You buckle the collar around your neck. You've never worn anything besides thin necklaces, so it's going to take a little getting used to. You find the feel of the heavy leather oddly stimulating, and the bell jingles pleasantly as you adjust it on your neck.
You take a look at yourself in the mirror. You're incredibly cute in the maid outfit and can't help but smile. You'd never go out in public like this for fear of dying in embarrassment, but for now it's a satisfying change of pace.
A knock on the door makes you jump. You shuffle over in your three-inch platforms, trying to get accustomed to walking on them and being careful not to trip yourself. You cautiously open the door.
A tall man is standing in the hallway. He's dressed in a smoking jacket and has black hair that's graying at the temples. He fits right in with the luxurious old house. You can tell he's the owner just from his straight, confident posture.
He eyes you calmly, scanning you from head to toe, before finally saying "I trust you slept well?"
You blush. "I'm really very sorry," you try to explain. "I thought the house was deserted. The door wasn't locked. I was just curious, and I was looking for someplace to stay the night. I'm sorry I intruded."
"Oh, it's quite all right," the man smiles. "We have visitors every now and then, and we're happy to take them in. 'My house is your house.' That's the Archblack family motto."
He glances at your outfit again. You remember what you're wearing, and why you're wearing it. "Did you happen to take my clothes last night? I had them next to the bed, but now they're gone, and all that was in the closet was this uniform."
"Yes, Harriet took them early this morning to be washed with everything else. They will be returned to you in good time."
"Thank you. That's very generous, but I've overstayed my welcome."
"Nonsense. You are welcome to stay for breakfast. I'm sure the long walk that brought you here has made you quite famished."
You take a mental check of your stomach and realize he's right. It suddenly feels like a gaping, bottomless pit.
He doesn't wait for you to say yes or no. "But first, if you would please pick up after yourself? Guests in this house are treated kindly, but are expected to treat their hosts with equal measure."
"Oh, I understand completely," you say, relieved. Free breakfast sounds great, and you certainly owe the man for messing up one of his guest rooms. He explains that there are spare sheets in the hall closet, then bids you goodbye and you quickly get to work taking the dirty sheets off the bed. You take them into the hall, seeing a thin door near the mirror at the end that must be the linen closet. There is a laundry chute cut into the floor which you dump the sheets down, and you grab a set of fresh cases from the well-stocked shelves. You notice a few cleaning supplies as well, and decide to scrub the bathtub you used last night. "Leave everything cleaner than you found it" was one of your mother's most common sayings, and her voice is loud and clear in your head right now.
You're a little embarrassed to have taken advantage of the man's house and hospitality, but how were you to know anyone was living here? It looked deserted yesterday. You thank your lucky stars he didn't pitch a fit and toss you out of the house stark naked. As you ponder your interesting situation, you casually scratch a persistent itch in your ear.
Once the bedsheets are changed and the bath area cleaned up, you head downstairs. In the main hall, you find one door is open and head inside. The lavish dining room has a table that could probably seat two dozen people. It's only set for two, however, one at the head by a large fireplace and one at the opposite end closest to you. An oil painting of Mr. Archblack (a strange name, you think) hangs above the fireplace. He looks quite regal in his British naval uniform. You thought you detected a British accent in his voice.
Mr. Archblack enters through a set of double swing doors that probably lead to the kitchen. "Harriet tells me your clothes will be dry by midday. Please, sit."
You sit down at the end of the table. He takes his place at the head. He's very far away, and it's hard to make out his facial expressions in the dim oil lamp light. You wonder if the house even has electricity. You think he's staring at you, but you can't be sure.
"You were in the navy?" you ask, not enjoying the silence.
"Oh, heavens no," he answers plainly. "But don't you think I look magnificent in that uniform?"
"Um...yes. Very." You're not sure what to make of this man, a generous host and also, apparently, an egotist. "I'd like to know...," you start to ask. You feel silly for saying it, expecting he won't believe you. "I'd like to know if any of your guests have experienced...strange things here? Impossible things?"
"You're wondering how you have aged back to a teenager, I suspect," he replies. Again, there is no hint of emotion save for an attempt to keep his voice at a pleasant timbre.
Dumbfounded, you nod.
"I'm afraid you've stumbled onto a very unique place," he explains with the guarded enthusiasm and matter-of-factness of your old college professors. "This house was crafted by very capable wizards. My ancestors."
He pauses, probably to see if you're going to believe what he's saying. The funny thing is, you almost do.
"I am the last in the Archblack family. When I die, this estate and everything in it will disappear like ash in the wind. The time is about right, I should say. The house's magic has been acting up for a century now. Your newfound youth and that maid's uniform are apparently the house's doing."
You find it hard to believe, but what else could explain how you woke up an eighteen-year-old? In fact, the part of his story that you find questionable is that it was the house's idea, not his, to leave you that maid uniform.
The kitchen doors open and a twenty-something woman emerges carrying a large covered dish. She places it on the table and removes the lid to reveal a generous breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast and several other things you can't see from this distance. She picks up one of the two places and places it in front of Mr. Archblack. Then she carries the tray down to your end of the table to give you your plate.
The food smells great, and you can't wait to scarf it down. Mr. Archblack, however, hasn't touched his yet, and you decide to hold your appetite a little longer. He raises his glass of orange juice. "To good company and good fortune," he says. You raise your glass of water and drink. It's cool and crisp, much better than the city water you're used to. You start eating the delicious meal, forcing yourself not to rudely scarf it all down. You quiver with relief as your stomach slowly receives its first meal in almost a day.
Halfway through breakfast, you're satisfied enough to take a short pause and ask some more questions. "If your family is magic, does that mean you can do magic as well? Can you bring me back to my original age?"
In the dim light you can barely tell that he is shaking his head. "I'm afraid my magic is limited. The bloodline's propensity over the years. I am quite adept at altering Harriet's age, but only because I've known her all my life."
"Was Harriet the woman that just served us?" you ask incredulously. "She looks no older than twenty-five!"
"She has served my family for centuries," he explains. "Every so often she has her age changed to fend off the monotony of life in this house, but like the house, she hopes to finally live out the end of her life when it is my time."
"That's...that's...," you want to say both "terrible" and "great" at the same time. Hundreds of years serving one family, in one house? That's a fate you hope never to experience firsthand.
"I don't expect you to understand," Mr. Archblack states airily. "I am finished, and shall retire to my study, as is my usual custom. If you would please clean up after yourself."
"Yes, I will, don't worry," you say, remembering the fact that this delicious meal was provided free of charge, and after you stayed overnight without permission. With him out of the room, you're free to stuff your face as fast as you can. Your stomach accepts the new wave of food eagerly. As you eat, you fidget in your chair. For some reason you're finding the tight dress more uncomfortable than before, and that might be what's causing that aching right above your rear.
After you've finished every scrap of food on your plate and emptied your glass of water, you place your dirty dishes on the platter Harriet left in the middle of the table. You decide to clean up Mr. Archblack's place as well, wishing to repay his generosity with your own. You carry everything through the double doors into a large kitchen. The appliances are quite old, but remarkably clean. You find Harriet by a large sink in the back.
"Just put them right in that soapy water," she says, gesturing to the neighboring sink full of bubbles. "The drying rack is to the right."
You get to work washing the plates, but you can't help your curiosity. "You're name is Harriet, right?" you ask.
"Yes'm. I've been the Archblack family servant for three hundred and fifteen years."
"That's quite a track record," you say. Her tone doesn't indicate that she's ashamed of her age in any way. If any woman could keep the figure she has for those three hundred years, though, they probably wouldn't mind confessing their age either.
You notice that, despite wearing a nearly identical maid's uniform to yours, she isn't wearing a collar or anything else around her neck. "This house apparently thinks I look almost as good as you in this dress," you say as you scrub the silverware. "But I'm not sure why it gave me this collar."
"We've grown used to the house's little pranks," the woman says. She glances at you and your bell collar, then her eyes seem to glance at something just above your head. "Don't let it bother you. I think it looks appropriate on you, though, with those ears and all."
You have no idea what she means by this, so you don't say anything more. After setting everything on the drying rack you tell Harriet you're going to wait up in your room for your clothes.
"Feel free to take a look around. Some of these rooms are made specially for guests such as yourself. I'll put your clothes in on your room's bed for you when they're ready."
You thank her and leave the kitchen. You exit through the dining room to the hallway and decide to look for a bathroom. Fortunately, it's the first door you try just a short way down the hall. You fidget in your dress, trying to adjust the waistline. It's really starting to feel constricting, and your shoes are feeling tight as well for some reason.
It's small, but ornate, just like the rest of the house. The mirror is a little dingy, though. For a minute you thought you had bumps on your head.
You look again. You do! Two large pointed shapes are jutting up out of your hair. You straighten up in surprise, and feel the back of your skirt lift up. Your arms reach behind you to shove it back down as you glance behind you at a plain wood-paneled wall. Your fears increase when your hands, still trying to hold the back of your skirt down, feel something large and furry.