Lethal Lilac

CHAPTER 3

Sorry

I was back in my room, sitting at the foot of my bed. The tray of untouched food still sat on the bedside table, the silverware catching the faint light from the dim chandelier above. A cold draft slipped through the cracks of the window, brushing against my skin. Pero parang wala akong naramdaman. It was like my body had forgotten how to react to things—to the cold, to hunger, to anything.

A soft knock broke the stillness of the room. This time, the person didn’t wait for me to answer. The door opened slightly, revealing the maid from earlier. Her hesitant expression was the first thing I noticed.

“May kailangan po ba kayo, my lady?” tanong niya, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tumitig ako sa kaniya ng ilang minuto, not really thinking about what to say. It felt like my mind was empty, like I had nothing to offer. Finally, I shook my head. “Wala. You can leave.”

She stepped inside anyway, closing the door softly behind her. Her hands fiddled with the hem of her apron as she walked closer. “Pasensya na po, pero… hindi pa rin po kayo kumakain. The master will be displeased if he finds out.”

Her concern was genuine, but it didn’t reach me. I looked at the tray of food and then back at her. “I’m not hungry.”

“Pero—”

“I said I’m not hungry,” I cut her off, my voice colder than I intended. Napaurong siya, her wide eyes briefly meeting mine before she looked down at her hands.

There was a brief silence between us, heavy and suffocating. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, clearly unsure of what to do. Guilt flickered in the back of my mind, a faint ember I didn’t know was still there.

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly, the words tumbling out before I could stop them.

Nag-angat siya ng tingin, mukhang nagulat sa narinig niya. “My lady…?”

“About how I spoke to you,” Sabi ko, though the words felt foreign. Apologies weren’t something I was used to giving. Or maybe I just didn’t remember the last time I had to. “I shouldn’t have been rude. You were only doing your job.”

Her lips parted as if to say something, but she hesitated. Instead, tumango ito ng mahina, her expression softening. “Walang anuman po, my lady. Naiintindihan ko.”

I wanted to believe her, but something in her eyes told me she wasn’t entirely convinced. She lingered for a moment, then quietly excused herself, leaving me alone once again.

The door clicked shut, and the silence returned, louder than before. My gaze wandered back to the tray of food. The apology should’ve made me feel better. It should’ve lifted some invisible weight off my chest. But it didn’t. Wala pa rin akong nararamdaman.

I got up and walked to the window. The curtains swayed slightly as another gust of wind pushed through the cracks. Beyond the glass, the grounds stretched endlessly, a sea of shadows under the faint glow of the moon. Somewhere out there, the master existed. A man I had yet to meet. A man who somehow held power over me and this place.

“Sorry…” I whispered to no one in particular, my breath fogging the cold glass. The word tasted strange on my tongue, like it didn’t belong to me. Parang hindi tama.

For what, though? Was I apologizing for how I treated the maid? For the emptiness I couldn’t shake? Or for something else—something deeper, buried so far inside me that I couldn’t even name it?

I closed my eyes, pressing my forehead against the cool surface of the window. Images from the past few days flickered in my mind: the strange mansion, the rules, the unseen master. And then, flashes of something older, hazier—memories blurred by time and pain. A voice. A face. Both slipping away before I could grasp them.

“Sorry,” I repeated, softer this time. The word felt heavier now, sinking into the pit of my stomach.

A knock startled me, pulling me back to the present. My heart didn’t jump; there was no rush of adrenaline. It was just... a noise. I turned toward the door, but this time, whoever it was didn’t come in. They simply waited.

“Come in,” I called out, my voice steady.

The door opened slightly, but no one stepped inside. A small slip of paper was pushed through the gap and left on the floor. The door closed again, and the sound of retreating footsteps echoed down the hall.

I walked toward the paper, the cold marble chilling my bare feet. Picking it up, I unfolded it slowly. The handwriting was neat, precise, but unfamiliar. It was a single sentence:

'I will be out of the mansion, next month'

That was it. No signature, no explanation. I stared at the note, the words blurring as my mind spiraled into questions I couldn’t answer. I should’ve felt something—anticipation, anxiety, even fear. But all I felt was the same suffocating emptiness that had followed me since I arrived here.

I crumpled the paper and dropped it onto the floor. Turning back to the window, I whispered the word again, as if saying it enough times would make it mean something.

“Sorry.”

But the silence didn’t respond.