After the tour ended, Rebecca quietly made her way back to her room. The calm atmosphere of the mansion lingered in the air, but her mind was filled with new thoughts about the place and Draven. As she walked up the stairs to the first floor, she glanced back at the butler, who remained silent, showing her the way with measured steps.
Once she reached her room, she couldn't help but think about Draven. She had learned something unsettling during their walk. The boy didn't live near her or in any grand room of the mansion. Instead, he stayed in a small room next to the servants' quarters, down on the ground floor, far from where she stayed. It was strange, considering he was supposed to be the heir to this place.
She paused in front of her door, turning her head slightly toward the butler. "Draven stays on the ground floor?"
"Yes, Madam," the butler replied simply. "His room is adjacent to the servants'. It has been this way for some time."
Rebecca frowned. "But I stay up here?"
The butler nodded again, his face as unreadable as ever. "That has always been the arrangement."
Rebecca sat by the window, her thoughts swirling as she crafted a careful plan. She knew Draven needed help—desperately—but she also understood that rushing would do more harm than good. The boy had been through a great deal, emotionally neglected and mentally abused, leaving him scarred in ways that were hard to see.
Though he was only seven, Rebecca had noticed something important: Draven, despite being a child who yearned for his mother's love, held an instinctive fear of her. She had felt it several times in their interactions, the way he tensed whenever she came too close, the way his eyes darted to the ground when she spoke. Even now, with her trying to be different, that fear lingered. It wasn't surprising, given the way the body's previous owner had treated him.
She knew she had to be careful, gentle. Her first goal was to get him used to her presence, to show him that she wasn't the same cold figure he remembered. It was a delicate balance—offering comfort without overwhelming him. She planned to sit with him, talk about simple things, and show kindness in small, manageable doses.
Once he began to trust her, Rebecca had another plan in mind. Draven's current room, a small, cramped space next to the servants' quarters, wasn't fitting for someone of his status. He deserved better, and she intended to move him into a small but more suitable grand room. A space that reflected his worth, one where he could feel safe and at home.
And, if Draven ever wanted her presence while he slept—though she knew it might take time for him to open up—Rebecca wouldn't mind. He was just a child, after all, and still needed the comfort of a parental figure, even if that part of him was buried beneath layers of fear.
Her long-term goal was crucial: Draven needed to be educated and prepared for what lay ahead. Valen, her ex-husband, would come back someday, and when he did, Draven needed to be equipped with enough knowledge and emotional strength to resist his father's manipulations. She wanted to teach him not just from books but also about people—how to read their intentions, how to protect himself from being used.
This was her second chance, and Rebecca wasn't going to let it slip away. Draven deserved a better life, and she was going to ensure he had it, no matter how slow the steps had to be.
As Rebecca sat quietly by the window, lost in her thoughts and plans, something strange happened. A faint buzzing began at the back of her mind, growing louder, until it was no longer a buzz but voices—clear, distinct voices.
They didn't sound like they were in the room with her. No, they echoed directly in her head, as if they belonged to beings she couldn't see. Rebecca froze, her heart pounding as the conversation unfolded.
Voice 1:
"This woman has an energy which is not of this world."
Rebecca's breath caught in her throat. What were they talking about? Energy? She remained still, hoping to understand more before reacting.
Voice 2:
"Yes, she seems to carry the energy of our deceased Lord God."
Voice 3:
"Maybe she's also from the outside world."
Voice 4:
"Yes, that could be true. But remember, our Lord God decreed that no two people can travel to the same world, even if one dies. So, this person's soul must be from a different place."
Rebecca felt her hands grow cold. It seemed they knew she wasn't originally from this world. But they were unaware of the exact circumstances of her soul's transfer.
Voice 5:
"I wonder where she's from and how it's different compared to here."
Before Rebecca could fully grasp what was happening, another voice, more direct and closer than before, echoed through her mind.
Voice:
"Can you hear us?"
Her heart skipped a beat. This time, it wasn't part of their earlier conversation. They were speaking to her directly. Rebecca's eyes widened in shock, and she quickly glanced around the room with growing unease. There was no one in sight, only the faint rustling of the curtains and the quiet hum of the distant forest.
"Who's there?" she whispered under her breath, her hands gripping the edge of the chair. The mansion was still as empty and quiet as before, but something felt off.
She stood up slowly, her body tense, her mind racing. She scanned the room again, and her eyes finally landed on something unusual—a butterfly. It was resting on the window ledge, its wings shimmering in the light filtering through the glass.
It wasn't just any butterfly. This one was larger than usual, with intricate patterns on its wings that glowed faintly. Its delicate beauty seemed almost otherworldly. The strange presence and the timing of its appearance made Rebecca wonder if this was somehow connected to the voices she had just heard.
The butterfly fluttered its wings gently, almost as if it was waiting for her to acknowledge it.
Rebecca approached cautiously, her eyes never leaving the creature. She had never seen anything like it before. Could this butterfly somehow be linked to the voices? Were they using it to communicate with her?