The New Arrival
The rain fell in icy sheets against the grand estate of Blackthorn Manor, a lonely silhouette on the edge of the mist-shrouded cliffs. Servants hurried inside, securing shutters and locking doors against the brewing storm. Only one figure approached from the long, winding road — a girl, drenched from head to toe, carrying nothing but a small black suitcase.
At the door, the head butler, Mr. Hawthorne, peered out suspiciously. His narrow eyes scanned the stranger: a pale girl with dark hair clinging to her face, and a faint, unsettling smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"You must be the new maid," he said stiffly.
The girl nodded once. Her voice, when she spoke, was soft and chilling, as if whispered by the wind itself.
"I am called Lilith."
Mr. Hawthorne didn't like the way she said it, as though her name alone held a curse. He stepped aside to let her in. "You're late."
Lilith's eyes glowed faintly under the flickering chandelier light, a detail Mr. Hawthorne missed as he turned away. She followed him through the cavernous halls of Blackthorn Manor, the old stone walls seeming to hum quietly as she passed, as if recognizing her presence.
"The master's rules are strict," Hawthorne said, his steps brisk. "No wandering the east wing. No touching the master's possessions. No speaking to guests unless spoken to."
Lilith listened without complaint, her expression unreadable. Her footsteps made no sound on the polished floors.
Finally, he led her to the servants' quarters. "You'll start in the kitchens tomorrow. Be ready before dawn." He paused, hesitating. "And… stay out of trouble."
Trouble.
If only he knew.
That night, as the storm battered the walls and lightning lit the halls in brief, blinding flashes, Lilith stood at her small window, watching the darkness. She smiled, truly smiled, for the first time that evening.
Blackthorn Manor had no idea what it had just welcomed into its heart.
Lilith was no ordinary maid.
She was the devil in disguise.
And she had come to collect what was hers.