Rosemary carefully arranged the flowers she had brought in from the garden. The vase that held them was very old and most likely very valuable, but it served as a charming accent in the otherwise fully red room. She had always felt too cramped in this particular portion of the house anyway. Hardly any windows, covered in dust that stirred up her allergies...it was the grandest room in the house for sure but the upkeep was merciless.

It was the room directly below the Red Room that she liked best. It was the “junk room” as the butler, Warren, had named it. Bathtubs and crates made up the furniture, the carpet was dingy and the floor half bare anyway, but it was the one she and Diazien spent the most time in.

Speaking of which, the sun was low in the sky when he usually walks through the door leading from his room. Rosemary glanced out the tiny window and saw that the sky was blue yet, so she had time to clean up.

Wiping her hands on her apron, she left the flowers standing in the middle of the fancy table and shuffled wearily over to the other side of the house, which was, basically, hers. Her room was farthest away from the only other two members in this family, Diazien and Warren. She suspected that this was intentional but liked the privacy. Sometimes she needed to keep her door fully locked when it was really late at night.

Rosemary had been living at Dreamstone Manor for over a year now, and knew every part of it, including the rooms that were supposedly “off-limits”. Especially the rooms that were off-limits. She and Diazien spend a lot of time walking through the hallways that otherwise had never held visitors in decades. She had often sat in room that no living soul had seen...as the only living being at Dreamstone, she was exposed to secrets that would mean the end of her life should she ever return to the outside world.

She loved her home. Loved her “family”, even though they didn’t always show their appreciation for her work. Warren especially was bad-tempered towards her.

Once inside her room, she locked the door carefully and slipped into her usual jeans and shirt. The jeans were older than her, and the most comfortable pair she had. Releasing her hair from the ponytail, she brushed out the tangles she gained from walking around and cleaning since noon.

She had been initiated into the family by force originally, brought on as a willing maid. It was about 4 months into her job that she started to gain access to family secrets and places within the manor that ensured her continued employment.

Like how Diazien was older than he looked, decades older than Rosemary, maybe even older than Warren. His entire family was lost long ago and the house in his possession for over 50 years. Like how he and Warren were both undead.

Her makeup was always minimal; blush in the winter, mascara, light eyeliner...her blond hair and light complexion forbade any heavy makeup. Besides, it was Diazien who was the goth.

Rosemary dabbed on some perfume and fluffed her hair. It lay flat and straight as a bone to her shoulder blades. Her bangs were getting too long and half covered her eyes but she never had time to trim them.

It was almost time to wake up. Warren never asked her to wake him up, but Diazien usually overslept. Adjusting the clasp on her necklace, she strode barefoot across the house to his room. The very end of the violet hallway was his door. She never knocked.

Tucking a strand of pale hair behind her ear, she peeked her head into the room. No windows in here, pitch black as a tomb. She flicked her lighter and stepped inside.

Papers from hundreds of poems and half finished novels lay scattered over the desk and floor. Notebooks upon countless notebooks were piled up in the corner, journals from years and years. Old photo albums. More history in a single room than he deserved.

Lighting a taper on the wall, she tip-toed to his bed. Diazien Wolf didn’t stir. He was lying in his usual position on his back, eye shut, no breath, no heartbeat...no indication that he was alive.

Leaning over him, Rosemary slipped her hands around his frigid cheeks and lifted his head slightly.

“Diazien...” she whispered quietly. She had surprised him once before. He gets startling violent when half asleep and confused.

When he didn’t move, she blew into his face softly. He always claimed that her breath was too warm to be comfortable (his own could frost over a window).

Gray eyes snapped open immediately.

“Good evening,” she said planting a kiss on his forehead and moving back to bow respectfully.

Diazien lifted himself up to his elbows and glanced at her, eyes slightly unfocused.

“Rosemary?” he called thickly, “Isn’t it a little early?”

“I was impatient.”

He leaned back into the bed. The room was still too dark for Rosemary to see anything aside from the shadow of his face now leaning back on the pillow with one arm draped over his eyes.

“Sir?”

“Is Warren up yet?”

“No.”

Diazien lay silent for a few seconds before finally sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Rosemary lit more candles as he dressed into his usual black pants and dress shirt.

His room was the most depressing of the whole house. The walls were painted black, the carpet matched...she had often chastised his juvenile taste in interior design but his room was his room. He did what he wanted with it.

“Go wake Warren,” he said when she had lit all the candles.