Chapter 8: EIGHT: Sephora

"What I mean, Sephora," Aiyana declared, "is that from now on, you are no longer my handmaid."

I was caught off guard by her words, like walking into an unexpected wall.

"Are you sending me away?" I stammered, trying to control my emotions.

"No, of course not, Sephora."

"Then what do you mean?"

"What I'm saying is, you don't have to serve me as much anymore. You volunteered to work for me until death, but I do not want that for you, Sephora," she explained. "You've shown me your loyalty, and I want to treat you accordingly. That's why I want you here in this palace, not as my handmaid, but as a future member of my court."

I was surprised by her words, and her face softened with a gentle smile. "Aiyana, I could never. I'm not of noble blood."

"That doesn't matter. Once I ascend the throne, you will be welcomed as a lady of the court," she assured me.

"Will the King object to this?" I inquired cautiously.

"The King's opinon holds little sway over my decisions regarding my court," she replied firmly.

"I shall attend to your bath then," I offered, but she shot me a glare.

"I shall instruct the servants to prepare your bath," I quickly corrected myself, then made a hasty exit. As I left the room, I couldn't help but wonder, "What could the princess possibly be thinking?"

Descending the stairs, I attempted to navigate the labyrinthine corridors of the palace, finding it vastly different from the one back home, with its other worldly architecture adding to the challenge. Adding to the confusion was the absence of any bustling servants, leaving me clueless as to their whereabouts.

Despite the difficulty, I couldn't help but admire the palace's grandeur—the sweeping halls adorned with elegant archways and polished marble floors. Lamps cast a warm glow from their perches on the walls

Tapestries depicting scenes of fought battles and royal ceremonies adorned the walls, their rich colors and designs adding to the palace's beauty. Tall windows lined the corridors, allowing streams of sunlight to filter through, casting patterns of light and shadow on the floor.

As I wandered further, I discovered ornate doorways leading to various chambers. The air was filled with the faint scent of incense, it was a mix of lavender and Sandalwood.

Approaching the next hallway, I noticed a descending stairwell reminiscent of the one back home that led to the servants' quarters. Assuming it to be the same, I made my way down, noticing the dimming light as I descended and the silhouette of a door waiting at the bottom.

Though the darkness didn't deter me, the sound of a piano piqued my curiosity. Were the servants here allowed recreational time? Or had I taken a wrong turn? Regardless, someone was inside, and I intended to ask them for directions.

Pausing in front of the door, I hesitated, unsure whether to knock or push it open. After a brief moment of contemplation, I decided to push it open, stepping into a room that felt oddly empty. The few pieces of furniture were shrouded in gloom, and the sparse lighting barely illuminated the space.

The melody from the piano echoed through the room as I scanned the area, searching for the person playing.

"Hello!" I called out. "Is anyone here? Can you help me?" I continued, peering around the dimly lit room. "I seem to have lost my way. I'm looking for the servants' quarters."

Despite my inquiries, the piano continued to play, as if the pianist were lost in their own world.

"Hello! Are you there?" I called out again, growing increasingly concerned.

The piano suddenly emitted an off-tune note and fell silent, replaced by a low, menacing snarl that sent shivers down my spine.

"Do you not know better than to interrupt people?" a voice snapped, seemingly male.

I looked around, trying to locate the source of the voice, but the room remained empty. "I apologize," I said, my voice trembling. "I'm only seeking directions. As I mentioned, I seem to be lost."

"You are not the queen-to-be. Who are you?" the voice demanded.

"My name is Sephora," I replied, my voice tinged with sadness. "I'm the handmaid to the queen-to-be, or at least I used to be."

The person seemed to sense my melancholy and responded curtly, "That sounds like your problem. You can leave now. Clearly, this is the wrong room."

"Wait! Could you please tell me where the servants' quarters are?" I pleaded, still searching for the person.

"I have no idea," came his blunt reply.

Whoever this person was, their demeanor suggested trouble, as if they relished making life difficult for no reason. Yet, despite his antagonistic tone, I felt compelled to extract some relevant information from them.

"What is your name?" I asked, determined to get some information.

"Aren't you supposed to leave after my last statement?" The voice retorted, annoyance creeping in his tone.

"I want to make sure I have not spoken with a ghost," I persisted.

"Ghosts have names from their past lives," the voice countered.

"May I see whom I'm speaking with then?" I inquired. This man seemed too difficult.

"No."

"If I cannot see you nor know your name, how can I tell that you are not a ghost then?" I pressed, determination overcoming me.

"Please, get out," the voice demanded, growing impatient.

"Not until I've seen you," I countered, refusing to back down.

"For an individual who was dismissed from their role as a handmaid, you certainly are quite demanding," the voice retorted sharply.

"You asked for my name," I argued, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "I'm sure you can see me clearly as well. Don't you think it's common courtesy that I should too?"

"And what does a handmaid know about courtesy?" the voice scoffed, its disdain palpable.

His words stung, but I refused to let them deter me. I needed to know who he was, and while I didn't want to leave until I found out, I still had the princess's bath to arrange for.

"I would love to educate you on common courtesy, since it seems quite obvious that you lack it, but I have other matters to attend to," I declared, turning towards the door.

"Sephora," the voice called, its tone calmer this time, halting me in my tracks.

"Yes?" I responded, unable to resist the pull of curiosity.

"Don't ever come in here again," the voice commanded, and the piano resumed its haunting melody.

And here I was, moments ago, about to compliment how beautifully he played. As I exited the room, a sense of unease lingered, wrapping around me like a cold cloak. Taking one last look into the room, I could have sworn I saw a pair of glowing eyes, piercing through the darkness, staring directly at me from above.

Shivers ran down my spine as I hurriedly closed the door behind me, eager to put the unsettling encounter behind me.