Deep Sea Embers

Resolute in his curiosity, Duncan began his trek down the corridor. Each step he took on the ancient wooden floorboards elicited a creak, the sound echoing eerily in the hushed surroundings. The quivering candlelight, disturbed by his movement, created dancing shadows on the walls, further intensifying the corridor’s spooky ambiance. However, as he approached the end of the corridor, a startling discovery stopped him in his tracks.

Confusion furrowed his brow when he saw that the regal door he had spotted from afar was nowhere to be found. In its place was a damaged portion of the floor, looking as though it had been viciously torn apart. The walls and ceiling too bore this devastation, with massive cracks that gaped open to reveal an infinite expanse of blackness.

Approaching the edge of the damaged floor, Duncan cautiously leaned forward, attempting to comprehend the vast darkness that stretched below. He looked around, trying to find any semblance of the rest of the mansion. But it was as though the corridor he stood in was hanging in a void, cut off from everything else. Duncan recalled seeing a door and a room at the corridor’s end, but now, it seemed as though they had been cruelly ripped away, disappearing into the vast chasm.

Lost in his thoughts, Duncan’s contemplation was suddenly broken by a soft rustling sound nearby. Startled, he turned to find a figure draped in black and inexplicably missing its head, methodically dusting a marble stand against one of the corridor’s walls.

Feeling both wary and curious, Duncan took cautious steps towards this enigmatic figure. Unlike the fleeting ghosts he had met in the past, this one didn’t vanish. As he drew closer, the headless figure straightened up and, in a gesture of decorum, gave a slight bow. This action, reminiscent of a professional butler’s manners, was rendered eerie and unnerving due to the conspicuous absence of its head.

“What are you in search of, honored guest?” Strangely disembodied, a voice emanated from the headless figure’s chest. Though it held a courteous tone, it cast a shiver down Duncan’s spine. Still, he had encountered many peculiarities in his journeys through this strange realm, so pushing away his trepidation, Duncan maintained a calm demeanor as he engaged with the bizarre being in front of him.

“What happened to the room at the end of this hallway? Why can’t I see it anymore?”

“The room has moved on,” intoned the headless entity, its words echoing with a deep resonance. “It transitioned from this realm a very long time ago.”

Puzzlement creased Duncan’s brow, prompting him to probe further. “What of its occupant? I believed someone was supposed to reside there. Where are they?”

“The room’s mistress went with it. They both left our plane of existence together many years ago,” the headless one explained.

“But how can that be?” Duncan questioned, his voice tinged with disbelief. “I was under the impression it had only been a short while.”

“For you, perhaps it feels recent. But here,” the figure paused, emphasizing its next words, “things that seem to have occurred moments ago might have transpired millennia ago. And events you believe to be in the near future? They are distant epochs ahead.” This enigmatic explanation left Duncan grappling for understanding. Was he in a place where time behaved erratically? Was this mansion somehow anchored at the edge of a temporal anomaly?

His thoughts drifted to the brass key — the very key that had guided him to this perplexing abode. A sudden realization dawned upon Duncan as he felt a cold sensation enveloping his hand. Looking down, he found the brass key resting there, its form seeming to radiate an otherworldly chill.

Upon his acknowledgment of the key, the headless figure seemed to react, its form quivering subtly. A deep, muffled sound came forth from its chest, “Ah, you are the fabled guest bearing the brass key. My sincerest apologies for not recognizing its significance earlier. Do you seek our mansion’s mistress?”

“The mistress?” Duncan asked, trying to mask his growing confusion. “You mentioned she left with the room. How can I seek someone who’s already gone?”

“There are dual mistresses associated with this mansion,” the figure elucidated, its tone ever patient, reminiscent of a seasoned servant. “One mistress, bound eternally to her chamber, has now vanished alongside it. The other, the true mistress of this estate, has never once stepped within its confines.” As Duncan processed this revelation, a single name surfaced in his thoughts: Frost Queen Ray Nora. Was she the enigmatic mistress tied to her room?

A nascent theory regarding the identity of the second “mistress” began crystallizing in Duncan’s thoughts. “Who is this other mistress you speak of?” he pressed, locking eyes—or rather, focusing intently—on the headless entity before him.

“The manor you stand in is known as Alice’s Mansion,” replied the figure in an eerily steady tone. “Thus, the mistress can only be Alice.”

A brief flicker of understanding crossed Duncan’s face, his eyes momentarily narrowing. Everything was starting to piece together. The intricate lock he had activated, positioned right on Alice’s back, was the very portal leading him to this mansion. How could this enigmatic dwelling not be intrinsically linked to her? It was not just any mansion, but Alice’s Mansion, bearing her name, and she was its sovereign. As for Nora, she seemed more like a resident bound to her room, confined within its walls, lending her an essence of being an exalted captive rather than a reigning mistress. The tale as narrated by Ray Nora started to make more sense: she was entrapped in the “Drifting Nexus”, designated to oversee the “ancient god replica” situated in the ocean depths. Currently, thanks to some mysterious shadow from subspace, this illustrious captive had managed to flee with her chamber, while the mansion’s primary guardian, the “warden”, roamed its outskirts.

Despite his deductions, Duncan found it challenging to juxtapose Alice’s playful and innocent demeanor with the commanding presence of the mansion’s mistress or even the guardian of this peculiar realm. Setting aside these contrasting images, he composed himself and returned his attention to the headless figure.

“Why doesn’t the mansion’s owner, Alice, ever step foot within her own domain?” Duncan inquired, the hint of skepticism evident in his voice.

“She resides in the garden,” the headless figure informed, “having been in a deep slumber for ages, and it’s not yet her time to awaken and reclaim her home.”

“A deep slumber in the garden?” Duncan mused aloud, attempting to maintain an exterior of calm even though a myriad of questions churned within him. “Is it possible for me to meet her there?”

“Indeed, you may,” the figure responded without hesitation.

Despite the absence of eyes, Duncan couldn’t miss the lingering “focus” directed at the brass key he held.

“With the key you possess, you’re granted the authority to access any part of this mansion, including the entrance to the garden. If you would kindly follow, I’ll escort you there,” the figure intoned.

Gratefully, Duncan nodded, then proceeded to tail the figure, which led him to the majestic spiral staircase connecting the mansion’s levels.

While traversing the mansion en route to the garden, Duncan seized the opportunity to inquire further, aiming to extract every bit of knowledge from his guide. “What role do you play in this vast establishment?”

“I serve as the butler of this mansion,” the figure, now distinguishably the butler, responded. “Seeing the hesitation amongst the maids and other staff to interact with you, I deemed it fitting to assist and cater to your needs.”

The painting depicted a verdant landscape with a majestic tree at its center, its branches laden with resplendent blossoms. The ethereal beauty of the painting stood in stark contrast to the mansion’s haunting ambiance. Delicate petals, seemingly caught in a gentle breeze, floated down to a shimmering pond below. Upon closer examination, Duncan could discern faint, ethereal figures sitting under the tree, their contours blurred, almost melding into the background, as though they were memories fading away.

The artistry was impeccable, but what truly captivated Duncan was the deep melancholy and yearning it emanated—reminiscent of souls in search of something they might never find.

Duncan traced a finger gently across the canvas, feeling the texture beneath his fingertips. It was a touchstone to the very essence of the mansion, reflecting the sorrow of souls adrift, seeking solace.

“Such paintings are scattered throughout the mansion. They capture the collective memories and feelings of the souls that reside here,” the headless butler remarked, sensing Duncan’s fascination.

He added, “Over time, as souls forget their identities, they leave traces of their essence behind. This mansion, with its many paintings, murals, and artifacts, serves as a tapestry of lost memories. For the few who still remember, these paintings are reminders of days long past. For others, they are simply beautiful relics of an unknown history.”

Duncan turned to the butler, his gaze thoughtful. “Such a poignant testament to the transient nature of existence. These souls, once full of life and vigor, are now just fleeting memories, immortalized on canvas.”

The butler tilted what would’ve been its head, a gesture reminiscent of acknowledgment. “Indeed, sir. Existence is fleeting, but memories, even if faded, have a way of persisting.”

They both stood silently for a moment, absorbing the profoundness of the artwork before Duncan finally broke the silence. “Let’s proceed. I’d like to meet the mistress and perhaps find more such memories along the way.”

The butler obliged, leading Duncan further into the maze-like corridors of the mansion.