Igor POV:
Igor had been at the mansion for ten years, yet he still wasn't used to the Lennoxes. He knew Maisie and her brother Leo well enough, but the rest of the family was a different matter. Harry was unreadable, his gaze always glued to his email on his high-tech glasses. Mara was quiet, but always absorbed in her appearance, and Igor had only a few interactions with her that didn't involve serving meals. Dash, on the other hand, was his least favorite.
After finishing his breakfast of gruel, he made his way to Maisie's room, his thoughts lingering on her quiet confidence and small acts of kindness. She had even given him a name: Eight—Igor.
There was something different in the look she gave him when she left the dining room—she never looked at him like that. He'd held her gaze longer than he ever allowed himself to, and when he finally pulled away, he had to remind himself of what he was: their tool. His purpose was to obey.
He was one of the older Alucards, probably kept around only because he was still useful—maybe he'd just outlasted the others. Most days, he tried to disappear into the background like a wallflower. His masters acted like gods, trifling with their own creations, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a thin thread of cynicism whispered that they were far too flawed and clueless to deserve the control they held over him.
Lady Lennox suddenly stopped him.
"Igor, can you please fetch my mirror for me?" she commanded.
That was unusual. She rarely asked him for anything—she preferred the female servants.
"Of course, Mrs. Lennox," he bowed without meeting her eyes.
As he walked back toward the dining room, he wondered why she was so obsessed with her appearance. He only saw his own reflection once a day. Did she really need that much reassurance? She was just as lovely as her daughter.
He retrieved the mirror and began back toward Lady Lennox's room, studying it casually. Small but striking, it was silver-framed with ornate gold-leaf carvings curling around the edges. A worn inscription on the back read: Mirror Mirror Corp. Est. 1955. Copyright 2000. A relic over two hundred years old.
As he walked down the hall, the name piqued his curiosity—but even if he wanted to investigate, he couldn't. Alucards were barred from the internet; their implanted microchips blocked every security gate without proper clearance. They couldn't enter libraries or check the news. Unless a human told him, he remained in the dark.
Well, almost in the dark. Mistress Maisie's personal book collection was the exception. She let him borrow books, discreetly.
Her stories were full of magic, dragons, and myths—but tucked behind them were the real treasures: political theory, economics, and unfiltered history written by everyone but the winners. He devoured those books in secret; they were his only window into the human world, unfiltered and untouched by propaganda.
He passed the doorway to Maisie's collection, the familiar scent of old paper making him pause as always. Then footsteps approached, and a voice rarely heard in person said, "Took a brief detour, did you?"
It was Marlow—the head estate manager, a man Igor had only ever heard through the intercom. His blue eyes were unnervingly cold, set against skin a shade deeper than tan, warm and brown, a stark contrast to the pale severity of the Lennox family. His dark hair refused to lie flat, curling and coiling no matter how neatly it was cut, as if it had a will of its own. His features suggested a mixed heritage Igor didn't have the words for; he only knew that Marlow looked like someone who didn't quite belong anywhere—and didn't need to.
Igor turned slowly, keeping his expression indifferent.
"I was told to get Miss Lennox's reader from the study, next to her collection," he lied.
"Of course you were." Marlow smiled without warmth. "Always being told what to do, aren't you, Number Eight?" His polished shoes whispered across the marble as he stepped closer. "Most Alucards can't walk this far into the house without clearance."
"I have clearance," Igor lied again. Marlow didn't need to know he slipped in there for books.
"From the girl, right?" Marlow sneered. "She toys with the idea of change, but I see right through her. You think you're special because she taught you to read? Because she gave you a name? I've heard her speaking to you."
Igor stayed silent.
"Don't forget who owns your flesh and blood," Marlow said, voice dropping into a low, cold rumble. "Your skin might pass for human, but I know what's underneath.
Igor exhaled and met Marlow's eyes. "Underneath, we all bleed."
Marlow let out a dry laugh, his eyes daring Igor. "Careful. That poetic mouth of yours might be the next thing cut out."
Igor wanted nothing more than to smash the man into the floor, but he just took a deep breath.
Marlow's footsteps faded down the hall. Only then did Igor enter the study. Fingers tracing the shelves, stirring soft clouds of dust, he paused at a cracked blue volume—The Metamorphosis—and carefully slid it out.
With the mirror in one hand and the book tucked under his shirt, he climbed the stairs to Mistress Lennox's room. A knock on the carved white door was met with it swinging open without resistance.
Mrs. Lennox sat at her vanity, an expensive silk robe clinging to her body and slipping off one shoulder to reveal a delicate collarbone with a faint sheen of body oil. Loose strands of her bouncy blond hair framed her face, and she held a stemless wine glass filled with plum wine—a delicacy from Japan, wherever that was.
"Well," she said, lips curling as she applied lipstick, "look who finally showed up. I'm sure Maisie could have used you some time ago."
"I came as soon as I found your mirror," Igor said, eyes fixed on the floor. He hadn't expected her to speak—only to hand over the mirror and leave. Her tone was seductive, and though he knew she was drinking, the sarcasm still cut through clearly.
She studied him through her vanity mirror, as if inspecting a machine. "You Alucards don't seem to have any imagination. Can't understand a joke when you hear one."
He remained silent; it kept him safer.
An awkward pause stretched between them.
Igor started to turn, "I need to check—"
"I forget," she interrupted, "Do your kind even feel shame?"
Igor turned his head back toward her, stiffly, though he avoided her gaze. "I trained myself not to react to certain behavior."
Sliding a pin into her hair, she lifted her chin and calmly looked at him. "Yes, that seems to always be the answer…"
She sipped her wine, swirling it absently as she turned fully toward him. The robe at her shoulder slipped, revealing more of her pale skin. Her expression softened, distant yet undeniably lonely. "You may go."
"You may go."
He bowed once more and started to leave, but her voice drifted delicately after him:
"You remind me of someone," she murmured. "That's all."
He wondered who she could have meant—but he just stepped out of the room without replying. The air in the hallway was cool, but he still steamed under his collar.
The image of her bare shoulder, her careless composure, her lips red like cherries — it clung to him, and he hated that. An involuntary flicker of something had reacted inside him.
He pressed his fingers to his temple, disgust prickling along his spine. It wasn't because she'd shown herself like that, or the contempt in her voice. He was used to that.
What disgusted him was himself.
Because for a moment, he wanted.
He wasn't designed to want anything, and he'd spent years training himself not to feel. Any deviation from that felt like weakness.
Igor turned and paced away, locking the thoughts away.
He lingered in the hallway close to Maisie's room, lost in that thought with Lady Lennox's whisper in the back of his skull, until a voice cut through.
"Have you seen Mara?"
Mr. Lennox emerged from the dimly lit staircase, stepping out of the shadows and startling him. Igor's nails flicked out like a cat's, and he quickly hid his hands behind his back, grateful for the gloves that concealed the slip.
"She's in her powder room," Igor said, keeping his voice steady despite the hard knot in his gut.
"Alright, thank you." Mr. Lennox walked past him, didn't bother knocking, and opened the door into Mrs. Lennox's room. Igor could still hear them—unfortunately.
"Do I look fat, Harry?" she asked in a dramatic, exaggerated voice.
Please. Igor cursed the fact that his ears were overly sensitive. It made eavesdropping effortless, but it also meant he heard conversations he wished he could tune out.
"The answer has to be the same regardless," Harry said plainly. "I'm not going to try, darling. You just want a compliment, is that it?"
Igor slipped away to Maisie's room. He knocked on her door, but she didn't answer.
"Clever," Mrs. Lennox said.
"Yes, I am," Mr. Lennox replied. Igor could hear him kissing her skin. Harry had flipped his charm to eleven, syrupy and playful.
Igor knocked on Maisie's door again, but still nothing.
What was she doing in there? Didn't she have to get to her internship?
"But," Mr. Lennox said, his tone shifting, "work calls." Igor heard him step away, footsteps heading for the hall. "There's no chance I'll make our session. Ta-ta, sweetheart."
His shoes clicked down the stairs, leaving the second floor in silence.
Then a sound made him freeze: soft, stifled sobbing. Not dramatic, not performative—just lonely.
He rarely overheard anything like that, and from the way Mrs. Lennox cried, Igor realized something he'd never considered: even Harry barely spent time with her. Maybe that was why she'd called for her mirror. Maybe that was why she was drinking so early.
His wings twitched as he tried to process it, pulse quickening, leaving him uneasy and curiously alert. Just as he tried to steady himself, his wrist implant buzzed, a faint glow shining through his glove.
Maisie could hail him from anywhere with that device. He appreciated her upgrade from the old servant bell—but he still would've preferred a text.
A notification flashed: she wanted him in the downstairs living room. It was time for him to take her to her internship.
His stomach tightened as he headed downstairs—Angel Corp set him on edge. They branded themselves as advocates for the poor, for Alucards, for "everyday Americans," but Igor had caught glimpses of real news about them on Leo's tablet when serving him tea. Their methods didn't look ethical at all. They felt like a polished lie, a propaganda machine dressed up as charity.
When he arrived in the living room, Maisie was flipping through an internship pamphlet for what looked like the tenth time; the edges were worn and crumpled. He studied her, trying to hide his curiosity about the flyer's contents.
"Maisie," he said, "I've seen snippets. What little I've gathered about this organization is not good. They've used violent protests and rallies to push for change. Please stay safe."
He meant it. He was concerned about her.
Maisie looked at him, one eyebrow raised in surprise.
"Talking to me about politics? But you rarely say much. Are you okay?"
He reverted to his usual calm demeanor, shrugging off her suspicion. "Yes, I'm fine. Is there something you need?"
"Jack, the group's figurehead, is the only person speaking the truth right now. He's giving people the strength to fight back. I trust that I'm safe with him." Her tone was a mix of disappointment and confidence.
Igor frowned and looked directly in her eyes. "From what I've gathered, your friend is involved in the group, too. That makes things complicated if anything goes awry."
"I'm caught in it whether I like it or not." He wanted to ask why—why couldn't she find a safer place to intern? Maybe it was because of her family's connections.
"Well, just keep your head level." He knew he sounded out of place speaking to her like he was on her level, but he didn't want her to get hurt.
"I'm sure I'll be fine." Maisie went back to clutching her pamphlet.
Igor lowered his voice. "Why trust him? This Jack? His fiery rhetoric calls for violence and disorder. That doesn't align with your goal of peace."
He had voiced his thoughts even though he knew he was overstepping. He had no power over her—she would do as she wanted. He should have remained silent.
He was not acting like himself.
Maisie looked down. "Jack isn't interested in hurting people; he just wants them to listen. You just don't get it, Igor. You only have limited information—excerpts from the news. Jack wants to repair the broken system that lets humans keep sentient beings like Alucards under enslavement. He isn't a monster."
Igor reverted to his deadpan expression. He tried to end the conversation there; he didn't want her to resent him.
"Please take me to my internship," Maisie said. She sounded annoyed at him for cutting the conversation short, but he understood—she had to get going if she wasn't going to be late. He nodded and headed for the family hovercraft.