Maehwa followed then living harpy into the mansion. Under normal circumstances, Maehwa would have been delighted. Sayuna was as just as luxurious as she imagined it would be. The back door led into a bar adorned with fine alcohol, and to the right was a small sitting room. Probably one of many.
The harpy led her upstairs and into a guest room with a window that overlooked the mountains. She explained that this would be Maehwa's room, and that she should start making herself at home.
"This feels nothing like home. And I bet that you don't feel at home here either," Maehwa commented.
Datura chuckled coldly. "True, but I will be long gone soon."
"I hope so," Maehwa sneered.
Maehwa found it both funny and confusing. How this woman could kill her husband but not leave the crime scene yet. Perhaps Datura was simply guilty and wanted to honor Pierre. But from the way she glossed over his death, it probably wasn't the case. "Why can't you leave yet? You could just fake your own kidnapping or death. It would explain the body in the pool. And I could help you with that."
Datura's face stayed the same. "I am not that idiotic. I did think about that. But there is another reason that I am unable to leave."
"Why?"
"This is the end of our conversation," Datura said forcefully, as if it was a touchy subject, "You may explore the mansion further, but remember that if you leave, I will report you to the police."
It was already late into the night when Maehwa finally stepped out of her room. Although she didn't want to risk bumping into Datura, she knew that she had to explore the house if she wanted a chance to escape. Maehwa couldn't describe the creepy vibe that Datura had. It was hard to put into words. The only way to describe her was . . . as someone who would skin you and your loved ones alive, burn them, and not shed a tear. Or even let a shred of emotion show in her face. She probably wasn't human.
Maehwa walked into a hallway. Several portraits adorned the walls. All of them were of Pierre, at different stages in his life. In every stage, he looked like a stereotypical high school jock that bullied people for fun. Maehwa didn't like these kinds of people, but he definitely didn't deserve to die. Her eyes started to sting at the thought of it. She mentally scolded herself for almost crying. For doing something a small child would do after learning about the concept of death. It was shameful and embarrassing for someone like Maehwa to do such a thing. She pushed the thought aside and continued to follow the trail of paintings, which eventually led to a single carved oak door, the kind you would see in 19th century mansion, with curves reminiscent of the popular rococo style.
Maehwa traced her finger across the golden knob that jutted out. A thin film of grey coated her hand. She found it strange. A mansion such as Sayuna would definitely have cleaning staff. Pierre and Datura weren't going to do it, obviously. So why was there such a thick layer of dust on the door? Maehwa looked closely at the carvings. No spiderwebs, but the unmistakable dusting of, well . . . dust.
She wrapped her hand around the knob, twisted, and pulled at the door. The old wood creaked and shuddered, but did not give way. After a few more attempts, Maehwa finally got the stupid door open.
The room seemed as if it had been untouched in many years. It had a musty yet fragrant smell, like someone had sprayed a bit of old perfume in before shutting the door. The room was clearly a drawing room, with an easel collecting dust to her left, and a large drawing table to her right. Next to the easel was a closed box of paint tubes, also collecting dust. Maehwa picked the box up and opened it.
Some tubes of paint boasted small dents and dried smudges on their caps. Other than that, there was nothing special about the old tubes. Maehwa was about to put the box down when she noticed a small scrap of paper sticking out between two tubes. She pulled it out. "Please, don't listen to what he says. You won't make it out of here with your mind intact. All he does is lie, abuse, and manipulate others. I should know. I helped him do some of these things, after all."
She didn't understand who had written this. Or who "he" was. The only person she had seen lying, abusing, and manipulating others was Ms. Datura Creepywoman. She looked back at the paint tubes and eyed another scrap of paper, and pulled it out like a weed. "What do you mean? He has never done that to me, though. And who are you?"