"—For the past few months, I've been conspiring with one of the guards, Roberto. He found out I worked for you, helping with the household management."
The woman paused. No one interrupted, so she continued.
"Roberto hinted at... a shady business opportunity. Of course, I turned him down right away and even threatened to report him. Looking back now, maybe I should have. That was my mistake."
Lloyd was starting to understand where this was going, but he didn't interrupt. He'd let her speak.
"Over time, his offer started sounding more appealing, and he grew more persuasive. In the end, I thought... maybe he had a point. Valuable items shouldn't just sit around collecting dust! What a waste!"
A loud thud interrupted Clarinda's confession—Sebastián had slammed his hand on the desk, fury in his eyes.
Without a word, he motioned for her to continue.
"I gave in eventually. At first, it was just small things—unused utensils, trinkets no one would miss. But then, when you left, I found the perfect chance to make some real money. I started taking more valuable things. It was only fair, wasn't it? No one used them, and I had way more work to do! Why should it be wrong to take a few useless knick-knacks?"
"How shameless," Sebastián muttered, shaking his head. "I'm truly disappointed in the person you've become. You let greed consume you—no, it's worse than that. You've been completely corrupted by it. When I gave you that extra work, it wasn't unpaid, was it? Your salary increased significantly, more than it should have, frankly."
His voice remained composed, but Lloyd caught a faint trace of sadness—and guilt—in the old man's eyes.
"I gave you this position because I trusted you. What happened to that trust? You were given a home, food, stability. Tell me, what did you even spend all that money on?"
"Shut up! You don't understand a thing!" the woman snapped, her composure shattering. "I was never happy with this life! I'm practically a slave—who would want to live like this? I wanted to leave, to see the world, to live! Not rot away in this gods-forsaken place! Damn it all, it's so unfair!... If only I'd been born somewhere else!"
Lloyd couldn't help but grimace. He knew well what it meant to feel trapped—to curse the circumstances of your own existence.
Still, Clarinda's situation was nowhere near bad enough to justify her actions, and he wasn't about to pity her.
"What happened to the clumsy but hardworking Clarinda I once knew?" Sebastián sighed. He looked like a father scolding a wayward child. "Go. Change your clothes and clean yourself up. Come back when you're done—we'll discuss this properly then."
Clarinda nodded weakly. Lloyd caught a flicker of guilt in her expression—maybe Sebastián's words had struck something within her.
"My deepest apologies, young master," said the old butler once she had left. "Had I been more attentive, you wouldn't have had to witness such disgraceful behavior."
"It's fine. I accept your apology. We all make mistakes—what matters is learning from them so they don't happen again."
"Wise words, as expected from you, young master." Sebastián cleared his throat. "So... what do you plan to do now? I'll support any decision you make. I assume simply firing her won't suffice, and we'll need to deal with the guard as well."
Lloyd closed his eyes in thought. The situation was a puzzle—and the pieces were starting to come together.
He needed more information; and his knowledge of the novel's plot would be the sharpest weapon he possessed.
After a brief silence, a faint smile crossed his face.
"Alright then. Here's what we're going to do."
* * *
It wasn't unusual for snow to fall in that city—in fact, it was almost inevitable. Yet, that didn't make the snowy nights any less unsettling.
Coul City was never particularly bright after dusk. The bitter cold made it nearly impossible for fire or light spirits to illuminate the lanterns, and using magical artifacts to light every corner would cost a fortune.
That's why snowy nights were the darkest—unless, as tonight, Sin and Selene shone especially bright in the sky.
Still, the pale glow of the twin moons reflected off the snow in a way that made everything look ghostly. A white mist formed, swallowing the world and stealing visibility.
When one sense is dulled, another heightens—and in that silence, every sound became a seed that could bloom into terror.
The phenomenon had a name: "The Pale Night." It was said to occur when the boundary between the living and the dead grew thin.
Many claimed to hear the wails of spirits who couldn't find peace. Skeptics, of course, dismissed it as mere wind whispering through the trees.
Roberto had always been one of those skeptics. He used to laugh at such stories, calling them bedtime tales for frightened children.
Now, feeling it firsthand, Roberto wasn't so sure anymore.
The cold and the fear made him tremble uncontrollably. Who would have thought that this man once underwent military training?
What good is pride if you're dead?
Roberto had always been a believer in self-preservation above all else.
Each howl of the wind made him flinch. He decided it was better not to move—better not to investigate the source of any sound.
If it was just the wind, there was no point worrying.
And if it wasn't… well, best not to find out.
Then came something worse than any ghostly wail—silence.
Absolute, suffocating silence.
Too much silence was never a good sign. At least when something made noise, you could sense it coming. But when you couldn't hear the danger… you'd better brace yourself.
The silence broke suddenly. Footsteps. The crunch of snow gave them away.
Roberto froze. Cold sweat beaded down his face.
He wanted to move, but couldn't—his body refused.
Wait… why am I this scared?
Hearing footsteps was good, wasn't it? Ghosts didn't walk... right?
Just as that thought crossed his mind, a hand landed on his shoulder.
"UWAAAA!"
He spun around so fast that his heart nearly burst from his chest.
The motion threw him off balance, sending him sprawling backward into the snow.
That clumsy fall… would be his undoing.
In his panic, he saw it—death itself, standing before him. And it had come to take him away.