POV: Seraphina Everhart
Word Count: ~1100+
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The sun filtered softly through the tall windows of the Everhart estate. Outside, the roses were blooming again, just like they did every summer, but I found no joy in watching them today.
There was a quiet tension in the air.
A new butler had arrived. Again.
I'd heard the staff whisper it in the corridors. They never meant to gossip in front of me, but I wasn't blind—or deaf.
"The Duke chose him himself."
"He doesn't speak much."
"Some say he's... strange."
I wasn't sure what I expected. Likely another man with stiff shoulders and stiff manners. Eager to serve, terrified of failing. They rarely lasted.
Still, I waited quietly in the sitting room, hands folded in my lap, posture as perfect as I was taught. But my mind was restless.
A gentle knock on the door broke the silence.
"Enter," I said softly.
The door creaked open. My breath caught slightly.
He stepped in slowly, as if unsure whether he was allowed to leave footprints on the polished floor.
He was... not what I imagined.
Thin—frighteningly so. His black uniform looked far too large for his frame. Pale skin, as if he hadn't seen sunlight in years. He carried no aura of strength or confidence, yet there was something else in the way he moved. Quiet grace. A calm dignity that wasn't put on for show.
He didn't tremble. He didn't bow too deeply. But he did lower his head.
"Lady Seraphina Everhart," he said in a quiet, even voice. "I am Sylas."
His voice wasn't cold. It was… distant. Hollow in a way that made my heart ache before I could stop it.
"Welcome," I said gently, standing to face him. "Please, come in."
He took a few more steps forward, stopping several feet away.
I studied him carefully, though I tried not to stare.
He looked fragile—more fragile than anyone I'd ever seen in this house. His wrists were thin beneath the cuffs of his coat. His cheekbones were sharp, but not from elegance—from hunger. Or loss. His eyes... were the most striking of all. Deep black. Empty of fear, but not unfeeling. They reminded me of someone who had once known how to cry, and then simply forgot how.
"You look tired," I said before I could stop myself.
"I'm not," he answered, his voice still calm, still quiet. "But thank you."
That surprised me. Not just the answer, but the fact that he acknowledged the concern at all. Most servants would have nervously denied it or brushed it off.
He didn't.
I walked toward him slowly, letting my steps speak warmth instead of power. "Did you have a long journey?"
"A quiet one."
"And before that?"
He paused.
"Quieter still," he said, almost like a whisper.
I didn't press.
Not because I wasn't curious—but because something in his voice told me the silence he came from was not a peaceful one.
The door opened again.
"Seraphina," my father's familiar voice echoed as he entered. "I see you've met Sylas."
I turned toward him. "Yes."
My father gave me a meaningful smile. "He'll be assisting you directly."
I glanced back at Sylas, uncertain. "Me?"
Father chuckled. "I think you'll find him... more capable than he looks."
I didn't respond, though inwardly I wondered what he meant by that.
When the door closed and we were alone again, I looked at Sylas more carefully.
"You don't have to be afraid of me," I said quietly.
"I'm not," he replied. Not coldly. Just factually.
I nodded slowly. "Good."
I motioned for him to sit across from me, but he remained standing.
"I'm fine," he said, as if he didn't want to be a burden.
Or maybe… as if he wasn't used to anyone offering kindness.
"I understand this house can be overwhelming at first," I offered. "But you'll find the staff helpful, once they warm up to you."
"I'm not here for them," he said, looking at me again. "I was assigned to you."
His honesty startled me—not because it was rude, but because it was so… clear.
"I see," I murmured, not quite sure what to say next. "Do you… need anything?"
He hesitated this time.
Then quietly, "No one's asked me that in a long time."
My chest tightened slightly. "Well… I'm asking now."
He didn't answer.
Instead, he bowed again—slight and graceful, like every movement cost him energy he refused to show.
"Thank you, my lady," he said.
I smiled gently. "Sylas… I hope you'll find peace here. Even if it's just a little."
His eyes flickered—just briefly.
Something fragile passed over his face, like a candle's flame caught in a draft. And then it was gone.
"I'll do my best," he said.
I believed him.
Even if I didn't understand him yet, I felt no threat from him. No deceit. No ambition.
Just silence.
A silence I wanted to understand.
Not to break it. Not to fix him.
But perhaps… to simply let it rest beside mine.