For several weeks the peacock had chased Sellie down the dusty corridors of the strange old house that once belonged to her distant aunt. The girl had inherited that strange house, a mix of small castle and old english mansion, after her aunt Camilla's departure. An aunt Sellie didn't even know she had.
And the peacock? White, with iridiscent plummage and a thirst for blood in its eyes. It had appeared on the third night of her stay in the mansion. She was chased far and wide for a good half an hour before the bird disappeared. After that, it would occasionally appear, just around a corner, and start chasing the poor girl, pecking, slashing fighting, only to disappear after yet another corner.
But on this faithful night Sellie had come prepared. She had developed a sixth sense for the peacock's attacks and that night, as the hair on the back of her neck started to rise, she grabbed the old mandolin found by the fireplace two nights before, sat down, steaded her breath and started playing and singing. The peacock had appeared but, instead of a frantic attack, it had moved slowly, with curiosity, toward that new sound. As the song gets closer and closer to its end, Sellie's brain is racing. What now? Another song? She has no other plan really, and she needs one. Badly.

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