Chapter 10: X

Miss Cleorata, stood in the grand foyer, her heart racing. The once-lavish chandeliers flickered, casting eerie shadows on the marble floor. Outside, the guests—nobles, merchants, and dignitaries—hurriedly gathered their belongings, their faces etched with fear.

The plague had struck mercilessly, creeping through the countryside like a silent specter. And now, it had reached the very doorstep of Mayfair Manor.

The maids scurried about, their aprons stained with sweat and tears. "My lady," whispered Evelyn, her voice trembling, "we must act swiftly. The guests are leaving, and they're furious."

Miss Cleorata's hands clenched into fists. She had promised them the impossible—the legendary moonflower, said to cure any ailment, to bring hope even in the darkest times. But the moonflower remained elusive, its petals hidden from her desperate search.

"Where is it?" demanded Lord Harrington, his face flushed with anger. "You assured us that Mayfair Manor held the key to salvation. Yet our loved ones still suffer!"

Miss Cleorata swallowed hard. The moonflower was her family's legacy, passed down through generations. Legends spoke of its magical properties, its ability to heal and protect. But she had failed to find it, and now the guests' trust wavered.

"I've searched every corner, searched every special book" she replied, her voice barely audible. "But the moonflower remains hidden. Perhaps it requires a special condition, a rare alignment of stars."

Lord Harrington scoffed. "Stars? We need results, not excuses! For my dear son is on his death bed!" His wife, Lady Isadora, her eyes filled with desperation

The maids exchanged worried glances. "Miss Cleo," whispered Margaret, her eyes pleading, "we've scoured the gardens, the ancient texts. There's nothing more we can do."

Miss Cleorata gazed out the window, where the departing carriages kicked up dust. The moonflower's absence weighed heavily on her shoulders. She had failed her guests, her family, and herself.Her heart sank at the thought of Samual who departed in a rush early that morning in haste to see mother lay who was sick.

"Forgive me," she said, her voice breaking. "I will continue the search. But if the moonflower eludes us, I understand your anger."

Lord Harrington turned away, his cape billowing. "We won't return," he declared. "Mayfair Manor is cursed."

As the last carriage disappeared down the cobbled path, Lady Cleorata sank to her knees.Her shaking hands to her teary face. The maids gathered around her, their loyalty unwavering. "We'll find the moonflower," vowed Evelyn, her eyes fierce. "For Mayfair Manor, for our families."

And so, amidst the fading echoes of departing guests, they renewed their quest. The moonflower's secret remained locked within the manor's ancient walls, waiting for a desperate heart to unravel its mystery.

But time was running out, and the plague showed no mercy. Miss Cleorata vowed to defy fate, to bring forth the moonflower—even if it meant risking everything she ever held close to her heart.

Miss Cleorata paced the empty corridors of Mayfair Manor, her footsteps echoing off the ancient tapestries. The moonflower had become an obsession, consuming her every waking moment. She had delved into forgotten manuscripts, deciphered cryptic symbols, and even consulted the manor's oldest oak tree, said to harbor secrets whispered by the wind.

One maid rushed over to her on the first floor informing her of injured young women down in the foyer.

Matilda Waren, her leg wrapped in bandages, hobbled across the threshold, her wooden crutches echoing in the cavernous foyer. The maids whispered to each other and one with braided hair rushed up to the first floor.The maids exchanged whisperes with their eyes wide with curiosity and concern.

Miss Cleorata, the formidable mistress of the manor, emerged from the shadows. Her sharp gaze bore into Matilda, suspicion etching her features. "Who are you?" she demanded, her voice as cold as the marble floor.

Matilda straightened, her pain momentarily forgotten. "Matilda Waren," she replied, her voice steady. "I have knowledge of the moonflower."

Miss Cleorata's eyebrows shot up. "The moonflower?" she echoed. "What do you know of it?"

Matilda's eyes flickered toward the grand fireplace, where she had instructed the maidsto gather,their aprons stained with dust and worry. "More than you might suspect," she said cryptically.

Miss Cleorata's suspicion deepened. "Speak," she commanded from a velvet armchair. "How do you know of the moonflower?"

Matilda eased herself onto a nearby antique chair, her crutches leaning against it. The maids formed a half-circle around her, their eyes wide with anticipation. "Listen closely," she began, her voice carrying the weight of ancient secrets.

"In the time of forgotten gods and whispered legends, there existed a mystical flower—the moonflower. Its petals, as white yet bright as moonlight, unfurled only under the cover of darkness. It was believed to hold power that could heal.But the moonflower's magic extended beyond mortal comprehension.

It was said that the goddess Isis, revered in ancient Egypt, wove the moonflower from stardust and moonbeams.

Its trumpet-shaped blossoms called out to lost souls, offering solace in the darkest hours. Those who sought it were often burdened by sorrow, seeking healing or redemption."

Matilda leaned forward, her eyes locking with Miss Cleorata's. "The moonflower," she said, "is more than a mere bloom. It is hope, magic, and the promise of renewal."

The maids shifted, their breaths held. Matilda's gaze swept over them. "Listen well," she continued, "for the moonflower's legend holds the key to our salvation."

And so, in the dimly lit foyer of Mayfair Manor, Matilda began to weave the tale—the moonflower's origins, its mystical properties, and the prophecy that bound it to their fate. The maids leaned in, their hearts stirred by the ancient words.

Miss Cleorata remained stoic, but her eyes betrayed a glimmer of wonder. "Why now?" she asked. "Why reveal this to us?"

Matilda's lips curved into a knowing smile. "Because," she said, "the moonflower blooms once every century. And tonight, under the full moon, it shall reveal its secrets."