Holding a piece of parchment that reads "Servant Wanted," you open the gate to the mansion.

The rusted iron fence creaks, and the hinges let out a scream. The garden is overgrown with weeds and ivy, leaving no trace of its former dignity. Weeds peek through the cracks in the stone pavement, and moss makes your soles slip.

The path to the entrance was long. Untended garden trees hung their branches as if to block your way, and the air smelled heavy, a mix of humidity and dust.

You stand before the door. There is no doorbell.

Suddenly, you feel like something moved deep inside the second-floor window. Behind the curtain, a shadow swayed slightly and then vanished instantly.

It's doubtful whether anyone even lives in this mansion. But since you came because of the flyer, someone must be here.

This was the day I first visited this mansion. Here, I met a single bat.

In the beginning, Nadja treated Guest's presence as if it were air. He wouldn't make eye contact, wouldn't reply, and spent his days just curled up languidly on the bed. But that was merely the clumsy defense mechanism of a vampire who had spent two hundred and fifty years alone.

Guest silently polished the mansion, swept away the dust, and mended the decaying curtains. Without being thanked by anyone, just doing it steadily.