The eddying dark pressed inward, an icy weight that numbed Bastien’s forearms. Léonie’s face, a grotesque parody of life, rippled within its depths, her features contorting with an avarice that was both ancient and chillingly fresh. He saw Céline at the library door, her small frame pressed against the wood, her knuckles white against the paneling. The Shade’s advance was slow, methodical, drawing sustenance from her fear, a silent, gaping maw. There was no time for a plan, only instinct. “Oh, Léonie, darling, still throwing tantrums?” Bastien’s voice cut through the oppressive silence, unnaturally bright, almost a giggle. He forced a smile, wide and vacant, the one he usually reserved for exasperating art collectors. “Honestly, it’s not very becoming. You’d think a girl who’s been around for, what, decades? Would learn a little decorum.” The Shade faltered, its churning form wavering, as if struck by an unexpected blow. Léonie’s face twisted, not with anger, but with a flicker of confusion, a brief fracture in her triumphant snarl. It was feeding on despair, on fear, on regret. Not this. “Look at you,” Bastien continued, taking a step forward, away from Céline, drawing its attention like a clumsy moth to a dangerous flame. His eyes, though projecting a vacant amusement, were sharp, calculating. “All this fuss for little old me? I’m flattered, truly. Though I must say, for a grand, terrifying entity, you’re rather… predictable. Always the dramatics, never the substance.” He chuckled, a light, dismissive sound that seemed to grate against the silence of the manor. “But then again, substance was never really your strong suit, was it? You preferred to borrow it, didn’t you? From others.” The air around the Shade crackled, a low, guttural growl emanating from its form. Léonie’s face contorted into pure rage, the confusion gone. It recognized the taunt, the echo of her parasitic nature. It surged forward, accelerating its advance, a silent scream of fury tearing through the psychic space of the corridor. “Ah, temper, temper!” Bastien clapped his hands together, a sound shockingly loud in the tense silence. “And such a shame, too. All that energy, wasted on trying to scare my little dove.” He gestured vaguely towards Céline, a casual, almost careless motion. “She’s much too bright for your silly tricks, you know. Sees right through you. Not like… well, not like some others. Some who were a bit too trusting, perhaps. A bit too kind. A bit too easily… borrowed from.” He watched its reaction, tracking the subtle shifts in the shifting gloom. Léonie’s face writhed, the memories of her cruelty, of Héloïse’s quiet suffering, flaring within the Shade. It was feeding, yes, but not on Bastien's fear. It was feeding on its own venomous rage, on the echoes of its past triumphs, which Bastien was now turning into accusations. “You really think you can scare her, don’t you?” Bastien’s voice dropped, the feigned levity vanished, replaced by a low, dangerous tone that was entirely his own. His eyes met Léonie’s spectral gaze, unyielding. “You think you can take her peace? Her cleverness? Her heart? You can’t. Because I won’t let you. You see, Léonie, some people… some people genuinely love each other. Not for what they can take, but for who they are. And that, my dear, is something you’ll never understand. Something you can never touch.” The Shade recoiled violently, its form shrinking, compacting on itself with a soundless shriek. Léonie’s face screamed, a silent, agonizing roar of absolute incomprehension and furious denial. The raw, unconditional love Bastien projected, his fierce, selfless protectiveness for Céline, was a poison to its parasitic nature. It couldn't feed on such purity, such genuine emotion. It withered under it, a creature of shadow confronted by an unexpected, blinding light. Then, amidst the psychic cacophony of the retreating Shade, a different voice, frail as a moth’s wing, brushed against the edges of Bastien’s mind. It was a mere wisp, a thread of sound so delicate it might have been imagined, entirely distinct from Léonie’s echoing presence. It carried no malice, no triumph, only a deep, profound terror, and an almost unbearable gentleness. One word, a single, desperate plea, resonated within his skull, clear as a bell: “*Basement*.” His breath hitched on the sudden prickle of hope. “Céline, now!” he barked, shedding his facade completely. His gaze snapped to a massive, dark oak linen press against the wall a few yards from the library door. The Shade, still reeling from Bastien’s barbs, hovered in a disordered blur. Bastien launched himself at the heavy piece of furniture. His shoulders slammed into the polished wood with a grunt, muscles straining. The cabinet was enormous, laden with forgotten wools, but sheer panic lent leverage to his boots. He shoved, digging his boots into the parquet, gritting his teeth. The old wood groaned, protesting, as it began to slide, inch by agonizing inch, across the floor. The scraping sound was deafening, echoing through the corridor. “Bastien!” Céline cried, her voice strained, but she was already moving, understanding his desperate gambit. She scrambled beside him, driving her shoulders against the carved trim to double their leverage. Together, they forced the immense piece of furniture directly into the path of the still-recoiling Shade. The entity, though weakened, began to coalesce again, Léonie’s face reforming, her eyes narrowing with a renewed, calculating malice. But it was too late. With a final, explosive shove from Bastien, the timber scraped into place across the narrow hallway, blocking the passage. The Shade crashed against it, misty tendrils rebounding off the aged oak. “To the basement!” Bastien yelled, grabbing Céline’s arm. He spun her around, pulling her towards a smaller, almost hidden door set into the wall beside the library, a door he had barely noticed before. It was old, dark, and looked like it hadn't been opened in decades. He wrenched at the cold iron handle, praying it wasn’t locked, praying this was not another trap. It turned with a groan of ancient metal. He pulled the door open, revealing a gaping maw of absolute blackness, a chill emanating from its depths that was colder than any shadow. “Go!”

A Cheerful Facade