Poser, what is the cost?

She paced restlessly.

The painting has disappeared.

They were wrong. She had not taken it. She had no wish to change the course of actions.

No, she had not.

Where is it?

The wooden panels are bare.

Who took the painting?

Who? She screeched

Silently, of course.

It was deafening.

Someone was screaming.

He whirled around.

She twirled around.

They both froze

"Can you hear that?" the word 'too' was spoken quietly.

The sound was frustrated, yet they were very aware that it was in their heads.

Only they can hear it, the rest was all quite.

They were wrong. They were not only one.

Another one was ascending, and he was not holding his head.

He was drawn to the sound, his instincts kicking in- he had to reach his Mistress. She was calling out for assistance.

Her family was on the way, though. Turdley would have kicked out, yelled or even slain any ordinary human. He recalled her Mistress golden words- Family comes first. It rang in his head.

Killing was not an option then. He had to take the tiring option- climb up the roof and enter through the trapdoor constructed.

Especially by him.

Just in case.

"Well, she is screeching." Merlyn said, her head still ringing though the sound has ceased. It was a pure frustration, terror and rage.

"You think there is something wrong? Is she hurt or anything else...?"

It was not exactly sane to think, that they acknowledged this as some as kind of a normal mishap, dead people screaming in their ears.

Dead? Nothing changes in this Manor.

Nothing.

Turdley legs were strained and aching. The running practice has taken its time to sink in his muscles. "Stretch yourself," he recalled his young Master words after he had been dismissed but he had been too struck with his master keenness. He had been like this even while young-he has not changed much. It was the only order he had deceived because it was a suggestion. He had refused it.

It had make things more difficult. Mindful people have always been a hindrance. Regretfully, he cannot remove this one. He managed to the roof, the trapdoor gliding smoothly to reveal a dark entrance. Nothing screeches with him around. He keeps under everything under check, cleaned.

He jumps down the trapdoor, landing as stealth as a cat.

He was not greeted with darkness but a blinding light. It was a complete room, equipped with all the luxuries of a living entity. Fire crackled, and she lounged on the big armchair beside, ironically, it belonged to her Grandfather. She stared at the fire thoughtfully, her entire being motionless but for the intent gaze, the slow rise and fall of breathes. His own ragged breathing was so harsh that it was disrupting the otherwise quite environment. He focussed on shallow breathing, mindful of her eyes.

He was feeling terrified. The screech had happened some sparse minutes ago and, all now he heard in his mind was- nothing. Just his own fear. Why was he scared, some knowledge his brain was still grappling for him to act on. He was waiting for it seep in.

"Mistress."

"Turdley." Her voice was soft, almost sweet.

He waited for her to speak.

She signed, "It's not there."

His mind went blank, his heart thumping.

"The painting." Her eyes turned to him, the green in her eyes flashing, aglow with the fire. Anger so quiet, it shimmered, "is not there."

Realisation dawned, his mind catching up the nerves. The terror must be visible because she cocked her head to one side. "What's wrong?" she asked, her anger replaced with curiosity. "Do you know anything about that?"

His throat felt parched, but he was being questioned. Answer. Shrieked something inside him. "I don't understand." He managed.

She laid her head back, "me neither. How could it have disappeared?"

"You are here. You are here." He was murmuring without realising.

She shrugged her shoulders, "are you reeling from some kind of shock? Has the duo downstairs unnerved you?"

"How can you be here, without the painting?"

She crossed her arms. Defensive. He wanted to bite his tongue.

She nodded then, "well, I had left it for my evening floating, when I intended to return back it disappeared." Her lips were quirked to one side, eyes shining with mirth.

She was mocking.

It was a plausible explanation. It was new- the painting had never been lost before, the situation was new, that is why he was not at ease. He looked at the girl he had watched over, for a moment, he felt lost. His hands loosened from his back, the knot coming lose perhaps for the first time in all the years he has been trained dutifully by his Father. He would be disappointed in him, but the dawn was too bright, it was morning.

She did not wear the emerald dress. Her hair were not tied in a waterfall braid.

She wore a lose flannel shirt, powder blue and dark pants to complement. Her hair were loose, fanning her sharp face.

"You are alive." He concluded. "Alive." He stumbled.

For a bare moment, her eyes glimmered with fear. Then, she gave a snort and shook her head.

She rose then, the quirked up smile transformed to absolute delight. "I am Alive." She said innocently, "why would you think I died?"

His legs gave away and fell on his knees. He still wanted to believe, it was because of the uncalled training with her Son.

She crept in closer, smoothly, her bare feet making no sound. She knelt to match his eyes, for the first time he could not look away. Did not turn his eyes away down, another disappointment to Father. "Why would you think I died?"

He could not answer. How can he answer?

"I am waiting, Turdley. Will you not answer the Mistress you serve-no- claim to serve?"

Answer-hissed a voice inside.

"Because- I- I killed you. I did it."