echoing in her head.
"Aina!" visibly worried, her mistress, looked at her with horror, as if she had lost her mind. "Aina, calm down... You're hallucinating."
Lady Chagrin tried to touch her, but she jerked back, as if her proximity might burn her skin.
'I know what I saw!'
"I assure you no Désespoir lives or works at the mansion, you must have had a nightmare!" she tried once again to reason with her, without Aina being receptive to her words.
'I am not crazy !'
What Lady Chagrin said made no sense! The memories she had of this morning and of all these years were not false, she had not dreamed them. She was sure, she was not delusional. She remembered everything: Désespoir's voice, the layout of her room, her enigmatic words and above all – most importantly – the matriarch's unconditional love for her.
There was absolutely no way she could have dreamed all these things, it just didn't make any sense... It was impossible for a common hallucination to be so powerful... So overwhelming.
Yet... Lady Chagrin's expression was so resolute and full of conviction, that everything she believed in wavered for a brief moment.
The seemingly unshakeable certainty to which she desperately clung so as not to sink into despair was disturbed when her fleeting and frantic gaze caught on that of her mistress, who faced her calmly, like when her angry husband entered a room.
It was at this moment that a question – the one that she had been trying to repress from her mind for several minutes already – imposed itself on her. A question that shook her entire soul.
'What if... ?'
Could she have... Imagined Désespoir ? Dreaming of it? Could such a phenomenon, so vivid, so real occur and deceive her to the point that she came to doubt the word of her master, who more than anyone, could not have forgotten her own child? As if by reflex, she pinched her arm, but nothing happened, except a violent pain, which made her realize that she was indeed in the real world.
Seeing that the young woman was no longer saying anything, Chagrin approached her cautiously, holding out her hand in her direction, as if to prevent her from running away.
"Aina…" she called in her soft and reassuring voice. " Everything will be alright. It doesn't matter... You..." she continued as her voice disappeared to give way to the incomprehensible rantings of the young servant, who was withdrawing more and more into herself.
Aina no longer listened to her. All she could hear was the sound of her ragged breathing, which was getting faster and faster, and the unwanted banging of her heart against her ribcage. For some reason she couldn't get it together, she couldn't stay calm or rational. Her body and mind seemed completely out of control in that moment.
[Stay with me... !]
Again this voice which resonated in her head like a curse... This unknown and yet familiar voice which never left her.
"No... No... that's not true." she continued to rant like a broken record, swinging her twisted body back and forth like a pendulum.
She was trembling like a leaf in the middle of winter and out of breath like a fish out of water, so much so that she fell to her knees on the ground. She felt like she was going crazy. She no longer seemed to exercise any control over her body and seemed detached from reality to the point that her mistress's voice appeared to her only as a distant muffled noise.
She suddenly felt like she couldn't breathe and grabbed the collar of her uniform, pulling it violently to try to free her neck, while she hyperventilated and writhed around. Her heart ached, her head ached, and her throat burned as if she had spent days in the middle of a desert, without ever drinking a single drop of water. Her field of vision was nothing more than a mass of black dots, which occasionally glowed with a gray glow and which made her dizzy.
She needed to calm down, she knew it, but she couldn't. She felt like she was losing her footing, like she was sinking into darkness, and she prayed, through tears and sweat, that someone whoever it was would come and save her tortured soul.
It was then that she felt a pressure on her back and a comforting warmth, which started from her shoulder, before spreading to the rest of her body. The strange flow spread through her like a caress and almost immediately calmed the storm that was roaring inside her. Silence returned to her little by little and with it the sound of a voice.
"Aina."