She still remembered that mischievous, mysterious, and ambiguous expression on the head cook’s face when she spoke of that third use.

  “Now, that is the highest art, the one every personal maid has to master. It allows a lady to completely release her body and mind, to melt away the day's fatigue. If you ever got a chance to experience it… my, that would be a more unforgettable, intoxicating experience than anything!”

  She didn’t understand, and asked her mother about it. But her mother had just scolded that the head cook’s mind was “full of dirty thoughts,” and didn’t explain anything to her.

  And now… those people from her memories were already “gone.” This little secret about the Rose Essence… she might never learn the answer.

  Just then, Elsa’s calm, emotionless voice sounded at the utility room’s entrance.

  “Betty.”

  Betty, as if yanked from that warm daydream by a sudden jolt, was startled awake from the depths of her fantasy. Only then did she realize that she had, unconsciously, fallen into that kind of… intimate reverie.

  “E-Elsa, Lady Elsa!” she stammered, subconsciously trying to rise from the tub, using her hands to cover her own body.

  “There is no need.” Elsa, however, stopped her.

  She just calmly walked in. Those perfect eyes of hers swept the shelves, finally landing on the small bottle of Rose Essence in Betty’s hand.

  “I came for this.”

  Betty finally had a sudden realization. She hurriedly offered the precious Rose Essence in her hands, respectfully.

  Betty wanted to ask, but the words died on her lips. She hesitated, not knowing how to begin. She was just a kitchen maid. And Elsa… was the master’s most intimate maid. Between them, it was as if an impassable gulf lay.

  In the end, she said nothing.

  Just watching Elsa’s impeccable, slender back as she took the precious Rose Essence and departed in silence.

  She returned to the warm water and closed her eyes. But the warm daydream in her mind had already changed form.

  In the scene, it was no longer Elsa kneading her. It was herself, having changed into that straight-backed, elegant maid’s uniform only ever seen on a personal maid. In her hand, she held the small bottle of Rose Essence.

  And the person in the tub? Her expression was relaxed, her demeanor gentle, her face flushed a healthy, alluring red from the steam. Her skin, under the candlelight, was as fair as a pearl kissed by time. It was, precisely, Lady Pandora.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Betty,” the Lady Pandora in the tub slowly opened those eyes that seemed to see through everything. Her voice carried a languid, yet questioning tone.

  “Why haven’t you come… to use that third use on me?”

  Betty’s face instantly flushed in utter embarrassment.

  “I… I…” She opened her mouth, but found she could say nothing. “I… I don’t know!”

  Lady Pandora’s brows furrowed tighter and tighter. The originally gentle gaze in her eyes gradually turned disappointed, then cold, and even… carried a questioning, judgmental quality.

  “My personal maid… doesn’t even know?”

  “Betty, you have… disappointed me.”

  Betty finally couldn’t take it anymore. With a “waaah,” she broke down and sobbed.

  “I’m sorry, my lady! I’m so sorry!”

  She crumpled to the ground beside the tub, the cold, stone tiles causing an involuntary shiver, but she dared not stop, simply pressing her forehead to the ground, repeating that pale, weak defense over and over. “I really don’t know… I really don’t know…”

  THUD—!

  A loud crash!

  It was unknown what had fallen to the floor in the kitchen, but Betty shuddered, startled awake from that terrible dream.

  She looked around, somewhat dazed, at the familiar yet strange utility room. Subconsciously, she clutched at her own chest, which rose and fell violently with her racing heart.

  That was close… So close. Thank goodness… she wasn’t a personal maid. Thank goodness she didn’t have to face such a terrifying situation.

  ………………

  Late at night, the once prosperous sole small town of Viscount Douglas’s fief was utterly silent. The wind whistled through shattered windows, rustling the stubborn weeds that sprouted from the cracks between the stone pavement.

  When all the adults had turned into walking corpses overnight, when even the most innocent children had suffered heavy casualties in this disaster, civilization, like the tide, had rapidly retreated to the area around the City Hall—the sole small island that still maintained the vestiges of its former prosperity and order.

  At the stroke of midnight, a heavy bell tolled across the empty streets.

  A team of two walked out of the brightly lit City Hall, changing shifts with another team of poorly equipped “guards” who had been huddled in a corner of the street for the night.

  These men all carried hints of having been trained, but they wore no armor. The weapons in their hands were just pitchforks, sharpened spears, and a few chipped cleavers. They were clearly the most trusted guards of Arthur, the self-proclaimed “king”.

  So why was their equipment so simple? This went back to that great fire a few days prior. The blaze that had engulfed Arthur’s entire armory. A large number of armor and blades had been completely destroyed in that fire. Even the few that had miraculously survived were mostly misshapen or damaged by the heat.

  With their current personnel, comprised mostly of children who had just come of age on the day of the outbreak, and supplemented by other village children, they were in no position to repair these iron creations in a short time. You could say, the only person in the entire town who still wore a full, pristine suit of fine armor, was “King”—Arthur himself.

  And because of this, there were actually rumors, whispered among the survivors like shadows, circulating. That the fire that day had, in fact, been set by Arthur himself. He had even, at great cost, killed the two loyal, old knights who were the first to rush into the blaze to fight it. He had done all this to create this current, absolutely unequal situation. So that he could become this town’s undisputed, sole… King.

  “Bro, you don’t think…” The younger of the two guards shrank his neck, trying to draw a sliver of warmth from the cold night wind. His eyes, which seemed a little too large in the darkness, looked to his silent brother, his voice pressed so low, as if afraid the wind would steal his words. “Arthur… it couldn’t be… that he really thinks this, right?”

  SMACK!

  The older brother didn't even think, smacking the back of the younger’s head. The force wasn't great, but the sound was crisp.