Shadows and Distractions at Scarlette de Montfroid Mansion

The streets of Clémarine, damp with the sea breeze, spread out in a maze of wrought-iron balconies and streetlights that burned like tired fireflies.

The group advanced behind Fátima, still wearing their chains, though she wore them like state bracelets, smiling at passersby as if parading on her own stage.

"Are we really going to her house?" Vera murmured, her arms crossed and her face disgusted.

"Residence, my dear," Fátima corrected in a honeyed tone. "It sounds much more elegant, doesn't it?"

The mansion of Fátima Scarlette de Montfroid rose on the outskirts of Clémarine like a theatrical relic. Black stone towers, heavy curtains, an excess of mirrors, and the intoxicating scent of incense wafting through every hallway. It was, at the same time, a stage of seduction and a cage of secrets.

The group entered cautiously, but Fatima moved as if she were receiving distinguished guests.

"Bienvenue, mes chéris. Consider this place your refuge... although I must warn you that the nights here can be... restless."

The iron gate creaked open, revealing a garden with statues of nymphs and gas lamps.

Ayato rubbed the back of his neck.

"This reeks of Gothic cliché."

"Merci, mon chasseur." Fatima gave a theatrical turn before opening the main doors. "Welcome 

to my humble abode."

The interior contrasted sharply with the austerity of the exterior: red carpets, crystal chandeliers, velvet curtains, enormous mirrors that multiplied the light. Every corner seemed designed for display, rather than habitation.

"Humble, you say..." Isolde snorted, wrinkling her nose. This screams narcissism.

"And I thought my family was the one who was stuck up?" Lucien said, as every incident involving 

Fatima made him break his character, making sure not to touch anything in the place.

In the main room, Fatima freed herself from her chains with a flirtatious gesture (and with the help of some red threads she molded into a makeshift key in her cleavage, a detail that made Ayato roll his eyes). 

Then she sank into a long armchair, like a queen on her makeshift throne.

"Voilà. You can stay here as long as you want. There will be rooms for everyone. Although..." her smile twitched as she looked directly at Ayato, "you might want to stay in mine. Pour des raisons pratiques, bien sûr~"

Ayato gritted his teeth.

"Not in my dreams."

Rydia cackled from a corner, no longer bothering to hide behind illusions.

"Oh, this is going to be fun. The red doll playing hostess and the grumpy hero as her involuntary bodyguard."

Isolde stepped forward, putting herself between Fatima and Ayato.

"Enough with the games. If you really want to prove you're not a threat, you'll cooperate in everything."

Fatima's smile faltered slightly, as if the weight of the demand touched some truth in it. But she quickly recovered, resting her cheek on the palm of her hand with an oujou-sama air.

"Bien sûr. But remember: at Clémarine, we all play a role. And I, my dears, never leave the stage."

***

After a dinner heavy on spices and overly sweet wines, Fatima swirled her glass and fixed Ayato with her red eyes.

"Mon cher Ayato... it would be an honor to show you my chambers. I'm sure you'll find the view... irresistible."

Ayato blinked, incredulous.

"Really? I went from second-rate pawn to the distraction of a tsundere oujou-sama with a diva complex? My life is a bad joke."

Lucien, as if watching live theater, applauded softly.

"Brilliant! The hero dragged into the dame fatale's lair... the irony, the tension... this begs to be written!"

Rydia bluntly uses a paralysis spell on Lucien to silence him for a moment, to which Vera responds with a...

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, kiddo... I've already had enough to put up with the other Associates..." Rydia said with disdain, alluding to the fact that she doesn't get along with her comrades.

"I just hope these two idiots don't ruin my plans, not until Ayato becomes the new Dark Lord and Isolde accepts me as a mother figure once and for all..." Rydia didn't stop to think contemptuously about Lucien and Fatima, even thinking that Madelis and Dakim were better allies for them.

***

As Fatima dragged Ayato upstairs with a smile, Vera couldn't contain a murmur.

"I don't like this at all. Why him? Why him of all people?"

Lucien, surprisingly serious for a moment, replied,

"Because Ayato has something we don't. Darkness inside him... and she sniffs it out like a sniffer dog."

His tone was serious, lacking any of his usual theatricality, and he seemed to be paying attention to Isolde's manuscript, even the part where it highlights Ayato as a Lone Demon.

Vera looked at him uneasily.

"So... it's not just flirting?"

Lucien shook his head.

"No. It's strategy."

***

In a side hallway, Isolde ran her fingers along the walls. Ancient symbols were engraved in the wooden moldings. The mark of the Scarlette de Montfroid family was unmistakable.

Rydia floated beside her, with her usual mocking smile.

"You know, you should relax a little. That girl is just another opportunist with an ego the size of her bust."

"Don't be ridiculous," Isolde retorted without looking at her. "Her lineage is not to be taken lightly."

Rydia crossed her arms, like a spoiled child.

"Look at you, so serious, so distant. I suppose your biological mother, Evaria, must have been very strict with you in life... I would be more affectionate, flexible, and permissive if you allowed me that role as your stepmother."

Isolde turned her face slightly, her gaze icy as she listened to the Succubus speak lightly about her biological mother.

"How can you possibly assume a maternal role when you're not so different from an insolent little girl who needs correcting?"

Rydia laughed loudly, delighted.

"Exactly! The perfect duo: I'd be the affectionate stepmother, you the cold stepdaughter. A comedy show worthy of the stage!"

Isolde pushed her away with a finger to the forehead.

"I hate theatrics."

***

Suddenly, a scream echoed from the upper floor. Everyone tensed.

Sylphidia came running down the stairs, holding something. Her face shone with mischief.

"Hey, look at this! This can cover my entire face!"

She held up a black and crimson bra of impossible proportions.

The silence was deathly.

Ayato covered his face with one hand.

Vera turned as red as a tomato.

Lucien coughed to hide his laughter.

Rydia was angry to see a Dhampir on par with her in the size of her assets.

Fatima, standing in the doorway of her room, raised an eyebrow proudly.

"Oh, chérie, that's one of my favorites. Maybe I'll lend it to you, though I doubt it'll fit."

Sylphidia waved it in the air, indignant.

"I'm not interested in your ridiculous clothes! ...But how the hell does anyone get in there?"

Isolde sighed, fed up.

"This is going to be hell."

***

The door closed behind them. Fatima lay back on her large bed as if posing for a painting, her red dress standing out in the light from the chandeliers.

"Welcome to my sanctuary, Ayato. Here, you don't need to feign cynicism. Just look at me and confess what your heart desires..."

Ayato crossed his arms, bewildered.

"What I want is a nap and a glass of water. If possible, not a blessed one."

Fatima frowned, her smile trembling between fascination and anger.

"Your irony... m’exaspère. But it also intrigues me."

She leaned closer to him, like a feline ready to catch its prey.

"You know? Maybe beneath that apathy lies a real dark lord. And if you let me, I can help you find him."

Ayato sighed, annoyed.

"Great." Now I'm the gothic fantasy of a frustrated aristocrat. Just what I needed.

Thus, amid suspicions, tensions, and absurd scenes, the first night in the mansion made one thing clear: the line between ally and enemy remained as blurred as the perfume that permeated every corner of that place.