NOVEL WEB Chapter 17: Eyes That Burn
Today is still sunny like normal, but there will be a little drama in the Dormir Household.
You may ask why.
It all happened because of one young maid named Clarie.
Clarie had only served within the inner estate for three weeks, reassigned from the east kitchens after someone noted her embroidery was "too delicate for kitchen duty."
She was sixteen.
Quiet.
Observant.
Her mother had once been a seamstress for the Dormir house, and though her family no longer held noble standing, their generations of service earned her a modest place among the junior staff.
She was grateful.
She didn't ask for much.
But when she was moved to maid support rotation and began tending near the Serene Heir himself…
She began to notice something that made her pause.
And that was.
No one really touched Ezrel Dormir.
The young master of this Family.
They bowed, spoke in hushed tones, took notes, and folded his blankets like offerings.
But no one ever touches him.
Not directly.
Not like someone normal.
And yet, he was… beautiful.
Not in a fragile, prince-like way.
But in the kind of way statues in old temples were beautiful.
Too beautiful for this world.
His black hair always seemed a little tousled. His posture slouched like gravity had personally insulted him.
His features were striking.
He has high-cheeked, soft-jawed, effortless.
And his expression?
Utterly, permanently unimpressed.
Like the world will not have any effect on him.
---
That morning, Ezrel had once again abandoned his scheduled etiquette lesson.
Instead of going to class.
He would rather take a nap somewhere no one can find him.
And today, he could be found in the garden napping under the shade of a tree.
With one arm slung over his eyes, the other limp at his side.
His shirt was half-buttoned.
He hadn't worn shoes.
Clarie had been sweeping the garden steps nearby.
The others avoided this duty.
Some said it felt too sacred.
Others claimed strange dreams came after standing near his shade for too long.
She didn't feel that.
She just saw a boy.
Sleeping.
Alone.
Lonely.
Well, to be honest, if others listen to her, they definitely will tell that she is wrong.
He just wants peace.
She set her broom down carefully.
Stepped near the edge of the archway.
Ezrel didn't move.
Even his breathing seemed slow, too slow. It's like time moved differently around him.
A strand of white hair drifted across his face with the wind.
Clarie reached forward.
She meant only to brush it back.
A gentle motion.
A kind one.
Her fingers barely touched his skin.
"You always look so peaceful, my lord," she whispered,
Her voice was nearly a whisper.
"I hope the world lets you stay that way."
Ezrel didn't flinch.
Didn't care about it
But far behind her,
In the hedgerow,
Lysette Dormir watched.
Barefoot.
Hands clasped behind her back.
Her dark hair was combed perfectly.
Her dress was too clean for morning play.
She didn't speak.
She didn't move.
She only stared, like a doll waiting to be moved.
---
That night, Clarie screamed in her sleep.
A senior maid found her curled up in the corner of her room.
Sobbing uncontrollably, refusing to be touched.
Her arms were covered in lines.
Thin, red burns.
It was too narrow for rope, not even a mark for cloth.
It's like thread burns.
The girl gasped through tears:
"I dreamed… I was standing near him again…"
"And she was there…"
"Her eyes… they didn't blink… not once… she was smiling…"
"Attt.....me"..
---
Ezrel was eating toast again the next morning.
One leg folded beneath him on the bench. Half-awake. Hair still a mess.
He blinked slowly at the sound of commotion in the hallway.
"Another maid touched him," someone whispered.
"Now she's marked."
"Marked how?"
"They say it was her own dream. But the thread stayed when she woke."
Ezrel exhaled through his nose.
Looked down at his toast.
And said to that maid
"Maybe she was allergic to kindness."
He finished the last bite.
Then went back to staring at nothing.
---
Log 389 – Eyes That Burn
She meant no harm.
But she touched what was not offered.
The fate corrected.
The girl cried.
The thread remembered.
Milia noted all things.
She never asked who was responsible.
She didn't need to.
---
That night, Lysette sat on the edge of her bed, brushing her hair in slow, careful strokes.
Her eyes were calm.
Her mouth was neutral.
Her ribbon was red....It is always red.
The thread from her wrist shimmered faintly.
And softly muttered ...
Like a vow only she could hear she whispered.
"Today's vow…"
"I vow not to push. Not unless someone else does."
"I vow to remain close."
"Closer than anyone."
The candle beside her flickered once.
Then stilled.
She smiled at her reflection.
And turned in for sleep.