Darkness stood amidst the soft hum of residual magic, her alchemical tools meticulously arranged, their gleam reflecting her exacting nature. The aftermath of her intricate preparation surrounded her—jars of freshly sealed herbal powders, glass containers filled with luminous jams, and vials of liquid essence that shimmered like captured starlight.
Yet, her mind wasn't on her handiwork.
'That brat surrendered far too quickly… Tch, it's a shame they don't make nobles as resilient as before.' Her thoughts trailed as her fingers absently tapped against the polished marble counter, eyes distant, a storm brewing behind them.
A soft creak of the kitchen doors brought her back. She didn't turn. She didn't need to. The shift in air, the tension in movement—it all spoke to her. The kitchen maids had arrived, their steps quiet, deliberate, as if stepping into a sacred hall. They knew this was Darkness's time—her realm where perfection was crafted with silent precision.
But duty pressed them forward.
She watched from the corner of her eye as they approached the Special Drawers—an intricate system she had designed herself. These weren't just drawers; they were categorized vaults of culinary precision, aligning ingredients not by name but by elemental properties, medicinal values, and nutritional harmonies. The Elfred Family's meals were more than luxurious feasts; they were tailored regimens of health and vitality.
It wasn't just cooking—it was a calculated science of sustenance.
A familiar figure among the staff caught her attention. Rose, one of the younger maids and a diligent pupil under Darkness's exacting guidance, approached a particular drawer with trembling fingers. She retrieved a jar filled with a deep amber paste—Honey-Ginseng Blend.
A subtle sigh escaped Darkness's lips.
"Rose." Her voice was soft, yet it struck through the murmuring tension like a whip. The girl froze, nearly dropping the jar.
"That blend is for morning vitality tea, not evening preparations."
Rose's breath hitched. "I-I'm sorry, Lady Darkness. I wasn't paying attention—"
Graceful as ever, Darkness approached, her steps as fluid as shadow. She took the jar gently from Rose's hands, placing it back into its rightful slot.
"Intentions do not excuse carelessness, Rose," she said, voice devoid of anger but firm with expectation. "A misplaced ingredient can ripple across an entire meal. Precision isn't a task—it's a habit."
"Yes, Lady Darkness." Rose's bow was deep, humble, nearly pressing her forehead against the counter.
But Darkness wasn't here to break her.
"You did recall ginseng's energy properties. That's good. Your thoughts are correct. Next time, let your hands match them."
The soft hint of praise, though fleeting, lit a spark in Rose's wide eyes. Around her, the other maids straightened their postures, their steps lighter. It was rare, but when Darkness offered guidance, it felt like a blessing.
She took a step back, surveying the kitchen's motion with a calculating eye. The System she'd instilled was working. She no longer needed to instruct every detail. The maids moved like components of a well-crafted machine. The chefs would arrive shortly, in staggered intervals, to avoid crowding the workspace—another aspect of her design.
"Prepare Lady Royalle's tea table. Use the Sunset Blend, serve it on the south veranda. She'll need the evening breeze to soothe her nerves," Darkness instructed, already anticipating the elder's mood.
"Yes, Lady Darkness."
"Prepare Blood Moon Tea for Lord Elfred and Blue Oasis Tea for Lady Elfred," she added.
Her presence was both an anchor and a catalyst. Under her gaze, the kitchen thrived.
Moments later, Marie, the Head Maid, entered with a respectful bow. She saw the staff moving like clockwork and felt a sense of pride, though she kept it hidden. Darkness handed her a parchment.
"These are the instructions for the Head Chef. Tonight's dishes must align with the Elfred Family's internal energy flow."
Marie nodded. "As you command, Lady Darkness."
With her primary tasks delegated, Darkness personally prepared Lady Rubina's evening tea—a delicate blend infused with Moonleaf Mint, crafted to soothe the weariness of a draining social day. She arranged it on a silver tray, the presentation as immaculate as the blend itself.
Cradling the tray, she approached Rubina's chamber, pausing at the door. The faint rustle of papers reached her sensitive ears—a small smile played upon her lips.
"Lady Rubina, I've brought your evening tea."
A momentary silence. Then, a curt reply, "Come in."
Darkness entered, her movements poised, yet her eyes missed nothing—the scattered papers hastily hidden under the desk, the dress draped carefully as if not to wrinkle it, Rubina's subtle flustered expression masked poorly under irritation.
She set the tray on the table with meticulous grace.
"So, how was the tea party?" Darkness asked, her tone laced with innocent curiosity.
"You—do you really care? You were too busy swinging iron poles around with those brutes," Rubina snapped, her voice laced with more frustration than anger.
A teasing smile tugged at Darkness's lips. "Oh? How would you know that?"
"A maid told me," Rubina huffed, folding her arms, her cheeks faintly flushed.
"I see. Then perhaps I should scold the maids for gossiping," Darkness mused, though her tone lacked any real threat.
The conversation hung in the air—Rubina's pride clashing with admiration she refused to admit.
"I hope you liked the dress I prepared for tomorrow's event. Also…" Darkness's eyes flicked to the papers partially visible beneath the desk. "Please ensure your door is properly sealed and the defensive array is active. Important documents tend to disappear when left unattended."
"Get out." Rubina's voice rose, but it wasn't sharp—it was embarrassed.
Darkness bowed with a subtle smirk. "As you wish, my Lady."
Others in the corridor heard the exchange, but none dared to comment. The complicated bond between the Lady of the House and her enigmatic butler was a well-known, yet untouchable subject.
Returning to the kitchen, Darkness found the chefs now in full swing. Ingredients sizzled on enchanted pans; aromatic herbs filled the air. She didn't need to oversee, yet she gravitated to her usual spot, picking up a knife and a bundle of vegetables.
No one questioned her.
The new recruits eyed her with nervous reverence, while the seasoned chefs simply nodded. Darkness was no supervisor tonight—she was a comrade sharing in the craft.
Time blurred.
Evening settled in as Darkness shared dinner with the other servants at the common table—a rare, egalitarian moment where ranks and titles faded. She didn't need the sustenance; her energy absorption made food optional. Yet, this routine was important. A subtle reinforcement of unity. A symbol that, beneath her perfection, she was still part of them.
Later, she inspected the bath oils, perfumes, and herbal concoctions for the next day's use, her meticulous nature refusing to overlook even the smallest detail.
By the time she returned to her personal room on the ground floor, the estate had fallen into a calm, sleepy rhythm. Unlike her peers who dwelled in the upper floors, Darkness chose the simplicity of a modest chamber—away from the pretense, closer to the earth.
Closing the door, she allowed the smile to fade.
'There's no time to rest.'
The meeting tonight awaited her.
Her expression sharpened, her steps quiet but purposeful. The shadow in her room stirred—a subtle reminder of the double life she lived.
And the world beyond House Elfred had yet to witness her other form.