He's Under My Spell

Descending the path towards town in Bacong, Priscilla paused beneath the weathered welcome sign. A small, almost cruel smile flickered on her lips as she read the inscription: "Welcome to Bacong."

A motorcycle sputtered to a stop beside her. The driver, a weathered man with curious eyes, inquired, "Heading into Bacong?"

Feigning innocence, Priscilla replied, "Yes, I am."

"Hop on," the man offered. "No need for a new face to be walking alone."

Priscilla readily accepted, knowing a ride wouldn't raise suspicion. "The governor's mansion," she answered smoothly when the driver asked her destination, needing to gauge where to drop her off. "New maid position."

The driver simply nodded, a thoughtful crease appearing on his brow. "Take care," he muttered, falling silent for the remainder of the ride.

The driver's silence, punctuated by his cryptic warning, "take care," gnawed at Priscilla. What secrets did the governor harbor? Why were people so hesitant to work for him? These questions, however, were quickly overshadowed by her own agenda. Infiltrating the governor's mansion was actually part of her plan. Pretending to be a new maid would provide her with the perfect opportunity to observe the inner workings of the household, to gather information, and ultimately, to strike.

As the motorcycle sputtered to a halt, revealing the imposing sight of the governor's mansion, Priscilla felt a thrilling course through her. As a child, she'd only ever glimpsed it from afar, never daring to venture this close. Her parents had kept her sheltered from the governor's influence, warning her of his dark reputation. Now, she stood before its imposing gates, a chilling smile playing on her lips.

Disengaging from the motorcycle, Priscilla offered the driver a gratuity. "Thank you ," she said with a practiced smile of innocence.

With a final nod, the driver sped off, leaving Priscilla alone before the imposing gates of the governor's mansion. As she approached, a burly figure clutching a long rifle barred her path.

"State your business," the guard rumbled, his voice gruff.

"New maid," Priscilla replied, her voice light and innocent. "I'm here to start my duties."

The guard grunted into a device clipped to his ear. After a brief exchange, he gave Priscilla a curt nod, signaling her entry. A sly smile played on her lips as she walked through the opening gate, her eyes sweeping over the opulent mansion, a silent predator stalking its prey.

An old woman with a kind smile greeted her at the entrance. "Welcome, dear. I'm Betty, the head maid."

Priscilla offered a smile in return, adopting her new alias. "Laura Santiago, at your service, Betty."

Betty led her to a room at the back of the mansion, a secluded area for the domestic staff. Priscilla didn't seem to mind the location, shrugging off any potential discomfort. "It's… adequate," she said, her voice a soft murmur.

Betty, sensing a hint of unease, placed a comforting hand on Priscilla's shoulder. "Don't worry, dear. You'll get used to it. Now, let me show you your duties…"

Priscilla, however, was already sizing up the room, her mind racing. This was her stage, her opportunity to weave a web of deceit and sow the seeds of chaos. Vengeance, long awaited, was within her grasp.

After unpacking her belongings, Betty embarked on a tour of the mansion, outlining Priscilla's duties. One responsibility stood out caring for the young master.

"No matter what you're doing," Betty emphasized, "if the young master calls for you, drop everything and attend to him immediately."

Priscilla nodded, a flicker of curiosity sparking in her eyes. "And how old is this young master I'll be… babysitting?"

Betty chuckled softly. "Not a child, dear. Young Master Elvis is actually twenty-five. But he's blind, so he requires constant attention." A flicker of surprise crossed Priscilla's face, quickly masked by a neutral expression.

Betty bid farewell with a final reminder, "Be prepared, dear. The governor and young master will arrive soon." She handed Priscilla the maid's uniform. "Change quickly. We need to prepare dinner for our masters."

Priscilla changed swiftly, her mind racing. Donning the simple uniform felt like a physical manifestation of her disguise. In the bustling kitchen, she buried herself in tasks, momentarily pushing aside the churning emotions within.

Dinner preparations were complete, the maids stood poised as the approaching footsteps of their masters echoed on the grand staircase. They bowed low in unison as the two figures passed. A single, polished shoe stopped abruptly in front of Priscilla, shattering the practiced calm.

She hesitantly raised her eyes, her breath catching in her throat. The face gazing down at her, framed by dark hair, sent a jolt of shock through her. It couldn't be… could it? This young man, her supposed young master, bore an uncanny resemblance to the enigmatic Elvis who had aided her in the forest four years ago.

Elvis' voice cut through the tense silence. "Wouldn't you greet your master?"

Priscilla remained rooted to the spot, her mind a whirlwind of disbelief. This couldn't be the same Elvis. The kind, helpful boy from the forest had vanished, replaced by a man radiating an icy coldness. A prickle of danger ran down her spine.

Betty, sensing Priscilla's turmoil, nudged her elbow and whispered urgently, "Greet the young master."

Obediently, but with a voice that trembled slightly, Priscilla stammered, "G-good evening, Sir. I'm Laura Santiago, the new maid."

Elvis offered no response, his expression unreadable. He simply brushed past her and took his seat at the table.