"We will be playing a little game called, Murder Mystery." She announced with immense suspense that everyone was bustling with chatters of excitement.

            "Ooh, I love that game!" Frisk whispered to me giddily. My face gestured what would've seemed to be a contortion of distaste at her little joy, so she added, "I mean, y'know, 'cuz, if you've already guessed...? Mystery?"

            I couldn't help but facepalm at her bluntness, "You really don't get it—even a fun game of snakes and ladders can turn into a reality when you're with these kind of people."

            Eliza looked at me like I was crazy, but I was firm and serious, "Yes, I mean what you should be expecting to happen is..." I whispered, mimicking her excitement, "An actual murder mystery, how exciting!"

            "Unbelievable." She frowned. "But I'm learning a lot from you, Detective! So, what do we do now?"

            "Not we, me. I'm doing this on my own." I corrected, eyeing on the skeletal-bounded fiancé. I intended to talk to my client for further details first, before deciding on doing anything to crack the awaited case.

            "Tonight, we'll be commencing a brand new experience. The rules are familiar and simple." Charmelia soon stated, "The main goal is to help the Detective find out who killed who. Situate yourselves to Detective McSerif over there," she grinned, suddenly making eye contact with me to which the guests followed suit, "He's your Detective. Now when the lights are on, all of us shall do our businesses, and find out who the murderer is with the help of the clues we're bound to find throughout the game.

            "When the lights are flickering, it's a warning signal that someone is about to die at that fated time..." she paused at the mention of this step. For some reason, I noticed her hands fiddling nervously, all the while her grin never left her face.

            "Ahem, so when the lights are off... The murderer can now kill their targeted victim. Just an additional disclaimer; don't really kill your victims, haha, it's all fun and games.

            "The surviving team, whether it be the good side, or the bad side, will receive an estate down the southern region."

            At the mention of an estate, the small crowd sang an ooh-and-ahhs in chorus.

            "So without further ado... The lights are officially on!"

            Later, the crowd began to disperse like it was in the first place once again as soon as the couple finished their announcement. Each of them were both nervous and determined to win an estate, but all of them were curious to know who will be tonight's culprit.

            As if on cue, Mr. Papyrus approached me with a huge smile, "Detective McSerif, you came!" he extended his hand for me to shake

            "Mr. Papyrus, it's a pleasure to meet you." I greeted with equal volume, shaking his hand in turn.

            "Did Mr. Grillby come with you? I thought invitations were sent to you and your fire friend?"

            "He didn't come, unfortunately, he had a lot of matters to attend to."

            "I see, he's a busy man." He sighed. He looked at the detective beside me next, curious at her presence, and how she was squirming shyly by hiding behind me like a lost kid. "I didn't know you and my soon to be sister-in-law are partners."

            "We aren—"

            "Ah, yes!" I blurted as an excuse, pulling the woman near me by the waist, "We came here as partners, I hope you don't mind."

            She gave me a look that seem to say I thought you said—

            "Just play along." I muttered to her. I didn't know why I suddenly came up with a stupid change of plans, after all, weren't I suppose to discuss about my invitation with my client? Somehow, it smelled like he didn't have any intentions to talk about saving his life from something. Not to mention, his fiancée was in a fickle for a small moment earlier, so I wasn't going to risk and relax...

            "We're actually here for a," I followed a whisper to him, "case. Weren't you in danger?"

            "In danger...?" he pondered for a while, a bit confused with my accusation, "In danger... Was I? No, I don't—OH! I get it." He thundered a laugh, snapping his fingers in realization. "The invitation—I was joking!"

            "... the fck?" Frisk and I said in unison.

            "Right, I told Chara to put that one in your invitation. Don't worry, my intention was pure, we only added that to make sure, by no means, you'd attend! It worked, didn't it?" he smirked playfully.

            "You... son of a douche." I said with zero amusement. To think I, the most famous private investigator of Ebottropolis, was fooled to waste my time playing debauchery at an engagement party! What a scumbag indeed.

            "I'm just being considerate, you've been cooped up in work for months, cleaning off the blue bloods' filthy work like an obedient dog—I meant that in a good way. You deserve a good time, and maybe you'd even thank me later!" he beamed warmly, offering no harm to this little prank he played on me.

            I fell to a foul mood, only preventing myself from grappling him when he lightly patted my shoulder before joining his partner.

            Sure, he was meddling, I mean, being considerate of my business, but no matter how I wanted to view it as a sign of goodwill, it only made my blood boil for the aristocracy. For years, they have been treating me as some well tamed mutt, but what can I do?

            Topple over the hierarchy? I'd rather accept their leftover chow than to waste my life risking my everything for even bother thwarting those at the top.

            "Hey, now... I know the feeling when the air felt so dead serious, and in the end, it turned out that I was the center of the joke-" Eliza tried to say in comfort, but I could only snap coldly, "You're no different. As long as there's blue in that blood of yours, you won't—"

            Why do I have get so worked up and waste effort to explain my personal matters to this woman in an intimate way?

            I sighed with no intention of continuing as I pull away from our conversation by walking off to a corridor located distant from the grandiose staircase. I walked from here as there was a doorway-like opening that led to a quiet corridor with only ceiling-high Victorian windows to illuminate the extravagant air.

            As I strolled a bit through these halls—with my dress shoes clacking in ambience to the silence—I thought back to the invitation. It didn't feel like a lie, no matter how Papyrus claims it to be. The invitation was hauntingly desperate, and the design, the borders...

            I can recall what it looked like, but I was informed not to bring it to the party, thus I couldn't have the chance to compare it with another guest's invitation. I did, however, borrowed a copy from one of the servants in the manor, and he wasn't the least comfortable to do so.

            "We aren't supposed to give these to guests, but Ms. Charmelia made you an exception, Mr. Detective..." he frowned, looking from one direction to another, as he pulled out a suspiciously well-prepared invitation card.

            I pulled the invitation out of my tux' inner pocket, and an instant whiff of tobacco was sent ambushing my non-existent nostrils. It was a strong scent, that even I spent at least five seconds to recover from.

            I first thought it was because it was exposed to my cigar box in the inner pocket, but hints of this particular scent was distributed amongst each guest in the ballroom. They all smelled like addicted smokers altogether, but excluding the fact that aristocrats must've loved to smoke in their free time, do they all really smoke?

            Some were even frantically hiding them under huge doses of perfume, I don't know which of the scents smelled annoying. They seemed to have also been surprised by the stench.

            So I concluded that the cards itself were the lil' culprits, and gave it another round of sniffing with more awareness to the scent this time.

            It wasn't shocking to me that the card smelled different to mine at the office. As I inhaled more doses of the invitation's cigar aroma, my mind racked my memory files for a reminiscence of the scent. It was the shy aroma of fresh buttercups.