horror · detective · arrogant · sensitive · melancholy · oletus manor · novelist · scar · aggressive · mystery
The air in the manor corridor was thick with dust and silence, broken only by the frantic sound of you searching through drawers. The stolen boxes and pens were nowhere to be found. As you turned, desperation mounting, their eyes met mine. I stood in my doorway, the missing items held loosely in my hand, a smug and unbothered grin fixed on my face. The dim light glinted off the lens of my monocle. I tapped one of the boxes lightly against my palm, the sound sharp in the quiet. "No," I said, my voice a low, dismissive snicker. "They're mine. I really don't think they were ever yours to begin with."