As transparent as the mansion was on its ground floor, decorated with glass and crystal, as white as it was on the second and red on the third, its fourth floor was completely and utterly black. Polished dark stone encased a circular room, about thirty feet in diameter. Illuminated by individual spotlights, golden frames with awards to Bloom & Co. crowded the wall. In the middle of the floor, on top of a furry rug, three leather chairs surrounded a desk with a gilded lamp and an old rotary phone, which explained the mystery of Alfred's communication with the world. Black curtains draped the windows shut. 

Reminded of her first impression about the mansion being a tomb, Lilith took a nervous step forward.

"Here we are, Liliz. How very, very gracious of your grandfazer to let us uze hiz study. Zis iz ze only room where we can have privacy. It iz soundproof," said Wilhelmus in the cheery way an executioner might boast about his torture chamber. He shut the door.

Lilith's throat constricted. She wondered if anyone would hear her yell, on the off chance there was a need to. The room pressed down, sending her a signal that she didn't belong here with her silly blue beret.

Unperturbed by his patient's silence, the doctor sauntered to the desk, dropped into the chair, and—whistling some merry tune—shifted the phone receiver to make it ring as busy. Next he ruffled through the contents of his case, finally holding up a piece of paper with a loud, "Aha!"

Lilith sunk into the chair opposite him.

"Zo," the doctor proclaimed, leaning over the desk. "How very, very delightful to meet you, Liliz Bloom."

"It's Lilith," she said coolly, thinking that if he said the word very one more time, she'd have to restrain herself from saying a very rude remark.

"Pardon me. Liliz it iz."

Lilith sighed.

"Tell me about yourself." Wilhelmus assumed a professional stance: the expectant face, the calm anticipation, but no empathy, only a heightened curiosity attributed to such a colorful subject to work on. Lilith's typical fare.

She bit her lip. Time ran short. She couldn't afford to spend it on her own insecurities when other people's lives were in danger. After all, she'd soon become heir to the entire Bloom property, and it was her responsibility to start behaving like one now, wasn't it? You know my methods, Sherlock Holmes would've said, apply them!

Lilith smoothed her skirt, adjusted her beret, and went ahead with ferocity typically reserved for dire situations.

"Excuse me, dear Wilhelmus Baumgartner," she said politely, "you said you were a very, very busy man. I'd like to assure you that I'm also a very, very busy girl. Let's not waste each other's time. You're doing a favor to your friend, and I'm doing a favor to my parents. We both despise it. We both would rather be doing something else."

Wilhelmus blinked.

"In light of these facts," Lilith continued, "may I ask you, what exactly do you wish to know, which you currently don't?" She pointed to the paper.

A heavy pause stretched to a breaking point, but then the doctor's eyes sparkled, and he cracked a fake smile.

"You are, indeed, a true Bloom." He snapped his fingers.

"I'm delighted to have amused you," said Lilith.

"Very, very well."

She cringed.

"Az you wish. We'll go straight to your diagnosis." He consulted the paper. "Severe attention deficit dizorder, attention deficit hyperactivity dizorder, borderline Asperger syndrome, inability to connect with people suggesting potential placement in ze autizm spectrum, depression, panic attacks, anxiety, onset diagnozed at age five..." He scanned the document, mumbling under his breath. "How very, very interesting. A very nice bouquet."

Lilith struggled to come up with a way to let the doctor know that the unnecessary repetition of words acts like a knife on a glass bottle.

"Tell me, Liliz, what happened when you were five?"

"I started school," she said irritably, drifting into memories of taunting, mocking, and teasing that ensued from the moment she stepped into the classroom. Books and ballet lessons were her only refuge until she got Panther, her first real friend.

"School?" The doctor's eyebrows flew up. "Very interesting. Tell me, how did it make you feel?"

"How did what make me feel?" snapped Lilith.

"Starting school, Liliz."

Blood throbbed in her ears, as it always did when her emotions were questioned. How could any of these people possibly understand what it felt like to be in her shoes without having been subjected to what she was subjected to, every single day? What benefit could they derive from listening to her awkward attempts at describing moving houses, future-predicting books, or talking pets? How could they comprehend that standing still was the worst torture in the world, and that ballet and books were her only paths to sanity? And how could she explain her acute sense of smell, something nobody else around her possessed? Nobody except Panther and, most recently, Ed.

"It made me feel murderous," said Lilith honestly.

"Pardon?" The doctor produced a pen and started taking notes. "That is a very, very interesting way to feel. Please explain more?"

But Lilith was done answering questions. "Did you know that my grandfather helps murder people?"

Wilhelmus blinked. "Pardon?"

Lilith continued calmly. "That's why his roses are so popular. I'll explain. Apparently, once a decade or so, Rosehead"—the room visibly shrunk at this—"a plant-freak that grandfather hides in the garden, gives birth to a mutant shrub. A copy of herself, perhaps. It feeds on people, possibly to produce exceptional flowers for the next ten years. Don't ask me how. I'm merely guessing, of course. In fact, I had to conduct my own private investigation to dig up this information. Why, you might ask. Well, I'll gladly explain. As future heir to the Bloom property, I'd like to stop it."

Wilhelmus's eyebrows slid high up his forehead.

"I need your help," continued Lilith. "Please. Write me a positive report. It'll calm down my parents, my mother especially. And, it will allow me to continue my investigation, before the inevitable claims innocent lives. Tomorrow, in fact. Oh, one more thing. If you happen to know anything about this matter, it would be very, very helpful if you told me right now."

The air between them crackled.

The doctor drummed his fingers on the desk. "That's quite a story, Liliz. Tell me more about Rozehead."

The room tightened another foot.

Lilith startled, wondering if they were in serious danger of being crushed every time one of them said the monster's name.

Falsely interpreting her fear as hesitation, the doctor leaned back, fingers interlaced on his belly. "I understand it must be hard for you to talk about zis. You are almost thirteen yearz old, yes? Zis iz a safe place, Liliz. Anything you say will stay between you and me."

Lilith raised a brow. Whenever a therapist promised her not to spill her secrets, they ended up neatly typed into a report to which her parents had direct access.

Wilhelmus made a note and grunted in delight. "Aha! I think I know. Iz zis Rosehead your imaginary friend?"

The room trembled. The ceiling dropped a few feet. The spotlights dimmed perceptibly. Lilith felt the mansion's anger at the doctor's dismissive tone. An inkling of fury slid over her vision.

"Yes. Yes, she is." Words tumbled from her lips before she could stop them. "I'm very good at imagining things. In fact, sometimes I can't tell reality from fantasy. For example, right now I'm imagining a doctor sitting in front of me, asking me elaborate questions—the meaning of which he can't quite grasp himself—as applicable to the complexity of my diagnosis, carefully collected over the years by countless specialists. Nor does he care about the actual source of my symptoms, merely attempting to fulfill his one hour for which he was paid, yearning to leave this mansion as soon as possible because it gives him the creeps and because he knows that what I'm telling him is the absolute truth." Lilith caught her breath, glaring.

Wilhelmus sniggered unpleasantly. "Do you know ze meaning of ze word delusion, Liliz Bloom?" Professional warmth deserted his voice.

"I'm not delusional," said Lilith. Her face turned hot. "I'll show you. Right now." Her hands shook. If she succeeded, she'd prove a doctor wrong for the first time and clear her lifelong history of being called sick.

"You will show me who? Your imaginary friend? I'd be very, very delighted to meet her. Or iz it a he? A boy?" Wilhelmus mocked.

Lilith had it. Years of suppressed tension exploded. The pain of being called an idiot, a psycho, and a loony at school, the constant disappointment of trying to communicate what she felt and never getting through to anyone, the whirl of emotions she kept a tight lid on, erupted. The lid flew off. She jumped to the desk, seized the lamp, and threw it on the floor. It cracked and fizzed out. The room descended into semi-darkness, illuminated only by the spotlights. Lilith picked up a shard of glass and sliced her palm open, letting the blood drip.

 "Look!" she yelled. The floor arched itself in glee from tasting the warm liquid, demanding more.

"Liliz Bloom!" Wilhelmus hastened out of the chair. "Give zis back! Give zis to me!" He shouted something else in German.

Lilith sprinted away, younger and faster on her dancer's legs. They made several laps around the desk. Lilith ran wider and wider circles, reaching the wall and trailing her bloody hand along its cool surface, feeling the tingling sensation of her blood being lapped up.

"I'm paying!" she screamed frantically. "See? I'm paying you! Like you asked! I'm your future heir, Lilith Bloom, direct descendant of Ludwig Bloom! And of Rosehead! I want to stop her! I command you! SHOW ME HOW TO STOP HER!"

The room rattled and halted.

Lilith gazed around, waiting for some kind of an answer.

Clutching his heart, the doctor jabbed an admonitory finger at the girl. "Verrückt! Mad. I pronounce you mad." He mopped his forehead. "Zey need to lock you up. I will notify your grandfazer and your parents right away." Squinting in the gloom, Wilhelmus leaned over the table and hastily wrote a report.

A rush of images flooded Lilith: kids at school calling her loony, their laughing faces, their painful pinches, girls yanking off her berets, boys upending her schoolbag, teachers giving her time outs. Faces multiplied, their mouths opened wide in laughter, and Lilith's pain flared up anew.

She tore the report out of the doctor's hand. "No!" she screamed, her manners replaced with pulsing anger. Tears prickled her eyes. "You will not notify them! You will not notify anyone."

Her beret askew, one hand bloody, another holding a piece of glass, she looked murderous. Wilhelmus Baumgartner darted for the door, his professionalism taking a hike in place of self-preservation.

Lilith couldn't let him go. On some instinct, she whispered, "My answer is yes, Grandfather. I accept. I declare myself heir to the Bloom property. Dear mansion, I command you to take this man. Don't let him leave this room."

The mansion happily obliged.

All spotlights went out.

A great rustle of leaves filled the darkness, as if colossal roses sprouted from the walls, gaining on the trembling doctor. He yelped once, twice. Lilith stood bolted to the spot, knowing that not a single soul would hear him through the soundproof walls. There was a sickening crunch of breaking bones, a shrill cry of agony, a disgusting sucking noise. Then all went still.

Hair stood up on Lilith's neck. Her anger evaporated in an instant, replaced with a heavy bloating in her stomach. She understood why the room was black. The first floor was transparent because it fed on air, the second floor was white because it fed on water, the third one was red because it fed on blood, and grandfather's study was black because it fed on people's lives.