It was already evening again, I know because occasionally I would check my phone while laying on this cold and comfortable bedsheet.

Twenty hours had passed since I lost my character CJS69Real.

Or, more accurately, twenty hours had passed since I fell, pummeled and and shattered against the soft dirt, before waking up crying like a little bitch, running back to my room and started screaming into a giant foamy white pillow.

I rolled once more, because the bed was wide-y and I had two pillows, I enjoyed the coldness while starting back at the slightly damp spot on the other pillow from where my cheek had pressed into it for too long.

The lights were off and the curtains were drawn… I wish I could be a hikkomori, I could have if I actually get myself out of real life trouble like with the Sonders, I thought.

The air conditioner hummed steadily, but I didn't really notice… I don't think these billionaires would care about their electric bill.

I let go of my phone, letting the light from said screen glowed faintly against the ceiling for a while, then dimmed, then lit again when I tapped at it.

I wasn't even trying to use it, really, just touching the glass so I could stimulate myself against the darkness.

The bed was getting warm and the sheets were soft.

Sometimes I'd mutter something out loud, just to prove I was still aware of this world that I lived in.

"...It's so damn draining," I said once, barely a whisper. "Waking up every day and just... getting stuck with more problems. I should have just end myself or just never meet Hailie in that cave in the first place."

I thought that saying those stuff could've ease me out of the heavy weights on my shoulders, yet it only got worse as they left, sinking straight into the mattress like stones in mud.

I've been noticing footsteps when it came time for yesterday dinner, and today's breakfast plus lunch.

Though, I couldn't say for sure whose footsteps it was, because it sounds more heavy than Anshur.

For those three said occasions, after those footsteps approaching my room's door, three soft knocks would follow, then, after not hearing an answer from me, the door would crack open just enough for a hand to slide a tray of warm food inside.

"Thank you." I would whisper weakly.

Then the door would be gently closed.

An hour later, the same rhythm of knocks would come, they would open the door slightly to check if the tray was there, and if it was, they'd take it.

If they don't see the tray, they just closed the door and leave, returning in 15 minutes intervals.

I know that because last night, after playing and I didn't show up for dinner, I finished eating but didn't leave the tray at the door; I had it on my bedside table instead. So I gotta get up and placed it appropriately.

I guess that's how they know I was still alive.

But not like my death would have any meaning in this mansion anyway, name one person who would come looking for me if I was gone.

I'd been lying in the same position so long that even my thoughts started looping.

Every once in a while, I'd imagine myself still falling, still plummeting through that empty blue, stomach twisting, hair whipping. I'd punch my skull as a sign of punishment, knowing full well I have like 3 different ways to survive that fall.

…

Was that footsteps?

I heard a familiar rhythm of footsteps… And I highlighted familiar, because it wasn't the one that had been giving me my food, it was someone that I heard way more often… This was more soft, in a way…

"Anshur…?" I whispered to myself.

I pulled the blanket tighter and stared at the faint rectangle of light beneath the door being blocked out by a pair of legs.

Then I heard it… A voice.

"Miss Smith?"

That voice… It was most definitely Anshur von Rodolfo.

And when she uses "Miss Smith" politely and professionally like that, it usually meant she was in someone else's presence, or she genuinely was in her professional-side and wanted to talk business to me… Which was rare.

Instantly, my chest tightened. My hand shot out, grabbing the nearest object I could reach my phone, of course, as if I have the balls to actually throw it at her.

My pulse started hammering as I muttered, begging that I don't have to deal with anymore bullshit today.

If she comes in and do anything stupid, I'm going to try and actually kill her…

But the door didn't open, and she didn't come in.

There was a pause, I could only hear the sound of fabric shifting when I moved. Then, through the door, her voice came again, calm, but with something almost fragile underneath.

"I am here to say goodbye."

My fingers froze mid-tremble as she continued,

"It is likely that you have heard of this. But I'll tell you again, I have been assigned to another Sonder estate, I'll be leaving in an hour."

The hallway air hummed faintly through the gap under the door. I could picture her standing there, back straight, maid gloves folded, eyes as soft and sadistic as ever.

I didn't move, and I didn't say a thing.

For a long moment, neither of us did.

Then, quietly—so quietly I almost thought I imagined it—she said:

"I hope you live well."

A small, final click followed, which I interpreted to be the sound of her shoes turning away, more footsteps echoing through the hall then silence swallowing everything again.

The air conditioner resumed its rhythm.

The room returned to stillness.

And I lay there, staring at the door, not sure if what I felt was relief, or something much heavier pressing down from the inside of my chest.

Was this, really the end of the story between me and Anshur von Rodolfo?

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