Charlotte's heart pounded as she fled from the ballroom, the noise of laughter and clinking glasses fading behind her. She wasn't sure why she had left, but she knew she needed a moment of solitude, away from the prying eyes and the pressure of expectations. The hallway stretched endlessly before her, dimly lit and unfamiliar, and she found herself instinctively looking for a washroom to escape into. But the hallway seemed to shift and twist, each turn leading to another indistinguishable corridor, no closer to the relief she sought.
In her frustration, Charlotte wandered deeper, her footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls. And then, as if pulled by some unseen force, she came upon a door. It was enormous, the wood dark and weathered, painted in shades of black and grey, like a storm cloud suspended in time. The door was slightly ajar, inviting her to peek inside.
Curiosity, as it often did, led her in. The room beyond was shrouded in almost total darkness, save for a faint sliver of light creeping through the edges of the doorframe. Her eyes slowly adjusted, and then she saw it—a piano. An ancient grand piano, its wood worn and polished by years of use. Charlotte hesitated. She had never played before—not in this world, at least. Yet something about the instrument called to her, as though it recognized a hidden part of her she had never known.
Her fingers hovered over the keys, and then, almost instinctively, they pressed down. A melancholy, haunting tune spilled from the instrument, a delicate sadness that filled the room with its beauty. The sound was unlike anything she had ever heard, though she didn't understand why. There was no fear, no hesitation in her playing, only the music—a raw expression of emotions she didn't fully understand herself. It was as though the piano spoke a language her soul could interpret.
As the final note drifted into the silence, Charlotte's breath caught. She wasn't sure what had just happened, but she felt both shaken and strangely connected to the music, as if it had revealed something about herself she hadn't known.
Then, as if from the shadows themselves, a slow, deliberate clap echoed in the room. Startled, Charlotte turned. The figure stood there—dark and undefined, obscured in the dim light, a silhouette against the murky depths of the room. It was a man, though his features were cloaked in shadow. His voice, when it came, was low and sharp, tinged with an edge of anger.
"What are you doing here?"
Charlotte didn't flinch. For reasons she couldn't quite explain, she felt no fear. She only tilted her head slightly, as if studying him.
"I'm lost," she replied simply, her voice steady. "I was looking for the washroom and ended up here."
The figure laughed—a dry, disbelieving sound that filled the room with a strange chill. "Lost? How are you not afraid? Do you not see who I am?"
Charlotte felt a flicker of amusement at the question. "I'm not afraid of you," she said, the words coming more easily than she expected. "The leopard behind you told me you weren't scary. So I believed it."
The man froze, his form stiffening as though struck by something unseen. "The leopard?" he repeated, his voice laced with disbelief. "You can understand it?"
Charlotte nodded, her gaze flickering to the sleek, dark creature perched calmly beside the sofa. It watched her with an almost knowing look, its eyes glowing faintly in the dark. "Of course I can. Can't you?"
The question hung in the air, unanswered, but Charlotte saw the subtle shift in the figure's posture. His surprise was evident, but there was something else there, too—something like recognition.
"You... you really can hear it?" The man's voice softened slightly, though still laced with confusion. "You must be—"
Before he could finish, Charlotte gasped, her hand flying to her mouth as a sudden realization dawned on her. She wasn't supposed to tell anyone. Her family had warned her, repeatedly, to keep her abilities hidden—to never let anyone know that she could speak to living things, that she could hear the thoughts of animals, feel the pulse of mana that flowed through all things. But here she was, blurting it out so easily, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled quickly, her words tumbling out. "I wasn't supposed to say anything."
The man's laughter returned, but it was lighter this time, almost amused. "Relax," he said. "It's not like I can tell anyone else, even if I wanted to."
Charlotte's heart eased a fraction, though the weight of her secret still pressed down on her. She wasn't sure who this man was, but for some reason, she trusted him. Maybe it was because he didn't seem interested in exposing her—perhaps even the opposite. He didn't seem to mind her secret.
The leopard, Woody, who had been silently observing the exchange, now rose to his feet. The man gestured toward the animal. "He'll take you to the washroom. It's better than wandering these halls on your own."
Charlotte smiled gratefully at the leopard, who padded over with a graceful, almost regal air, and then turned back to the man. "Thank you," she said quietly, unsure of how else to express her relief.
Before she could ask his name, the man was already gone, slipping into the shadows as if he had never been there at all. The room, now silent, felt emptier without him. Yet the air still hummed with a strange energy—one that made Charlotte wonder what had just happened.
She turned to the leopard. "Lead the way, Woody."
The large cat nodded once, then trotted off, and Charlotte followed. As she moved through the darkened halls, her thoughts swirled with questions. Who was that man? Why could she play the piano so effortlessly? And why had she never known about the strange powers she seemed to possess?