The manor looked even more pathetic in the evening light.
Cracked walls. Broken tiles. Weeds growing through the foundation. Viktor pushed through the door, which creaked like it was about to fall off its hinges, and immediately collapsed onto the sofa.
The old cushions wheezed under his weight, dust puffing up around him.
"Shit," he muttered, throwing his arm over his eyes. His entire body screamed for rest.
"Master, are you alright?" Helena's voice came from somewhere above him.
"Nothing. Just kind of exhausted." Viktor breathed out slowly. His body had every right to be. Since early morning—exercise, fucking Helena, walking nearly half a mile to the village, dealing with emotional peasants, collecting herbs on the way back.
The day had passed with night arriving, and his body just wanted sleep.
Helena nodded. "Then rest, master. I will cook food."
