Chapter Text
“From now on, you will be the butler of this mansion,” the old woman declared, standing in the middle of the courtyard.
She was the head maid, the one who ran everything in the Vanessa Mansion. But now, she had chosen me, someone new, someone unknown to take on the role of butler.
“Here,” she handed me a thick, worn-out book titled How to Become a Good Butler?. “Read this before you meet the young miss.”
“Of course,” I replied, accepting the book with a nod. Not that I had any intention of actually reading it. Instead, I slipped it into my inventory, where it would gather dust. Reading it? A waste of time. I had other plans for this place.
The real reason I was here had nothing to do with being a perfect butler. It was about the mansion’s vault, and of course, the young miss. Word had it she was delicate, vulnerable.
A slight grin crept onto my lips. I wonder how she tastes...
The old woman’s eyes flickered, and I quickly composed myself. “So, where is the young miss?” I asked, feigning disinterest.
“You should read the book first,” she scolded gently. “In seven days, you’ll begin your training and-”
Her words stopped abruptly, her eyes glazing over as her hand drifted to her head, fingers pressing into her temple like she was fighting off a sudden bout of confusion.
I leaned in slightly, voice calm and certain. “I've already completed the training. You know how capable I am.”
Her face twisted in a mix of confusion and uncertainty, but I could see the cracks forming in her mind. Her thoughts scrambled to make sense of what I’d said.
“Huh...?” She clutched her head tighter, her brows knitting together. The mind always resists at first. But the deeper it sinks, the easier it is to manipulate.
Her hand slowly dropped, her expression smoothing as her mind pieced together the lie I’d planted. “Yes... yes, of course. I remember now. You did exceptionally well. You’ll be a perfect fit as the young miss’s butler.”
I stayed silent, watching her words unravel her thoughts. The human mind, always desperate to justify and fill the gaps, had already reshaped her memory to align with my suggestion. It never gets old.
With a final nod, the old maid turned sharply, motioning for me to follow. I trailed behind her through the mansion’s dimly lit halls, my eyes wandering, taking in every detail. Soon, this place would be mine.
After a short walk, we arrived at the library. A grand, looming door stood before us.
Knock knock.
“Young miss, it’s me,” the maid called softly, her voice reverent.
A faint voice answered from inside. “Come in.” It was soft, delicate, like she was trying to hide how fragile she really was. But there was something else. Resignation.
Interesting...
The old woman opened the door and gestured for me to enter first. I stepped inside, anticipation building in my chest.
The young miss awaited.
Silky white hair cascaded down her frail shoulders, framing a face so pale it seemed almost ethereal. Her eyes, deep black gems, gazed at me with a blank, distant expression. She looked so young, like she had only just begun her juvenile years.
Delicate, brittle, weak; every part of her exuded fragility. The kind of frailty that invoked a primal urge in most people to protect her, to keep her safe from the cruelties of the world.
But not me.
For me, her delicate nature only sparked something far more sinister. My pulse quickened at the sight of her, a girl so vulnerable, so easily influenced. Unfortunately for her, she had to cross paths with me.
“Greetings, young miss,” I said smoothly, offering a warm smile as I bowed slightly. As I straightened, I let my power seep into the room, invisible tendrils stretching out toward her mind, slowly wrapping around her like a gentle fog. I could feel it already, her mental defenses too frail to notice the subtle invasion.
Her attendant, who had been watching me intently since I entered, became another target. I shifted my gaze toward them, sensing their suspicion, their quiet scrutiny.
I let my influence spread, clouding their thoughts, dulling their instincts. Soon, their watchful gaze softened, and their posture relaxed, their wariness fading as I continued to pull the strings.
A part of me relished this. The silent control, the way minds bent to my will without even realizing it.
The young miss shifted in her chair again, her frail figure trembling under some unseen pressure. Her lips parted slightly as though she wanted to speak, but no sound escaped. There was a fleeting expression of confusion on her face, her brows furrowing ever so slightly.
Her movements were cautious, hesitant, as though she were feeling her way through the space around her. It was odd. Those eyes, deep, dark, and haunting, seemed unfocused, detached from the world in front of her.
Can she still see with those eyes? I wondered, watching her closely. Her head tilted slightly in my direction, as if listening for my voice rather than seeing me.
Her gaze felt... hollow, not quite meeting mine. It was almost as though she were sensing me through sound alone, navigating her surroundings by my presence.
But that didn’t matter. Whether or not she could see, she would soon be mine.
"You have nothing to fear," I repeated, my voice dripping with false warmth and reassurance, carefully crafted to lull her into a sense of comfort. I watched as her lips trembled, her body leaning slightly toward the sound of my words, desperate for the security I feigned to offer.
I stepped closer, watching as her delicate frame shifted in response, drawn to me like a moth to a flame. My influence spread further, weaving through the room, wrapping around her and the attendant. Their minds would soon be putty in my hands, pliant, submissive.
The lie rolled smoothly off my tongue, each word dripping with purpose. "I’m here to serve you, young miss."
And soon, you will belong to me.
“Kiss the young miss’s hand,” the old head maid instructed, her tone firm, as though this was a routine ritual. She then turned to the young miss. “Young miss, please give him your blessing.”
Nobles and their traditions. No matter, I thought, amused by the quaintness of it all. The old maid was already deeply under my influence, her every action now a mere product of suggestion.
Her adherence to these formalities wasn’t her own choice anymore, but a remnant of her deeply ingrained ethics, a set of rules passed down through every noble family. Even their servants weren’t spared.
The young miss extended her frail hand, and I bent forward, my lips brushing against her cold skin as I kissed it.
“Please serve me with all your body and soul,” she whispered. Her voice was fragile, almost as brittle as the hand I held. It wasn’t a command, it felt more like a desperate plea. A silent request, soaked in helplessness.
Is this truly a blessing? I mused. It sounded more like an appeal for protection, for salvation. But none of that mattered.
“Yes, young miss,” I responded instinctively, my mind elsewhere.
The old maid nodded approvingly, her expression softening. “Good. With this, you are officially the butler of the Vanessa Mansion. Now, you must meet the rest of the maids and familiarize yourself with the estate.”
Perfect, I thought, a plan already forming. With this, it will be easier to influence them all.
Fifteen minutes. That’s all I needed. Just enough time to plant a suggestion, to let it take root, growing steadily until it bloomed into full control. There would be no need for constant attention, once my influence set in, they would become slaves to my will without ever realizing it.
Hehehe...
The old maid bowed to the young miss. “If there is nothing else, young miss, I will take him to familiarize himself with the mansion. Please, enjoy your time.”
I followed her lead, bowing respectfully, but my eyes lingered on the young miss’s fragile form. Her petite body, the softness of her hand, and the warmth I had felt through that brief touch stayed in my mind.
Tomorrow... Tomorrow we will have more time together. Then, young miss, I’ll show you what it truly means to ‘enjoy our time together.’ And you won’t ever forget it. Hehe... not anymore.
With that, the library door closed behind us. As I walked through the mansion, my influence began to spread like wildfire, subtly planting suggestions in the minds of every maid we passed. Soon, they would all be mine, and they wouldn’t even realize it.
Tomorrow will be a new day. A day where the maids will be my slaves, and the young miss... I smirked, anticipation bubbling beneath the surface. She will be mine as well.
But, I’ll take my time with her... slowly... savoring every moment...
Hehehe…
*******
The next morning, the air in the mansion felt eerily still, as though it knew something was brewing just beneath the surface. Sunlight filtered through the tall, dusty windows, casting soft shadows along the marble floors. It was a new day, and with it, the wheels of my plan began to turn.
I moved through the hallways, confident and unhurried. The maids I passed greeted me with polite smiles and subtle bows, their minds already warped by the influence I had seeded the day before.
They believed I was a trustworthy and capable butler, worthy of their obedience, though none of them could consciously grasp why. The suggestions I had planted had taken root overnight, deepening with each passing moment.
In the distance, I could hear the soft murmuring of the young miss's attendants preparing her morning routine. Soon, she too would be part of my carefully crafted web. But with her, I intended to take things slower, savor the process of warping her delicate spirit.
The head maid approached me, her movements stiff and mechanical, as though she were operating on some unseen script. "Sir, I’ve arranged for you to meet the other staff members and review your duties. Shall I begin the tour?"
I gave her a small nod, allowing the charade to continue. "Lead the way."
As we passed through the grand halls, meeting various maids and housekeepers, I quietly planted more seeds of influence, slowly bending their minds to my will. Each one fell into place effortlessly, their willpower no match for my power.
By the time we reached the kitchen, the entire household was nearly mine, all except for one: the young miss.
It wasn’t long before the head maid directed me toward the west wing, where the young miss resided. The door to her private quarters loomed ahead of us, its intricate carvings and heavy wood a symbol of her isolation from the rest of the mansion.
"Young miss is expecting you," the maid said, her eyes blank, as though she were nothing more than a puppet now.
"Thank you. I'll attend to her alone," I instructed. She gave a curt nod and disappeared back down the hall without question.
I stood before the door for a moment, letting the anticipation build. Today would be the first of many steps to solidify my control over her. But unlike the others, she would require a different approach, careful, measured, and slow.
I knocked lightly on the door.
"Enter," came her soft voice, barely audible from the other side.
Pushing open the heavy door, I stepped inside. The young miss was seated by the window, her petite frame bathed in soft sunlight. She looked even more fragile in the morning light, her pale skin almost translucent, her silky white hair cascading down her back.
Her black, gem-like eyes were focused out the window, not turning to greet me. It was as if she hadn't fully sensed my presence yet.
"You called for me, young miss," I said in my usual calm, respectful tone, though beneath it simmered something much darker.
She didn’t respond right away, her eyes still fixated on the garden outside. After a long pause, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yes… I did."
There was something about her voice today, an odd melancholy that hadn’t been there before. It intrigued me, though it didn’t change my plans. I approached her slowly, deliberately, watching her every move.
"Is there something troubling you, young miss?" I asked, my voice dripping with false concern.
She finally turned to face me, those dark eyes locking with my presence. For a brief moment, I felt something, a flicker of awareness, of resistance. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
"I…" she hesitated, her hands trembling slightly as she gripped the arms of her chair. "I feel… strange."
Ah, I thought. She’s starting to sense the changes.
"You must be tired, young miss," I suggested gently, stepping closer. "Please allow me to ease your burdens. I'm here to serve you, after all."
Her eyes searched mine for a long moment, as if trying to piece together a puzzle she couldn’t quite grasp. But she was far too weak to resist, and I could feel her confusion turning into acceptance. She lowered her gaze, nodding slightly.
"Yes… you're right. I must be tired."
I bent down beside her chair, close enough to feel the faint warmth radiating from her frail body. Her hand rested limply in mine, her skin soft and delicate beneath my fingers as I massaged it gently.
I let my influence sink deeper, wrapping her mind in a haze of calm compliance.
“You can trust me, young miss,” I whispered softly, my voice laced with false tenderness, drawing her further into my control.
As I continued to massage her petite hand, I asked casually, “Have you taken your bath yet, young miss?”
She turned her face toward me, her eyes half-lidded, as though she were growing accustomed to the touch of my hand and the warmth I provided. “Not yet,” she murmured. “I don’t feel like taking a bath today.”
Her voice was weak, like it had been drained of all will. I tilted my head, maintaining my gentle, concerned tone. “If I may ask, young miss, why not?”
“It’s… boring,” she said, almost in a whisper. “Every night, every morning, it’s the same. My body… it only feels weaker over time.”
Her words hung in the air, laced with a quiet despair. I tightened my grip slightly, just enough to be comforting but also in control. “I understand, young miss,” I said smoothly. “But there are ways to make your bath more enjoyable… to make your body feel better, stronger even.”
I watched her closely, sensing her curiosity piquing ever so slightly. Her fragile gaze remained on her hand in mine, as if the answer lay within the gentle touch of my fingers.
“But I would need your permission, of course,” I continued, lowering my voice as if sharing a secret. “The old maid told me I should be the one to help you with this… I’m the only one who knows how to make it better.”
Her eyes blinked slowly, a flicker of interest breaking through the haze of hopelessness. “How?” she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty, but there was something more, perhaps a glimmer of trust forming, however fragile.
I leaned in just a bit closer, my tone remaining calm, reassuring. “Young miss… how much do you know about the difference between men and women?”
She blinked again, her face shifting slightly as though trying to recall something long forgotten. “The difference…?” she echoed softly. “Is there a difference between men and women?”
Her voice was filled with an innocence that almost surprised me, a complete lack of awareness. She truly didn't know.
‘Perfect.’
Her gaze lingered on me, her naivety palpable, her mind so vulnerable and easy to guide. The way her fragile hope teetered on the edge of something she couldn't quite grasp was intoxicating.
‘This will be even easier than I imagined.’
"I see," I said thoughtfully. "Perhaps, young miss, you might prefer to experience it rather than have me explain it?"
She hesitated, uncertainty flickering across her delicate features. "But..."
"Please don't worry," I assured her gently. "My bathing methods are different from the others. That's why the head maid chose me."
After a moment of contemplation, she relented. "Alright then."
"Very well, young miss," I said with a slight bow. "If you'll allow me."
I could sense her frailty the moment I approached. The maids had whispered about her weak legs, how she relied on a wheelchair to move around the mansion. Without hesitation, I gently lifted her into my arms, cradling her against my chest in a princess carry.
Her body was light, fragile, like porcelain. My left hand rested on her chest for just a moment longer than necessary, feeling the soft rise and fall of her breath, letting the briefest touch linger.
She stirred slightly, her brows furrowed in confusion. "Why... Why does it feel different?" she asked, her voice soft and unsure.
Feigning innocence, I looked down at her, pretending not to understand. "Different? How so, young miss?"
Her eyes searched mine, but I could tell she didn’t quite know how to explain the sensation. "I don’t know," she murmured, still confused. "You’re… warmer?"
I offered her a gentle smile, my voice calm. "Are the maids not warm when they carry you, young miss?"
"It’s not like that…" she said softly, her brow furrowing deeper. "Your hand… it’s different. I don’t understand this feeling."
Of course, she wouldn’t understand.
This was something new to her, something far beyond the innocent touches she had experienced before. This was the beginning of something deeper, more primal. Something I was introducing her to deliberately, guiding her into sensations she had never felt before.
"Do you like it, young miss?" I asked, watching her closely. My eyes traced the subtle changes in her expression as I spoke, gauging her response.
She blinked, uncertainty clouding her features. "I… I don’t know?" Her voice was small, hesitant. "It’s… good?"
Her confusion was palpable, and I could see the uncertainty flickering in her eyes, the first taste of something she couldn’t quite name.
She was too naive to fully understand, too innocent to recognize the meaning behind the sensations. But that was what made it all the more satisfying. She was like a blank canvas, and I had the power to paint whatever picture I desired.
"Good," I whispered, my voice smooth, reassuring. "You don’t need to understand yet. Just relax, young miss. I'll take care of everything."
And with that, I continued to carry her, feeling the tension in her small body begin to melt away as my influence grew stronger, moment by moment.