Declare: I do not own -man ore Zone, nor do I own any of the characters. They all belong to Katsura Hoshino.

Good day to all who are now reading these lines. I have finally found an open portal in my busy-busy scheduler witch meant I could try and see if I can still write. Still, I wanted to try something different and since I am so hooked up in my mystery literature I decided to try and make another fic. Now, this one is supposed to be one like the ones Agatha Christie usually writes but whit my own stile inflicted. Be wormed, it is a complete AU and we might experience character death and things like that but I don’t think the rating’s going to go any higher. It just thought it would be nice informing you. Also, this is going to be a Zone – -man crossover which means Allen will be Robin in this one. Kind of weird, I know but I felt like using her and also, there are no fanfics on Zone whatsoever so why shouldn’t I be the first.

This is my first mystery story so try and be nice. Now, on with the story!

It was raining so hard that it would have been an act of cruelty to let a dog out.

Fire crackled in the fireplace as another log caught fire. The chamber was warm and a dim but cozy light was exposing the contents of the room, giving the room a touch of nostalgia. On a nearby sofa a black dress was carefully placed along with some other travel clothes. By it, a traveling bag lay helplessly near a pair of black boots. A creaking sound was heard and a young lady walked in the room drying her hair up with a towel. She was not too tall but not too short either. Dropping the towel on an old scarlet couch she turned to the picture above the fireplace.

It was a portrait of a lady in her early twenties, with pale skin and a shy smile on her face. Her hair was long and slightly curly and of a pleasant caramel-like-color. She was dressed up in old fashion English clothing like the ones you would find among your grandparent’s attic junk. But she was beautiful nonetheless and her calm and otherwise contented expression only added the extra charm that most women lacked of. You could not see her eyes thou – the light was not strong enough for that, but you could tell that she was wearing glasses. Not many people were wearing glasses. Those were a mark of either an elderly person ore an intellectual one. Seeing as she had no wickless, it was mildly clear that she had her share of books.

The teen gave and exhausted sight as she looked away. She looked tired and the mountain of telegrams and letters on the working desk that lay within the room was a clear enough proof to confirm that statement.

Each and every one of them was written by the same person in a calligraphic kind of stile inflicted within, but more ore less, all of them were speaking random thing. In one it was something about a clumsy maid that began work today while in another there were some tings about a potential husband and of a marriage proposal. That one has been read countless of times and it had some burned edges here and there meaning that however it was addressed to the said person did not take the new all to well.

The girl moved and checked the window before drawing the curtain together. She then lazily moved towards the sofa and started packing the items, checking to see if she had forgotten anything. Once she was done, she turned to the workplace and picked up a letter. She carefully folded back in its envelope and placed it in her inner pocket. As she was making a last check-up, she noticed a piece of paper on the floor. Picking it up, she came to the conclusion that it was a telegram, one she did not want to know about. A lonely tear fell on her cheek as the words she read for what seemed to be like the thousand times that day were perching her heart like a dagger.

Her sobs were quiet at first but they quickly became louder and louder, till an old maid with gray hair tied up in a bun found it necessary to enter the room to check up on her mistress.

“Are you all-right, milady?”

The other did not respond. In change she wiped away her tears and put on her overcoat, stuffing her long white hair in her cap.

“Milady?” she asked again cautiously. This time the younger of the two showed signs of life, showing the made an angelic kid of smile before hugging her. The maid returned the hug and once they broke, she fixed the girl’s cap. The maid smiled back at her and kissed her in a motherly kind of fashion on her forehead. Without a word, the girl hoisted her bag over her shoulder and left the room, closing the door behind her.

The maid stood there for a few moments before turning to the window and taking a peak outside. By a street lamp there stood a carriage and the shape of her master was seen getting in before the driver gave a spur to the horses and they disappeared into the night.

With a sight, the maid finally left the window and turned to her mistress’ work place. There, out of all the others she saw the telegram that somehow managed to break her mistress in a way she did not think was possible. She did not know how the telegram had gotten there since she could swear she had seen it in the hands of the now absent girl, but she was fighting with all her will power the urge to throw it in the fire. Unconsciously, she read it again, and again, and again …

We regret to inform you that Lady Julia A. Evens had passed away on the night of December 1st 1868. We ask of you to return to Robin’s Hallow to assist to the funeral ceremonies that will take place on December 5th as well as the reveling of the will that will be held on the 21st of the same month this year. We’ll be awaiting you.

M.C. Rouvelier

The mad had finally had enough. Not caring any more, she ripped the piece of paper in small little bits and threw them in the blaze, her lips curving up in a small smile.