I turned around to find Stacker standing there, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his ash-gray sweatpants. He wore a loose sports jacket and a sleeveless shirt that revealed his bare arms. He approached me slowly, a faint shadow of unease flickering across his face.
"This is my very first attempt at playing," I said softly. "I know it isn't perfect."
"Compared to my own beginnings…" he replied with a faint smile, his eyes wandering briefly over my clothes and shoes. "Your performance is far more refined."
"Do you feel any better?" he asked at last, his tone uncertain, almost hesitant.
Stacker's demeanor toward me had changed since the day we first met. He had been distant, harsh even, and though barely a week had passed since that meeting, something in him had softened.
"I'm better than I was," I answered.
He pulled his hands from his pockets and ran his fingers across his forehead with a sigh.
"I owe you an apology. Everything that happened was my fault. As your superior, I allowed Castor to take you with him, and it was I who ordered that drink for you. The blame is mine—mine alone."
"It wasn't your fault," I said quietly. "I went with you all of my own accord. I didn't do it to please Castor. As for the drink—you handed it to me, yes, but I didn't refuse it. The recklessness was mine. And the drink wasn't even strong—it was mild. I'm the one who overdid it. That's my folly, not yours."
"No matter how you reason it," he murmured, "it doesn't change the fact that the source was me."
"I'm not blaming myself without cause," I said, meeting his troubled gaze. "Truly, I'm fine now—look, I'm even playing the piano with joy. You're the one who should be asked—are you all right? After all, you were the one who drank yourself into oblivion last night until—"
I didn't finish my sentence. He cut in, his voice heavy with shame, eyes fixed on the ground.
"Until I began to ramble and speak nonsense?"
Suddenly, the memories flooded back—his drunken whispers from the night before, his eyes glazed with longing as he gazed at me, pleading softly that I not leave him. His despair as he spoke of the girl he loved and lost.
"Don't worry," I said gently. "I've erased it all from memory. I'll pretend you said nothing. We'll never speak of it again."
He gave a short, bitter laugh—one filled with resignation.
"On the contrary, now is the time to recall what I said—and to understand it better. After all… you're my sister, aren't you? Perhaps unburdening my chest to you will bring me peace."
Sister?
I had almost forgotten that I was supposed to be sister to them both. Yet I felt more like a companion—or an intruder. My feelings toward each of them were… peculiar, not at all sisterly.
Castor, the cheerful boy who brightened my days and made me smile—I felt warmth with him, ease, comfort… but not sibling affection.
And Stacker—the unreadable one, the shadowed soul. Whenever I was beside him, unease clung to me as though it were our first meeting all over again. Awkward. Confusing. He did not feel like a brother either.
Did his words mean that by calling me his sister, he was declaring he would never desire me—as he had desired others before me? Perhaps that would be best.
"You don't have to," I said quietly, "but if it will bring your heart peace, then speak."
He hesitated, anxiety clouding his face once more.
"First, I should apologize for what I said last night. I know you didn't understand it, and I'm sorry for speaking so carelessly—for confusing you—and thank you, for listening without prying."
"Without prying?" I echoed, surprised.
"Yes. Anyone else would've seized the chance to question a drunk man, to dig deeper. But you… you weren't curious. You respected my silence."
A genuine laugh escaped me—deep, unrestrained. If only he knew that I already knew the truth behind his drunken words. I didn't know why he had spoken so tenderly, nor why his eyes lingered as they did, but I knew about the girl.
When my laughter faded, I said teasingly, "Really? I didn't even notice that. Maybe because I was drunk too. What a shame—I missed the chance to interrogate you."
He only smiled, studying me quietly.
"I noticed," he said softly. "You weren't drunk. But never mind… forget it. Castor will be here soon. I should go before he misreads this scene and grows upset."
He took a step toward the door, but I stopped him with a sudden question:
"Why will he kill me?"
He froze mid-stride. I don't know why I asked—it should've remained a secret, buried in my thoughts, that I already knew Joseph would be my death. But I couldn't keep it in. Stacker already looked as though he was mourning me. I could see it in his eyes.
I was done waiting for my fate. I needed answers.
"You said," I added, "that unburdening your heart would ease you… So tell me—why will he take me from you?"
He turned toward me slowly, a cloud of disbelief and suspicion veiling his face.
"You know?" he whispered, his voice trembling with confusion as he stepped closer.
"Not everything," I said. "But I know my end will come at his hands."
"How did you learn this?"
"Detective Adam."
A hopeless smile curved his lips as his fingers raked through his tousled hair. "That man… damn him."
"Can you tell me why Joseph is doing this? Who he even is? Please… give me something to understand."
He hesitated again. "Listen… forget about this. Go on with your life."
A choked cry escaped me, tears blurring my sight.
"I can't! How can I go on knowing that death lurks for me—and for my mother?"
"You won't die," he said firmly. "Nor will she. Calm yourself. I won't let it happen."
"Really? Then why did you let the others die before me?"
"Because you were never meant to die as they did."
The anger on my face began to fade. I studied him, trying to decipher the enigma behind his eyes.
"What do you mean?"
I wouldn't believe him if he said Joseph wouldn't kill me—what I'd seen in Joseph's eyes last night had convinced me otherwise.
"I knew the detective suspected Joseph's truth," Stacker said, "but I never thought he'd tell you."
"Then I'm glad he did. I'm fighting to gather enough to have Joseph caught. Please, help me—it's my life on the line."
"They'll never catch him," he muttered. "Because he's dead."
I rolled my eyes in disbelief. "Don't be absurd. He's alive—I saw him."
"I'm not lying, Diana," he said gravely. "He truly died years ago."
Could it be that what I saw last night was a hallucination? I had doubted my sanity, but now… now I was certain.
"You won't die," he repeated softly. "Don't fear."
"Stacker…" I called his name gently. "Please, tell me the truth. No riddles. I need to hear everything."
He stood silent for several seconds, staring at the floor, torn between his thoughts. Then, after a quiet inner battle, he took slow steps toward me and sat by the piano, exhaling deeply before he began his tale…
"I don't know what the detective told you," he began, "but I do know he doesn't know everything. No one outside could. The truth itself sounds unreal—something beyond reason. We lived too long in this house, saw too much of the unnatural… Power here isn't just wealth or blood. It's magic—dark, ancient magic."
He paused, eyes distant, then continued:
"I didn't lie when I said Joseph was dead. He is dead. And for that reason, he won't kill you—he no longer has the need. He took lives when he was among the living, but now… now he doesn't. You're wondering why, I can tell. Give me a moment."
"Joseph and my father had a strict, unforgiving father of their own. I never knew my grandfather well, being only a grandson. But I know he belonged to a cult of seven—they called themselves The Crimson Seven. One day, the cult demanded from each of its members the sacrifice of their eldest child… Why, I never learned. Only that it was to be a sacrifice. Joseph, being the eldest, was offered up."
"But the truth revealed itself later—they weren't sacrifices. They were successors. Heirs. The cult was destroyed soon after, but it didn't die. It re-formed with the children of the slain… and Joseph was among them."
He spoke faster now, his voice trembling with the weight of memory.
"When I was eight, Joseph already ruled this mansion—he was the one in control. There was always something strange about him. I later understood that the cult's core was power. Joseph wielded that power for evil. And when I say power, I don't mean money or status. He was a sorcerer—without chants, without spells. He could paralyze servants with a look if they angered him. He was… a phantom. A haunting presence."
"When I was eleven, I found one of his journals. That's when I learned he'd become the strongest of the Crimson Seven—the hidden hand that guided them all. To preserve the cult, he discovered, he must offer his own son as sacrifice. But he was unmarried, childless. So, instead, he decreed that his brother's children would serve as his offerings, since the blood must remain of his line. My father refused. He refused completely."
His voice faltered for a moment before he went on.
"The detective may have told you that my father was cruel—that he sacrificed his own children. And maybe he said terrible things about Joseph too. But he didn't know the whole story. Joseph loved my father… deeply. And my father, in return, would've given anything for him. To save us, my father offered something else—my mother. She agreed without hesitation, if it meant saving me and Castor. She was the first offering from our household."
Stacker's eyes clouded. "I watched as half my heart was taken from me that night. And though I lived, I lived with only half a soul."
He took a slow breath. "My father kept marrying, kept offering his new children—those of his wives, even if not by blood. Twelve in total, before it ended. The last… she was young. My second love after my mother. She was gentle, frail, her hair soft like my mother's. Being with her brought warmth I thought I'd lost forever. But I knew—deep down—I'd lose her too. And I did. She became another sacrifice. The second half of my heart shattered, and the emptiness devoured me. From then, I hated Joseph with every breath."
He clenched his fists. "But eventually, Joseph was killed—by the very deity of the cult that had granted him power. Yet his death didn't free us. It damned us. The mansion turned into a theater of horror. Because Joseph didn't truly die—he was reborn with greater strength. Now he exists within these walls, unseen, living with power no mortal should wield. I wish he had remained alive—better a man than the demon he became."
He looked up, eyes burning. "Do you know what I meant last night when I said he would take you from me? I didn't mean kill you. I meant… he would claim you. Before my very eyes."
He exhaled sharply. "His death meant his departure from the cult—no more sacrifices. He won't kill you. He's evil, but not stupid. Yet I saw something else in his eyes—something beyond murder. Don't think I didn't know he was there last night, at the tavern. I drank because I saw him—because I knew he was there for you. He wanted me to see him, to remind me that he's my enemy, that he'll never let me have you. Since his death, he shows himself only to one person in this house—my grandmother. Sometimes to me, when he wishes to torment me."
Stacker's voice dropped to a near-whisper. "Do you remember your first night here, in the living room? He was there. Sitting between us. Watching you. I saw it then—he'd be my eternal rival. My greatest fear is that he'll take you away… and he can."
He paused, his gaze fixed on me with deep sorrow.
"Do you remember the rules? One of them was never to leave your room at night. Because the night belongs to him. The lord of darkness rules the hours here, bending all souls in the mansion to his will. Everyone but me. I don't know why. The old maid who warned you to run—she was under his influence, not in her right mind. Even the dog that attacked you—that gentle creature—was poisoned by Joseph's spell. It attacked only those free of his control. That's why it went for you."
"And if you're wondering where the dog is now," he said quietly, "it's gone. Joseph killed it. Because it dared attack you."
His voice dropped lower still. "I found a note in my room the next morning—a letter from him. He thanked me for protecting you, and warned me never to spend another night with you. That's when I understood: I could never have you while he still existed."
"You're in danger, Diana. And your only escape… is the grave. Believe me—if you must choose between death and Joseph's obsession, choose death. It is the kinder fate."
He paused, looking utterly defeated. "There's so much I haven't told you, but I've tried my best. I know you have questions, but trust me—curiosity will lead only to your end."
He stood, his voice soft and final.
"There are only two left on this battlefield—Joseph and me. So don't worry. If anyone is to die… it will be me."
He stood up from the table and approached me, his eyes slowly studying me...
I lifted my head towards him as I sat in the chair, and suddenly I felt his hand touch my cheek... his thumb brushing my skin...
I felt his breath close to my face and his lips near mine... until suddenly, his lips touched mine softly...
He was kissing slowly, feeling me and me feeling him. His hand moved from my cheek to tighten around my neck, pulling me closer for a deep kiss...
I couldn't reach out. I was kissing him back, his natural kisses, but his hunger made me moan softly inside...
He broke the kiss and breathed on my face. "That sound..."
Then he kissed me again, even more eagerly, and this time his kiss aroused me. I stood up and placed my hand on his chest. He pulled me towards the table without breaking the kiss...
Suddenly, I heard Caster's voice calling my name.
"Diana...!"