Chapter Text
The servants’ dining hall was the only place in the mansion that ever felt like it belonged to the living.
It wasn’t luxurious, far from it. The long wooden tables had scratches that no one bothered to fix, the soup was always slightly too salty, and the windows never fully closed during rainy season.
But it was warm.
Laughter filled the space in soft waves, mixing with the clatter of spoons and the tired hum of maids finally letting their shoulders drop after hours of work.
Serene sat near the end of the table with her tray pulled close, carefully cutting her food into smaller pieces than necessary. It wasn’t because she was picky.
It was because she liked having something to do with her hands when she listened.
Across from her, two older maids were already deep into their usual routine.
“And I told him,” one of them said dramatically, leaning in like she was sharing a state secret, “if you forget my birthday again, I will personally haunt you.”
The table erupted in quiet laughter.
Serene let out a small, polite one too, a little delayed, like she always was when she was trying to figure out if she was supposed to be laughing or just observing the situation for survival purposes.
Internally, she was already exhausted.
Why is everyone so calm about love? Isn’t love just emotional terrorism with extra steps?
She took a bite of rice.
The other maid, younger and clearly worse at pretending she wasn’t invested, sighed dreamily.
“I think I’m going to marry him,” she said.
A chorus of reactions followed.
“You said that last week,” someone teased.
“Yes, but this week feels more realistic,” she replied seriously.
Serene blinked slowly.
How does romance have weekly updates? Is this a subscription service? Do I get a trial version first before emotional devastation?
She nodded along anyway, because nodding was safe. Nodding was neutral. Nodding did not get you assigned to dangerous wings of the mansion.
That thought lingered a little too long in her head.
She pushed it away.
The room stayed warm. Familiar. Alive.
For a few seconds, it almost felt like she could forget where she worked.
Almost.
Then…
“Serene.”
The voice cut through the room cleanly.
Not loud. Not harsh.
Worse than that.
Official.
Her fork paused mid-air.
A few heads turned automatically, like instinct. The kind of instinct people develop when authority enters a room.
Serene slowly turned her head.
At the entrance of the dining hall stood the head maid.
Clipboard in hand.
Expression unreadable.
The hall didn’t go silent immediately but it shifted. Like the air had remembered something unpleasant.
Serene set her fork down carefully.
“…Yes, ma’am?”
The head maid didn’t move further inside. She didn’t need to. She never wasted steps.
Her eyes flicked down the clipboard once.
Then back up.
“Your turn.”
A pause.
Serene frowned slightly, polite confusion still clinging to her face.
“My turn for-”
The head maid didn’t blink.
“East Wing.”
The words didn’t echo.
They didn’t need to.
They landed.
Something in Serene’s body reacted before her thoughts did.
Her hands went cold.
Then her stomach followed.
Then everything else.
For a second, she forgot how to breathe properly.
Around her, the dining hall continued existing but it felt further away now, like she had been separated from it by glass.
Someone at the table whispered something, but she couldn’t process it.
East Wing.
Her mind tried to do what it always did, turn fear into jokes, soften it into something survivable.
But nothing came.
Not even a bad joke.
Just:
Oh.
The head maid adjusted her grip on the clipboard slightly.
“Report after lunch. Do not be late.”
Serene forced her fingers to move. One at a time. Very carefully. Like her body was no longer fully hers.
She stood up.
Her chair scraped softly against the floor.
Too loud.
Too noticeable.
She gave a small nod, automatic, trained, perfect.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Her voice sounded normal.
That was the most terrifying part.
Because internally, there was nothing normal happening at all.
Only one thought, looping tighter and tighter with every step she took back from the table:
East Wing.
East Wing.
East Wing.
And for the first time that day, the dining hall didn’t feel warm anymore.
—-
The East Wing did not feel like the rest of the mansion.
It wasn’t louder or darker. It was quieter in a way that felt intentional, like even sound didn’t want to stay too long.
Serene walked down the corridor carefully, balancing the tea tray with both hands. Every step felt too loud in her own ears, even though the carpet swallowed most of the sound.
The porcelain cups clinked softly.
Each little sound made her want to stop walking and reconsider every life decision that led her here.
Okay. Okay. This is fine. People drink tea every day. Tea is normal. Tea is safe. Tea cannot kill me. Probably.
Her grip tightened slightly.
The tray wobbled.
She corrected it immediately.
Do not drop it. Do not drop it. If you drop it, you will die of embarrassment first and then probably actual death second.
She reached the door.
It was larger than it needed to be.
Of course it was.
Everything in this wing was like that, too big, too clean, too expensive, like it was trying to remind you of something you were not supposed to forget.
Serene stopped in front of it.
For a moment, she just stood there.
Listening.
Nothing.
Not even footsteps inside.
That silence made her chest tighten more than noise ever could.
She swallowed.
Then raised her hand.
Knock knock.
Her knuckles sounded too sharp against the door.
Immediately, she regretted it.
Why did I knock like that? That sounded like I’m delivering bad news. Or death.
A pause.
Too long.
Her fingers tightened around the tray again.
Her mind started spiraling.
Maybe he’s not there. Maybe I can leave. Maybe I can become a different person and move to another country and open a bakery and never hold porcelain again.
Then,
A voice.
From inside.
Calm.
Controlled.
Cold in a way that didn’t try to be cold.
“Come in.”
Serene froze.
That wasn’t loud.
It didn’t need to be.
It felt like it had already decided what she was going to do before she even heard it.
Her throat went dry.
Her hands started shaking immediately.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Why is my body doing betrayal right now? I have not authorized this reaction.
She forced a breath in.
Then out.
Then another.
“I can do this,” she whispered under her breath. Barely audible. “I can do this. I can do this. I will survive.”
A mantra now. A desperate one.
Her fingers adjusted on the tray one last time.
Then she pushed the door open.
The room was too quiet.
Not empty, she could feel that immediately.
Occupied silence was different.
It pressed against her skin.
The office was vast, lined with expensive furniture and dark tones that swallowed light instead of reflecting it. Papers were arranged with unnerving precision across the desk.
And behind it,
Doflamingo.
Seated.
Relaxed in a way that felt wrong, like tension had simply chosen not to exist in his body.
He didn’t look up immediately.
That was worse.
Serene stepped inside carefully, closing the door behind her with equal care, as if sudden movements might trigger something irreversible.
She stopped a few steps in.
Then bowed slightly.
“I am Serene,” she said, voice steady enough to pass as normal if you didn’t listen too closely. “I’ve been assigned to the East Wing as your new maid.”
Silence again.
Her heartbeat was suddenly very loud in her own ears.
Then she lifted the tray just a little.
“I brought your tea, Young Master.”
Only after saying it did she realize she didn’t know if she was supposed to call him that.
But it was too late now.
So she stood there.
Holding the tray.
Smiling politely.
While her entire nervous system tried to file a resignation letter inside her body.
He still didn’t move right away.
That was the first thing Serene noticed.
Not anger. Not dismissal. Not even acknowledgment.
Just… stillness.
Like she had spoken into a room that didn’t immediately decide whether she was worth responding to.
Her hands tightened slightly on the tray again.
Okay. Good. Great. He is thinking. Thinking is normal. People think before they—whatever happens next.
Her brain refused to finish the sentence.
Doflamingo finally leaned back a little in his chair.
Not toward her.
Not away from her either.
Just… shifting, like he was deciding how much space she was allowed to occupy in his attention.
His gaze lifted.
And landed on her.
Serene felt it immediately.
Not heavy like a physical weight.
Worse.
Precise.
Like she had just been placed under inspection without consent.
Her smile stayed on her face anyway.
Perfect. Polite. Correct.
Inside:
WHY IS HE LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT. I DID NOT APPLY FOR BEING PERCEIVED.
A beat passed.
Then another.
Finally…
“…Tea,” he repeated.
Just the word.
Serene nodded quickly.
“Yes, Young Master.”
She stepped forward carefully, crossing the room like every step had been pre-judged for mistakes.
She placed the tray on the table in front of him with practiced gentleness.
The cups didn’t clink.
That alone felt like a victory.
I did not die. I did not drop anything. I am currently alive. This is going better than expected.
She kept her hands folded in front of her.
Waiting.
Waiting was important.
Waiting meant you were not interrupting.
Waiting meant you were still employed.
Doflamingo’s gaze drifted from the tea to her again.
Slowly.
Like he had nowhere else to be.
“You’re the new one,” he said.
It wasn’t a question.
Serene bowed her head slightly.
“Yes, sir.”
A pause.
Then, softly, too casually for how heavy it felt,
“Most don’t last long here.”
Her stomach dropped.
Not visibly.
Internally, however:
Oh. Okay. Great. We are starting with that sentence. Wonderful. Fantastic. I love survival horror conversations before lunch.
She kept her voice steady.
“I will do my best to fulfill my duties.”
Another silence.
Then, a faint shift in his expression.
Not quite amusement.
Not quite interest.
Something closer to… observation.
Like she had said something mildly entertaining without meaning to.
“You will,” he said.
Simple.
Certain.
That certainty made her feel worse.
Because it didn’t sound like encouragement.
It sounded like a prediction.
Serene bowed again, a little deeper this time.
“Thank you for the opportunity, Young Master.”
Her voice did not shake.
Her hands, unfortunately, were not as loyal as her voice.
One of her fingers twitched slightly behind her other hand.
She prayed he didn’t notice.
Doflamingo leaned forward just a fraction now, finally taking the cup from the tray.
Still watching her.
Still not blinking much.
Serene stayed perfectly still.
Like a statue that had learned manners.
Inside her head:
Okay. Good. He has tea. He has tea. He is holding tea. People who hold tea are less likely to kill maid currently serving tea……. Probably.
Doflamingo took a slow sip.
Then set the cup down.
The sound was soft.
Deliberate.
“You’re afraid,” he said casually.
Serene went completely still.
For half a second, her brain tried to deny reality.
Then immediately failed.
NO I AM NOT. I AM NORMAL. I AM PROFESSIONALLY NORMAL.
Out loud, she managed:
“I… am simply adjusting to a new assignment, Young Master.”
A perfect answer.
Technically true.
Emotionally evasive.
Exactly what she had practiced in her head for situations she never wanted to be in.
Doflamingo didn’t respond immediately.
Instead, he looked at her a little longer.
Like he was waiting to see if she would break.
Serene did not break.
She just… existed.
Quietly.
Trying very hard not to imagine every possible way this conversation could end badly.
Finally, he leaned back again.
The tension didn’t leave.
It just changed shape.
“Leave the tea,” he said.
Serene bowed instantly.
“Yes, Young Master.”
She turned carefully.
Step by step.
Walking out of the office felt like walking out of a place that had learned her name too quickly.
As her hand reached the door handle, she heard him again.
Not louder.
Just… behind her.
“Serene.”
She stopped.
Did not turn immediately.
Her entire body went cold.
Slowly, she looked back over her shoulder.
“Yes, Young Master?”
Doflamingo was still seated.
Still watching.
And for a moment, his expression was unreadable.
“…Try not to disappoint me.”
Silence.
Serene nodded once.
Perfectly polite.
“Of course.”
Then she left the room.
And only when the door closed behind her did she finally exhale, sharp, shaky, too fast, like her body had been holding its breath the entire time without permission.
The door shut with a soft, final click.
For a second, Serene just stood there.
Still.
Perfect posture.
Hands folded neatly in front of her.
Like nothing had happened.
Like she hadn’t just walked out of a room where every breath felt like it was being counted.
Then, her knees gave out.
It wasn’t graceful.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It was immediate, like her body had been waiting for permission to stop pretending.
She caught herself on the wall, fingers scraping against the polished surface to keep from fully collapsing onto the floor.
A shaky breath came out of her before she could stop it.
Then another.
And suddenly her vision blurred.
Not because she was fully crying yet but because her body had decided it was one second away from doing it without asking her opinion.
No. No no no. Not here. Not here. Not in the hallway. Not in the murder hallway.
She pressed her forehead lightly against the wall, trying to anchor herself.
Her hands trembled.
Her throat tightened.
Her thoughts came too fast and too messy to hold onto.
He noticed. He noticed immediately. Of course he noticed. Why wouldn’t he notice? He looks like he notices everything. Why did I say “Young Master” like that? Why did I breathe like that? Why am I like this?
Her chest rose unevenly.
She swallowed hard.
I survived. I survived. I did the tea thing. I did not drop anything. I did not die. I did not-
Her breath hitched.
A tear slipped out anyway.
She wiped it immediately, furious at it, like it had betrayed her.
“No…” she whispered under her breath, voice breaking on the edge of control. “Don’t start now…”
Her fingers curled into the fabric of her uniform.
Trying to steady herself.
Trying to force her body back into shape.
But her legs still wouldn’t listen properly.
Too weak.
Too shaken.
Too aware of what had just happened behind that door.
Inside her head, everything replayed in fragments:
Most don’t last long here.
You’re afraid.
Try not to disappoint me.
Each line landing heavier the second time.
Her breathing stuttered.
“I can’t…” she whispered, barely audible now, forehead still against the wall. “I can’t do this every day…”
A pause.
Then, quieter, almost like she was scolding herself for even thinking it:
“…but I have to.”
She stayed there for a moment longer, shaking.
Not fully crying.
Not fully okay either.
Just caught somewhere in between, in the exact place where the East Wing had decided she belonged.
xxx