Miss Angelina [2024 Rewrite]

[7] Ephemeral

I swiftly choked down the meal that Diana had kindly prepared for me within the hour, finding solace in my study shortly afterwards. It was my most adored room in the house, a haven of peace and quiet. As I entered, a rush of nostalgia flooded over me. The teenage girl I once was had revelled in decorating this room, her dreams of a library study with bookcases covering the walls and a hidden door still vivid in my mind. It was always the picturesque idealism that stuck with me, even now.

Seated at the table in the corner, with sunflowers as a centrepiece, I gazed out at the garden view beyond. Diana had men coming onto the premises for meticulous grooming of the land often, so everything was freshly cut and trimmed. Yet my attention was drawn to the tranquil fountain at the centre, its rhythmic flow soothing my restless thoughts.

"Tea?" Cleo's voice interrupted my reverie. I looked up to find her opposite me, dressed in a comfortable nightgown, a teapot in her hand. Without waiting for my response, she poured me a cup, the warm aroma wafting through the air. I nodded in gratitude as I accepted the offering. "Isn't the weather lovely?"

"Quite," I murmured, taking a sip from the cup. We sat in companionable silence for a long while, the only sound the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze. It was a familiar routine, this quiet companionship that spoke volumes without the need for words. As time passed, I found myself cherishing these moments more and more.

As I rose to leave, Cleo's voice broke the silence once more. "I am here for you; you know that, right?" Her words lingered in the air, a gentle reminder of her unwavering support. I nodded slowly, a soft smile playing on my lips. Raising her cup in acknowledgement, she watched as I made my way toward the main hall, her silent presence a comfort in turbulent times.

"Florence," I called into the darkness of the dungeon's hallway, my voice echoing off the cold stone walls. In response, I received only a mumbled grunt, followed by the unmistakable sound of a harsh slap.

The dungeon itself was a chilling labyrinth of despair, divided into four distinct chambers. The first was where we would chain up our captives for a week or two, before moving them on to the playroom—a space reserved for more...creative endeavours, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the house. If they dared to misbehave or simply outlived their usefulness, they would find themselves in the third chamber, where the true extent of our "entertainment" would unfold. The fourth room belonged to Cleo, where she would meticulously tend to the aftermath of our...activities. Any surplus remains would then be passed on to Diana for disposal.

The entire dungeon was shrouded in secrecy, hidden from the rest of the house. The first entrance, concealed within the kitchen counter, provided a discreet but somewhat awkward access point. The second, reserved for more...unconscious guests, lurked within the depths of the library—an elevator shaft cleverly disguised among the shelves. Despite the modern facade of the house, I had insisted on incorporating the classic trope of hidden passages, adding a sinister allure to our abode.