"Wait! Wait, what exactly do you mean I have a roommate?" Annabelle asked, her voice rising in disbelief.
Jeffrey turned back to her, his expression impassive. "Would you prefer to take a room in town instead?"
At that, Annabelle's face turned pale, and she shook her head vigorously. "No, no, I'll make do with the room here."
"That's good."
Jeffrey resumed leading her through the mansion, and soon they entered a small courtyard equally littered with debris. It had two doors set side by side. A smaller, open door on the far side revealed a modest balcony overlooking a large expanse of green fields beyond.
"This is where you'll be staying," Jeffrey said, pointing to the door nearest the balcony. "That one specifically. That will be all for now. I'd love to continue entertaining you, but I have more pressing matters to attend to. Should you need anything that requires my assistance, my shack is in the far western wing—you can't miss it."
With a slight bow, Jeffrey turned and left the courtyard, his slow footsteps echoing faintly as he disappeared into the shadows.
"Thank you," Annabelle murmured, watching him go.
She turned to her assigned door, and her spirits lifted. "Finally, a place to stay," she said with a small smile.
It didn't take her long to clean out the junk in the room. Minutes later, she collapsed onto the bed and drifted off, resuming the nap she had started on the carriage ride.
....
Faint streaks of evening sunlight filtered through the open balcony door, casting a warm, golden glow across the courtyard floor. Annabelle sat on a small stool, yawning as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
"Time to get started," she mumbled, stretching lazily, her curves revealed faintly from her light dress, before retreating into her room. Moments later, she emerged with an oversized rucksack and headed for the balcony.
Emptying the bag's contents, she set up a makeshift art studio, her movements purposeful and methodical. For a moment, she stood still, gazing out at the verdant fields beyond the balcony, before she began to paint.
Two days passed quickly in Ten Mills Town. Annabelle had planned to venture into the town to buy some food with the meager copper coins left to her by Aunt Margaret. However, Jeffrey surprised her on the first morning with a hot bowl of porridge, sparing her the expense.
Now, under the gentle glow of moonlight, Annabelle stood on the balcony, adding the finishing touches to a painting. A blue river wound across the canvas, its serenity disrupted by a gruesome scene: a family of five goats with bloodied horns drank from the water while a dead tiger lay sprawled on the riverbank, dark blood oozing from its wounds.
"Masterful painting and an active mind. Impressive," a deep, magnetic voice said from behind her.
"Ah! Who's there?" Annabelle shrieked, spinning around in fright.
Her eyes darted to the doorway leading to the courtyard, where a towering figure stood. The man's height forced him to stoop slightly to pass through the frame.
Brandishing her paintbrush like a weapon, Annabelle demanded, "Who are you?"
The man stepped fully onto the balcony, and the moonlight illuminated his features. His ink-black hair framed a face as sharp as it was striking. Dark eyes, brimming with intensity, met hers, sending an involuntary chill down her spine. Shadows accentuated the strong angles of his jawline, while the faintest trace of a smile played at his lips, almost mocking.
"It's you!" Annabelle exclaimed. Recognition flashing in her eyes. "From the town that day. What are you doing here?"
Though her voice was firm, she exhaled softly, relieved to see a familiar face.
The man did not answer immediately. Instead, he approached the painting, his gaze lingering on it with interest. Annabelle instinctively stepped back, clutching her paintbrush tighter.
"A marvelous twist of fate," he said, his tone musing. "The hunter becomes the hunted—a trophy for its prey. Quite the tale, isn't it?"
Annabelle frowned, shaking her paintbrush at him as though it were a weapon. "You didn't answer my question. Why are you here? And who are you, anyway?"
Her attempt to look fierce was betrayed by the adorable scrunch of her nose and the slight tremor in her voice.
The man finally turned to her, his smile widening. Then, in one swift motion, he knocked the paintbrush from her hand and closed the distance between them. Backing her against the wall, he cupped her face in his hands, his eyes boring into hers.
"The name is Alexander," he said, his voice low and deliberate. "And my sweet dear Anna, I'm a tenant here. Just like you. In simpler terms, I live here."