"Ha." I crumpled the card, and threw it in a nearby bin. And if you think that was stupid, it didn't matter—the contents were the same, the design, the fonts, but except for the roles... And the smell.

            It was the only scent that stood out, and if that's not fruitful enough, I've sniffed a whaff of it on Detective Eliza's necklace earlier. As if she was the one who lured me to this cursed manor, and that she intended to wear that fragrance because she wanted me to know that she did that.

            But why would she do that? Is it because she was a bugging fan of mine? Was the only conclusion I can come up with is the fact that she's a lunatic? Life would've been fckin easier that way, but the scene that unfolded before me today says otherwise.

            "I can't believe you invited that man, Charmelia!" I heard Mr. Papyrus' voice thundered down the hall. Intrigued, I slowly made my way through the source, all the while keeping myself hidden. The couple seemed to be in the middle of a heated argument, something the guests wouldn't believe if I tell them.

            I watched as the glimmering orange chandelier above them swayed gently as they speak. It seemed to give them an orange glow that encouraged the heat of their bickering.

            "I have to... Darling, I'm scared!" Ms. Charmelia said in defense, her voice laced with trembles of quiver.

            "You knew what my relationship with him was, didn't you? Chara, I hired bodyguards for a purpose—we don't need that cowardly fool!"

            Cowardly fool? Well, he came to your party completely concerned, I grinned silently, knowing well who Papyrus was implying to.

            "We need him; I swear we need him! His brother came, and I don't want to face that creep..." Chara was on the verge of tears as she said this. I was confused by the vagueness of their conversation, but it seemed that they were talking about two different persons in the implications.

            "I know!?" he yelled in a sudden outburst, holding his fiancée in place with a tight grip. Upon seeing the frightened look on her face, however, he softened his hold and gently pulled her to a hug. "I know..."

            "Th-then... why are you so against this? I-I just wanted to be safe, for the both of us to be safe." She muttered weakly, her tears starting to flow as she embraced him back clumsily.

            Papyrus' soul shattered at the sight of her breaking down. It made him forget about holding up his pride for a moment, but didn't reply to her either way. He pulls back from the hug and told her to rest, "I'll tell the others the party is off."

            "No! They just got here. I'll just do a retouch with my makeup, and come out..." she insisted with no second thought, storming into the bathroom, leaving Papyrus agape. He sighed, knowing no words can come through to Charmelia, and proceeds to slowly walk out of the hallway.

            For a moment, he took a slight pause, and muttered something that's definitely addressed to me. It was cold, and monotone, but not inaudible, "It's rude to spy on other people's businesses."

            I calmly came out of behind the pillar I leaned on, with my gaze focused on his grim expression. He doesn't want to see me at all.

            "That wasn't my intention—I'm a detective, not a spy." I sighed. I eyed on his phalanges, which trembled greatly in annoyance, so I shot him a pleased look, "In the end, I guess I was needed after all." You can't imagine how relieved I felt that coming here wasn't entirely in vain!

            "Nothing will happen tonight." He gritted his teeth, in a tone that invites a challenge, or a sort of gamble. Of course, I won't be shaken from a little joust, "You seemed to be so sure about that." I said, "Do those bouncers you hired feel even more reliable than your ol' pal?" I spread my arms in a gesture that addresses me.

            "Anyone but a coward like you will suffice." Papyrus scoffed, roughly facing the other direction. He hurriedly marched in a pace of fumes, and my smug smile fell monotonously.

            He's still immature, I couldn't help but sigh. I've also decided to leave the area, as there weren't any much activity occurring through the corridors. As I made my way through the still sounding halls of Snowdin Manor, I heard faint but rapid footsteps coming from the corridor I walked away from. I eventfully bumped into the guy, who could only whisper an apology as he continued the other way.

            The man was a guest, recalling the strong smell of cigar exposed on his suit. He seemed to be in a hurry, and even his long-sleeved polo was sticking out of his tux. I've already arrived at the ballroom area, my pinpricks still following the guy I ran into.

            The hallway was dimly lit, thus I couldn't distinguish much of his features, but when I did, I was left staring at a fluffy white-furred head, whose ears were ruffled, and his paws never left scratching it. My walking took a faster turn, and as I finally caught up to his shoulders, I—with no much aggressiveness—turned him around to face me.

            "Mr. Asriel." I said, much to his surprise, "Ya seemed to be... quite in a fickle."

            As he was about to reply something in remarks to my blunt statement, the lights... were suddenly flickering.

            The pupils in his eyes constricted in terror for a flash moment, but it immediately shifted to a look of confusion. Taking note of his expression, I gripped on his suit a bit tighter, daring to look at this filthy aristocrat's eyes, "What the fck did you do??"

            As he opened his mouth to speak, I didn't give him a chance to do so—as the scent of bashful buttercups made my soul race in tremendous anxiety. I threw him on the ground not because I suddenly instinctively ran back to the corridors, but because I was disgusted at the thought of holding the guy for long.

            He definitely did something he shouldn't have done. But that wasn't the fact that clouded my mind as I ran. All I could think of while I was running to the invisible, yet mocking pulse of the flickering lights across the halls was Charmelia.

            Shit, I shouldn't have left that spot. For fck's sake, please, I hope I'm not too late-!

            ...

            But I've most likely overestimated my capabilities, because the next thing I knew, as my adrenaline-blurred vision caught a glimpse of the slightly-opened door from earlier, I flew it violently, which was followed by the main lights shutting off without warning. The manor was immediately lit only by the moonlight from the windows for that very moment. It was hard to catch a glimpse of anything, but one thing's for sure—Charmelia was sprawled across the bed, unconscious.

            I ran and knelt to her pale body, sticking my skull close to her mouth while checking for pulse, breathing, or any other vital signs. But to my worst luck, she was a goner.

            I let out a tired sigh, as I collapse on the bed to sit in dismay. It hit me like a bullet—that I failed to do my job, not that I haven't been in this situation before. My hands ran to my face, harshly rubbing every corner of it to express the frustration I felt for myself, but none of these gestures are ever essential to bring her back, or fix everything that I've failed to secure.

            My pinpricks peeked from between my fingers to observe more of the body. Ms. Charmelia was disheveled from head-to-toe, an indication of her struggle. Her once beautiful flowing white dress was in shreds, but not entirely destroyed.

            The upper part of it was fine, compared to the lower skirt itself, which was practically ripped violently as if it was clawed down by an animal.

            The body's head area was to take note of the most, as I noticed several linear, and slightly scratched marks along her fragile-looking neck. It wasn't that severe of a sight as I haven't seen any bleeding nor bruises on the deceased Charmelia. Judging by the situation of her lower dress, although I can never be so sure, there can still be a possible cause for suicide.

            "Huh?" I muttered, removing my hands from covering my face. Strangely enough, more linear marks are noticeable on the side of her lips, fading towards her cheeks upward. Her slightly agape mouth gave way to a hint of something glittering—

            "Ch-charmelia?" went the trembling voice of my client as he suddenly enters the dark chamber.