The girl in the painting

The door to the secons-floor living room slowly opened.

"Please."

The butler said, then very slowly moved aside. It was a polite gesture to the point of being harmless, but it was that very harmlessness that made everything seem even more bizarre.

Abigail looked at the door as if looking into the mouth of a monster, trying to be polite.

Clinton frowned, hesitated for exactly one second, then stepped forward to the sofa.

Dex still didn't say anything, just placed his hand on Abigail's back gently as if to remind her.

"Come in."

The four of them, Dex, Abigail, Clinton, and Suan, walked through the door one by one.

Inside, the silver-carved ceiling light fell on the milky white tile floor, casting their silhouettes against the ornate tile.

Blun looked up, his face still expressionless. No expression at all. He only took a sip of tea after finishing the biscuit with strawberry jam on top.

Ali glanced at each person, his hand still on the handle of the water knife.

There is no greeting, no invitation to sit.

Outside the glass door, the fog had now closed in, covering the entire scene outside the mansion.

No more garden.

No more lawn.

The door behind him had just closed, and the butler stood there for a long moment, saying nothing, but gently raising his left hand and ringing a small silver bell.

The tinkling sound rang out, soft but strangely deep, as if touching the bones.

Less than three seconds later, the servants from earlier suddenly appeared, as if they had been standing outside in the hallway, just waiting for that signal.

No one said a word.

They entered one after another, each pushing a silver cart, filled with tea, cakes, biscuits, jams, fruits, even small tarts covered with fluffy white cream... all presented perfectly.

The room was filled with the scent of vanilla, butter, and dried flowers.

Sweet. Pleasant. And completely out of place in the current situation.

They placed the trays on the long table in silence, moving in a choreographed manner, like a puppet show, and without looking at their guests, bowed their heads and left, the door closing almost silently.

The butler spoke last, his smile still squinting, as if he had never heard a scream or seen anyone almost fall.

"The Duke will be here in a few minutes."

Without further explanation.

He simply turned and left through the same door through which the servants had just disappeared.

The door closed.

Abigail did not dare touch anything.

Dex stood by the fireplace, his eyes silently observing the strangely embroidered rug just below the table.

Blun drank his tea as usual.

Ali leaned back in the soft, cushioned chair, all in matching shades of red and gold.

"So..."

"We've split into two groups, right?"

Abigail shrugged, but tried not to bow her head. Dex crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. Suan and Clinton sat close together on the opposite side, their faces still pale from the "butler-in-common" incident.

"Did you find anything of value?"

The room was still bathed in a warm light, the kind that made one forget that outside, the fog had swallowed the entire forest.

Suan was the first to break the silence.

"We..."

She glanced at Clinton for confirmation, then continued.

"We found a way down. Like a small, old-fashioned stone staircase. The wooden handrail was rotten, but the door at the bottom was… locked."

Dex turned toward them, a little surprised but more than afraid.

"Lock? Is there a sign or something?"

Suan shook her head slightly.

"Not sure. There's just a depression on the handle… like a four-petaled flower. It looks like it needs something to open. Clinton tried to break it but couldn't."

At this point, Ali raised her head. She answered briefly, not surprised.

"We saw it too."

"The cellar door is at the end of the west wing, behind a velvet curtain embroidered with lions. The only difference is that this time… the door was slightly open. But we couldn't get down. We were about to go in when we heard footsteps."

"Footsteps from behind. But when we turned around, there was no one. When we turned around again, the door was closed."

Clinton looked at them.

"So there are at least two entrances, or there's just one. But it changes position with each person."

"The cellar… could be the center of this place. Could be the exit."

"It could also be a place to keep something that shouldn't be released."

Blun bluntly refuted Dex's naive opinion. In game dungeons, a mysterious location with unknown origins and safety, is a dead end.

Ali silently took a piece of cake. Saying nothing more was a tacit confirmation of Blun's opinion. After all, game dungeons were dangerous.

Dex was still leaning against the wall, his eyes on the tea, but his mind was somewhere deep between two breaths.

"...We..."

"found something else."

Everyone turned to look.

Dex reached into his jacket and pulled out a small photo, about the size of a palm. The edges of the paper were slightly curved, with a few yellow stains on the edges, but the face of the photo was clear.

Ali tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowed.

In the photo was a group of six people, three men and three women, standing next to each other, taken in a normal pose. Laughing, talking, posing... but the strange thing was.

They were dressed in a modern style.

Hoodie, jeans, phones sticking out of their pockets.

A girl sucking on a lollipop, a guy wearing huge headphones, and in the background was the practice room in this mansion, unmistakable.

Everyone was silent.

Dex continued.

"Fallen from a drawer in the practice room. A photo was stuffed between two drawers. No dust. No rot. No age."

Suan spoke, her voice filled with disbelief. Even though they were in this strange situation, this was too absurd.

"No way. This mansion is medieval, how could this photo be here?"

Abigail shivered, rubbing her arm.

Ali took the photo from Dex, turning it over to look at the back.

Blank. No notes. No date. No writing.

Just a very thin black streak like a marker pen, running from the upper left corner to the bottom edge.

Blun took another sip of tea.

"The time in this dungeon doesn't seem to go in a straight line."

"Or not all the events in the dungeon are happening at the same time, in the same way."

Ali turned the photo in her hands, her sharp eyes scanning every detail again.

And then… she paused.

"Wait."

Everyone looked up. The yellow light in the room was still soft, but Ali's expression was a little tense now.

She looked up at Dex.

"You said there were six people in this photo."

Dex nodded.

"Yes. Three men, three women."

Ali nodded slightly, as if to confirm something with herself. Then she held the photo higher, so that the light could shine more clearly. Everyone saw it then.

There was a seventh person.

She stood slightly tilted behind the front row, her long, golden hair falling like silk over her slender shoulders.

She wore a red headband, a classic yet timeless light brown and white dress, and a tiny mole at the corner of her left eye, so beautiful that it made people stop to look.

Everyone was stunned. Blun also stopped drinking tea.

Because when they looked at the photo just now, that girl was not there.

It wasn't that they missed it. It wasn't that the lighting was wrong. She simply didn't exist. But now it was as if she had always been there, gentle, silent, smiling, and tilting her head as if she had been taking the photo with them from the beginning.

Abigail shivered.

"Who... is she?"

Blun squinted.

"I've seen that skirt... somewhere."

Ali didn't take her eyes off the photo. This time, something caught in her throat.

She found that face familiar. Not from real life. Not from a dream. But from a... picture frame.

A picture frame hung on the south wall of the first floor, covered with a white cloth, depicting a girl sitting playing a zither, with bright yellow hair and a mole in that exact spot.