Author's Note:
WE'VE COME SO FARR!!! Here is a special chapter to celebrate 200K reads and 13K votes! Remember the earliest 100K Special Chapter? This special chapter is also seen as a part two of that one. You can see this as a mini series comprised of plot points that aren't relevant in the main storyline yet ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) You get what I mean right? *wink wink, nudge nudge*
*i am totally not foreshadowing future story points*
If you've forgotten what happened before, please go and read the 【100K SPECIAL】chapter, and then come back. Nonetheless:
Dude, I've never written so much in any other chapter so far! An average chapter is approximately 2,000 words long. This is over 6,000. Well, I will not dally any further, so let us begin opening the gift!
*****
I learned that the ghastly woman's name is Farrah Umbra. Her eyes contained the deadliest poison, the red toxin more putrid than the blood oozing off cement tiles. One simple glance of hers would freeze me on the spot, dragging me off my high pedestal, sink me underneath the void's body of lapping waves, then turn my world of screams and cries into an eve of silence.
Her hair resembled the anguished cries of chained ghosts, a nest of spider webs sewn together into locks of silvery strands. Strangely, those locks of white hair seemed to rise whenever her temper does.
That was my only clue in glimpsing into her indiscernible thoughts.
"What are you looking at?" A cold scoff blew at the air.
My eyes take focus once again. I see Farrah, her exterior colder than ice—so cold that it burns my skin, as if it's a crackling flame enveloping me whole, instead of the glaciers chipping at what little innocence remained in my weak self.
"...I don't know." I answered, unsure of what to say.
Farrah's eyes thinned, almost in contemplation of what to retort. "Weak." She settled on that word, her thin eyebrows contorting in disgust.
I was unfazed. Her nauseated expression was one I've seen plenty of times, something which I've grown used to, resulting in my blank stare whenever such a thing is exposed to my sight.
Seeing that she'd gotten no reaction out of me, Farrah scowled, clearly disgruntled.
Her skin was colder than the peak of an iceberg, chilling anyone who laid their eyes upon it. Occasionally, I wondered if she was actually an ice person who managed to survive from the massacre only mentioned in history. Instead, she was a Royal Demon—the Fourth Princess of Demons.
She didn't act like the "Princess" proclaimed in her title, but more of the "demon" part.
"Sometimes I wonder," her eyes flashed, the ruby colour like a field of rose petals. "Just how did you get the strength to overpower me."
Overpower her? I dubiously ignored her words. What does she mean? I am a weak human being. I could never overpower a Royal Demon.
Farrah scowled, "Still feigning innocence? Your facade makes me seriously annoyed."
"I am not feigning innocence," I pleaded in my case. However, I doubted that that would convince the Fourth Princess of Demons, so I halted the rest of the words hanging at the edge of my tongue. No matter how hard I begged, this lunatic would not hear my claim.
When I first met Farrah, I had woken up from a land of darkness. Wherever I walked, not a single speck of light existed. I could only trust my instincts and pave forwards. But at the end of the land was a cliff. The ground collapsed underneath my feet, and a boundless void picked up my falling body.
I had then woken up—my limbs weak and besmirched by sticky a red solution. I swam in a pool of blood, with chopped heads and crushed skulls floating by my side.
The odd symbol of a bloodied cross sunk beneath the surface.
It was then a nest of ghastly white hair dangled before my eyes. That pearly white skin—almost translucent amidst the moonlight's glow—and those piercing red eyes... reminded me of a ghoul, its frightening form levitating above ground and opening its mouth to swallow me whole.
At that time, the ghastly pale woman glared at me. Hatred submerged her eyes, the resentment blinding my canvas in bold paint. "Give them back to me!" She had spat. Those cold words sunk me under the blood, and I flailed to avoid drowning. Oh, her face bolted in sublime animosity—it seemed to stab a knife into my eyes. I was too afraid to look at her any longer.
Perhaps, I was willing to pluck out my own eyes than to see that hatred... gnawing on every bone and marrow in my body.
I came back to the present.
"You really don't remember what you've done?" Farrah sighed. "Forget it. If I find out you lied, I will make sure to make you pay."
She clenched a hand into a fist, then slammed it across onto a wall behind her.
The wall instantly cracked, a large hole revealing itself after she took away her fist.
Chills ran down my spine. It would be a bad idea to oppose her any further. "Yes, ma'am."
All I could remember was walking down the hallway in the Duke Rubius manor, the candlelights flickering to my every stride. If I were to close my eyes, I could imagine the hallway transforming to a ballroom, the marble stone tiles beneath my heels spinning like the stage of a music box; and the doll transfixed in the centre with her slender figure poised before a grand piano.
But the stage only shrunk as I spun, and before I knew it, there was nowhere left for me to dance.
When I arrived back in my bed chamber, Zephyratt and Scarletta argued over one another, their snappy tones sharp yet comical. They fought for the extra spot in my bed, to which nobody won. Willow had shut the door close, her crazed eyes instantly snapping the two elder siblings into aggrieved silence.
I tucked myself in bed, trying to savour every spark of memory that illuminated in my dreams.
But after that, my memories blanked out and I could no longer remember anything else. Farrah had tolled me away from the pool of blood, her cold expression making me feel no more than a hostage.
Since then, I was forced to live in secret with the Demon Princess.
"I found you next to a bunch of corpses. The best option is to hide from publicity." That was Farrah's reason for staying hidden away from the rest of Lydia Kingdom.
Though reasonable, it still appeared ridiculous in my eyes. What about Zephyratt and Scarletta? Wouldn't they worry over my disappearance? Willow must also be worried sick. However, we are contracted by the Sequence Contract, so I'm sure she'd take notice immediately. Father... oh, father wouldn't bother to care about me. He is... father, and fathers don't take murderers as children.
"Stay here and do not think about escaping." Farrah spat.
We lived in the attic of a bar. The owners were kind enough to give us a house to roof over our heads, but they trembled at the sight of Farrah's steel-blood eyes, and a spot of wetness had quickly become visible over the crotches of their pants. If not for the rich accessories I've (been forced to) bribe them with, then they might have driven us out.
The attic was already generous enough—though Farrah disagreed whole-heartedly.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
The two blood red eyes rolled in the almost-transparent sockets. Farrah groaned, "I am going to find a way to restore your memories. Whether through brute force or coercion." Her figure disappeared in the blink of an eye. I quickly scrambled on my feet, dashing towards the attic door.
It was locked, even though there was no lock.
Must have been the use of magic.
If Farrah returns early, then I might not have to starve to death. Even if I did starve to death, the world would only continue to laugh and go about their ways.
In the attic, I scavenged for the dusty old books.
Flipping open a few pages, I was greeted by the spectacular illustration of a maiden. Her hair was long and braided, the colour just like caramel swirling in the depths of black coffee, as if light was tap dancing upon silhouettes and a flicker rippled across.
Separate paper notes were slipped between pages. It wrote, "The heroine is so beautiful! So much more pretty than that old hag! I wonder how many more years are left until I can divorce her."
I hummed to myself. So this maiden is called a heroine.
The book was flipped through again.
There was another illustration. It was a knight in shining armour, the sunlight splitting across the silver metal, with rainbows reflecting upon small ponds on the cobblestone ground. His face was handsome and sharp, as if carved from a mighty dragon's greatest treasure. Carried in his calloused hands was a great silversword, beads of gold and diamond embedded upon the hilt.
Another slip of paper fell out. I read it, "Kyaaah! The male lead is so handsome! He is my dream man!... instead of that ugly and fat buffoon."
I blinked twice. So this man is called the male lead.
As I continued reading the book, I navigated the world of fantasies. It was truly a bountiful experience. The book told the story of a beautiful heroine, who grew up in an orphanage with her childhood best friend. They then leave the tattered old town, and moved to the rich Capital City. There, they experience many adventures, such as earning money, gaining respect from the nobles, encountering many more male leads, and eventually fall in love.
My heart thumped in excitement. Throughout my entire life of reading books, I have never read something as interesting as this!
The genre that commoners read are truly interesting.
When Farrah returned back to the attic, she wore a grimace on that cold face. She is a Demon Princess, and kidnapped me, forcing me to stay with her against my own will. Farrah Umbra—she really is the persona of a stereotypical villainess.
"What are you doing!?" She snapped. "Are you still in the right mind? How dare you read these filthy human books while I'm working my ass off."
I recoiled in shock.
It was rare to see Farrah get riled up over a mere matter. Perhaps she was really at the end of her strings. Her nest of white hair had levitated upwards, imitating a ghost grabbing a person's head from behind, only to spin and crack it undone from the neck.
"I heard that blunt force to the head can help in awakening lost memories." Farrah gritted her teeth. "Why don't I see if it works?"
She cracked her knuckles, the white bone appearing rather fluid compared to her pale skin, contrasting the lines of blue and purple veins beneath.
I scrambled back, hoping that the Demon Princess wouldn't be even more inhumane than she already is. The floorboards creaked underneath my weight, and I couldn't help but hesitate, afraid that the guests in the bar below would notice.
Farrah took a step forwards.
Her deathly aura made the air suffocating and stifling to breathe in, my nerves constantly jumping up and down. The world seemed to blur, constantly glitching out of my control. I could feel the surroundings break down into small shards, like glass shattering into minuscule pieces.
"Don't faint on me now," Farrah deadpanned. "Let me give your memories back."
"W-Wait!" Too bad that my cry for help was ignored.
A fist to my head was all it took to make me black out.
*****
"You really are weak." Farrah off-handedly jabbed at my side.
Two days passed when I regained consciousness—but none of my lost memories. I woke up to the attic, a lantern glowing an illuminance, flickering above my face. The sound of drunken laughter erupted from downstairs. I could feel the floorboards shaking to the heaves and roars, my back trembling.
Only a ragged blanket laid across my torso, barely covering me whole.
"I thought you'd be stronger than that." Farrah remarked mockingly. Her red eyes burned with ridicule, a new emotion that I've just now witnessed.
"I'm not that strong," I retorted, "At least not stronger than you—a demon."
Farrah's white hair levitated again, raising like a fierce ghost. I instantly shrink, shielding my poor face with my palms, "Don't hurt me! Don't punch me again!" I curled myself in a ball, and my eyes closed shut. I was afraid to confront this Demon Princess...! (；'Д｀)
To my surprise, I didn't feel the hard clenched fist against my cheek.
My body slowly unveiled itself from the ball stance, sneakily peeking at my surroundings. Instead of hitting me again with that unruly temper of hers, Farrah only patted her chest, heaving with hard breaths. She attempted to calm herself down, her raised hair gradually settling back down to nestle by her neck.
"Forget it. I don't have time to waste on you." Farrah sneered.
I sat up from the floor, leaning against a wall, with the blanket slumped against my body. Perhaps the seasons were changing, because I could feel the warmth seeping away from me.
All of a sudden, a cup of bubbling liquid was set before my eyes.
"Huh?" I blinked in surprise.
Farrah did not explain, her red eyes revealing no emotions but indifference. She was resolved for once, pushing the cup of bubbling liquid closer to me—pressing it up against my cheek. I could hear the sound of bubbles popping on the surface, the resounding chime singing to my ear. The cup was made of cheap material—I could feel it when it's up against my skin.
But the cup was cozy and warm, spreading warmth to all corners of my body. My limbs seemed to regrow strength, allowing them to take ahold of the cup.
"Hot beer," Farrah announced. "I snatched it from the kitchen."
I almost dropped the cup. How could you do that!!!
But knowing that it was Farrah, it sounded more in character. "Hurry and drink it." The white-haired princess demanded, her tone adamant.
Facing that pair of burning red eyes, I could only sip from the sizzling beer. The liquid seemed to be bubbling even when sliding down my throat, forcing my eyes to subconsciously tear. I couldn't help but wince, my eyebrows wrinkling. But my hand continued pouring the drink down, my throat bobbing up and down to every large gulp.
The world began to spin. My surroundings seemed to drown in a flood, water clogging my lungs, and bubbles spitting out into the slapping currents.
Before I knew it, the cup was empty.
"For a kid who just turned of age, you sure do like booze." Farrah huffed. Perhaps I was drunk, but this time, the glare in her red eyes seemed to soften. The horizon line separating skies and lands seemed to blur, allowing the two entities to merge.
The Demon Princess watched me clutch on the cup, like a child hugging his bottle of milk.
Subconsciously, my eyes stung from the drink. They watered, transparent tears drooping, sliding down my cheeks and pitter pattering onto the blanket.
My head hurt.
I miss you brother, sister, Willow... I want to go back home. I don't want to sleep in the attic anymore with this demon. My hands clenched on the cup tighter, my knuckles burning a fierce white. Where are you guys...? Hurry and find me...!
"...are you crying?" Farrah's voice sounded exasperated.
I looked at her, but her figure was bleary—as if a cloud of fog surrounded her—mist forming a haze across my eyes. "I'm not." My voice was nasally, but that didn't matter.
Oddly enough, the Demon Princess did not retort.
She fell silent—so quiet, someone must have possessed her.
My lips pursed, "Urgh... I want to go home and find Willow... I need some of the hangover soup she makes for brother and sister." My head spun, the lantern hanging from the ceiling had flickered in and out of my sight.
I dropped the cup, which fell onto the floorboards with a soft thump.
Without realizing it, my hands began to shake. Huh, why am I trembling? Why... why can't I control myself? The liquid which I've drunken had grumbled, threatening to rise up from the bottom of my throat. My head pained, swaying from left to right. It was as if I hung from a chandelier, swinging back and forth like a hung body.
Hung body... where have I seen a hung body before?
My vision blurred.
"You want to go back home?" Farrah wore an indiscernible expression. She frowned, "Don't you remember?"
I seemed to catch a glimpse of sadness in her red eyes.
"Your home is gone."
It was as if I'd been pushed off a cliff, the ground beneath my feet disappearing, and the hungry void replaced it—clinging to my limbs and feasting upon my flesh. The darkness opened its mouth, swamping me in a pool of murky wetlands. No matter how I struggled, my flailing body could not pull my pathetic and flimsy self up from the filth.
Before I knew it, I sank underneath in the dark depths of the swamp. No hand was outstretched to pull me back up.
"...gone?" That's right. I should've known all along.
*****
There was the oppressive scent of smoke in the air, clogging my lungs, and burning my skin. I was only an ant in the universe of palaces, isolated and alone. I felt so small amongst the fire, the rising flames almost swallowing me whole.
In the fire, I caught sight of a cross. The Holy Church. That white cross flashed like the sun lifting up above the horizon.
My small pitiful figure scrambled out of the collapsed building. The manor crackled, and the floorboards croaked in an effort to stay stable. I needed to escape! I needed to get help! My hand reached out, as if to grasp ahold of another hand—only to miss into an empty breeze of mutters and whispers.
Outside of the burning manor, the gospel of despiteful glares stabbed into me.
Those discerning gazes... they burned hotter than the fire behind me. A crowd have gathered when they realized that the manor of House Rubius had been set on fire. The fire spread to the entrance gates, as if it was a barrier to prevent hurting the innocent.
Only when I looked back did I realize—what about sister and brother!?! They still haven't left the building! I scrambled back, the dirt scraping my knees, and twigs slashing at my disheveled self. I threw myself at the eruption of flames, only for a strong but frail figure to hold me back.
Willow shook her head at me. "Young Master... let's wait for them to come back."
And so I waited. Even when the sun came back up, even when a whole city of distasteful gazes gathered behind me, even when my legs numbed to the point that I could no longer feel them...
They never came out.
I remembered again. The white blinding cross seared across my sight. My teeth gnashed in anger, a pot of fire scalding my heart. My chest hammered in madness—I could feel my eyes stinging in pain, red bloodied veins popping, and a sea of blood tarnishing over my pupils.
"Holy Church...!" My nails dug into the ground, as if I was some sort of a dog. For once, I could not hold back the madness plummeting my heart into the depths of fire.
When the fire was put out and I ventured back in the tattered manor, I found two dried bodies. Their mahogany red hair was only left of a few burned strands, revealing only a bald skull. The pungent scent of rotten flesh permeated in the place we once called home, dishonouring every single ancestors we looked up to.
The two bodies were drained of fat—I could see the hollow ribs on their sucked dry bones. Their dresses had long since dwindled into ashes, not a trace insight.
"...B-brother," I looked at a body, tall and slender, yet broken into a pile of tattered bones. Not a single surface of skin remained intact, all scalded into charcoal. The skin wrinkled like a wilted flower, rough to the touch, and unfamiliar to the senses.
Beside was a shorter but still slender body. Soot coated every single crevice, leaving no corners untouched in burns and wounds. Not even a droplet of blood remained—having evaporated into the fray of fire. The flesh rotted, a nauseous scent drifting from its body.
Two empty eye sockets were left, the hollow tunnels staring at me, as if the void returned to steal me away again. Without knowing, my eyes began to water.
"No... you're not my brother or sister..." These two rotten corpses didn't look anything like Zephyratt nor Scarletta. The corpses looked so ugly, with maggots squirming in the already putrid black flesh, making a nest out of the deceased.
It was impossible. It was impossible...
Beside them laid an old ragged piece of cloth. Surprisingly, to my dismay, the cloth was not burned to ashes like the rest of the fabrics. Instead, it was cleanly fresh, as if it was placed in here after the fire was put out. It shone a pearly white, almost like a star illuminating the midnight skies bright.
But the sight of it seared into my eyes—a definite cross—oh, there are no gods in this world. Even if there were, none of them have responded to my cries and pleas for help.
If there really were gods, would brother and sister still be... like this? Not even left with a rag to hide their indecent structures, their bodies that have been snapped like a twig, until not even their silhouettes can capture their once humane appearance.
"Holy Church..." a crackle of realization dawned on me.
I snatched the remaining white cloth of a cross, crumpling it in my fists. "I'll kill every last one of you..." If I've lost everything, then anger was all I had left. I tore through the cross, wild and violent. I was an animal—no, less humane than an animal, only knowing to bare my fangs and claws, to roar and gnaw at my prey until nothing is left.
"You'll fucking pay...! You will pay!" I will kill every last single one of those murderers. I will make them suffer, to make them feel the pain of being burned alive! My heart was tearing at my chest, lurching out and trying to separate. Adrenaline surged through me, the intent to kill.
How dare they! How dare they trample through my territory and kill my—
"Young Master, you can't!" A pair of warm hands wrapped around me. How indecent. Willow snuffed her cheek against my back, her warmth infusing in the coldest depths of the winter. I jolted to her touch. How dare a servant touch me?
Willow cried, tears sliding down her cheeks, soaking into my shirt. How dare you cry. My heart thumped. It's not your home that has been burned down. It's not your brother and sister who've been killed. It's not your turn to cry.
The mangled corpses in front of me did not share a single similarity to Zephyratt or Scarletta. But I know—these mutilated and cinder-like bodies are them.
"Think about it rationally, Young Master." Willow's dolce voice have never been so irritating to the ears as they are now, as if they are steel scratching on bricks, hissing no fiercer than wild cats. "How could it be the Holy Church? Sure, their cross symbol is here... but..."
"You don't understand anything!" I screamed, throwing her body off of my back.
A cloud of black mist purged over my mind, and countless words I didn't mean to say had fled out of my mouth. "You aren't of noble blood—you aren't related to me either. Why couldn't you have been the one to die? Why did brother and sister... why did father have to—!"
Willow was stunned soundless.
Her amethyst purple eyes widened, reminding me of a certain commoner in my class. The maidservant recoiled back in shock.
My hands trembled, the knuckles burning white. What am I saying?
I whipped my head back up, my lips subconsciously wavering like a leaf blown in the harsh winds. Apologize now. My subconscious roared at me, but another force clogged my mind. Why should I apologize? I didn't say anything wrong.
"Young Master..." Willow couldn't hold back her gasp, "Your eyes... are red."
The cross cloth in my hand fell out.
Willow pulled out a small makeup mirror, handing it in my palms, and the sharp gaze of crimson red eyes looked back at me in the mirror.
Those pair of red eyes resembled a bloody hue, the rouge sizzling against my skin, as if a piece of hot iron sautéed my pupils into a sea of roses. I almost dropped the makeup mirror, my black gloves having holes in them from the fire. More blemishes were added to my already scarred hand.
Why must this happen to me? When have I ever offended the gods?
I stood up from the already dilapidated floorboards. "Where are you going, Young Master?" I could hear Willow's desperate cries behind me.
I am going to get revenge. "Don't follow me."
Her hands grab at my jacket, reminding me of the filthy gazes at school, like liquid mercury miserably trying to grab ahold of me. I promised to never let them touch me again. I could never get captured again. I also wouldn't let another single person die in my place again.
Every time the hands grabbed at me, I threw them off.
In the end, Willow could only helplessly follow me, running around like a pitiful puppy. Why is she still at it? Why won't she stop? Why is she so annoying?
How can you act like you're the one who lost everything? I am the one who lost everything! All my family's riches and properties were burned down. My father is dead from the illness, and my two siblings are murdered by the Holy Church. You're just a maid I took in—how dare you cry in front of me?
My chest felt like it was defiled from an endless pang of pain. Torrents of currents flooded my anguish cries, sinking me below the lapping waves.
The red in my eyes glared brighter.
Maybe I am a demon.
I decided to leave Willow, but the latter followed me. I could not get rid of her pursuit, and no matter how I acted, I could not chase her off.
The Capital City of Lydia Kingdom has never appeared so desolate before. I could spot all the compiled dust in every nook and cranny. The world was so dirty—all the colours were drained of the city I've been so used to before. Now, it was practically unrecognizable.
"I need a weapon..." In the cold, I curled at the back of an alleyway. "I can find a knife if I sneak in a house. The kitchen... yes, the kitchen..." My limbs were frozen, my knuckles battered and bruised. But the thought of seething my blade into those bastard priests' flesh had kept my adrenaline going.
Surely, anyone would allow me to borrow their knife if they understood my situation, right?
Willow firmly opposed me though.
That damned woman—she wouldn't stop faring in my business. Her amethyst purple eyes reminded me of that man named Azalea... She and him are the same. They only care about justice and not about me. People like them are the worst, they disgust me.
The black mist hazing over my mind seemed to grow thicker—but I could hardly care.
In the end, I didn't get a knife.
I could see from the corner of my eyes Willow's relieved sigh, making me nauseated. My throat bobbed up and down, my neck bulging. In the corner, I let loose, allowing waste to spill from my lips. The vomit was left rotting in the alleyway—just like the corpses of my siblings and family.
Just thinking about them made my throat bob in disgust.
That night, I made sure to feign sleeping. From the perceptive corner of my ears, I could hear Willow's stomach rumbling and her soft groans. She must've been hungry, for she quickly stood up from the cobblestone alleyway, leaving behind me and the rotten scent I oozed off. It was perfect for me—now that she left, I could sneak in the Holy Church.
But I couldn't stop myself from cursing her out. "In the end, all commoners are the same. Despite trailing after me like a dog, you wouldn't hesitate to leave and find a better thigh to hug."
In the Holy Church, my figure danced—resembling the doll spinning atop the stage of a music box. Glass shattered—it looked exactly like the snow showering in my dreams, but instead of melting in my hands, it cut past me and rained blood. I borrowed a sword from a guard; it was my pair of glass slippers, allowing me to prance across the ballroom and twirl around other partners—leaving only a fountain of spewing flesh.
At that night, all the crosses were stained with blood, their purity going down the drain.
A little boy jumped out from the corner, his pleas for help very evident in the hollow church. Upon seeing me, he did not run, but tried to befriend me.
"M-My name is Hugo. P-Please don't h-hurt me. W-we can b-be friends instead. I have an o-older brother! He is a powerful mage and heals my wounds when I'm hurt. We can all be friends together—" All I could see was the cross hanging down his collar, spun in a necklace.
The blade in my hands seemed to gain conscious, guiding me to frolic past the bodies and deliver a blow to the small boy.
The copper bell hung around my wrist rung once, then fell quiet. Perhaps it had been clogged by the spurting blood, for it could no longer sound, no matter how hard I shook it. All things break—and before we know, it could be too late to repair them.
"Y-Young Master!" A cry alerted my attention.
Willow was a deer caught in headlights, her amethyst purple eyes clashing with my repulsive red. Her hair shone like the shining moon, pure and clean—unlike my blood-stained and dark-festering self. The more I looked at her, the clearer I can see the line in between us.
"...what have you done?" She let out a muffled sob.
Why is she crying again? It's not her who is stained in all the virgin blood—it's me. It's not her who has to carry a blade and jump into battle—it's me.
"Oh? Look, a demon has killed all the priests of the Holy Church." I half-assedly remarked. With nothing better to do, I pointed a finger at myself. I am the demon who took the blade and thought of murder as a mere walk in the park—as a mere dance across the ballroom. "Willow, hurry and throw that unruly demon behind bars. You can do it, right, Willow?"
The white-haired frail woman never looked so frightful before.
Perhaps she is wondering how to get me to submit. I laughed at her mockingly, "I thought that you were a dutiful maid? Get rid of the demon right now for me."
Her eyes teared up, her nose reddening like the fire that set our house down in shambles. She cried, her eyes crinkling into thin lines. Maybe she was too afraid to see me properly one last time? "Understood, Young Master."
When the sun rose again, all citizens in Lydia Kingdom learned of Lucilline Rubius' arrest—my arrest. The deaths of all priests in the Holy Church had been reported as well.
I was escorted to the underground prison, located at least a hundred metre below the Royal Palace. The guards all gathered around me, their blades smithed sharp. I knew that I could knock those blades out of their hands easily and escape. But I didn't.
I allowed the citizens to gasp at my unruly appearance, to point their fingers, and to spit their disgusting words from a safe distance.
From afar, I noticed a beautiful and handsome figure. His long blue hair was set loose against his tall back, with a few thin strands braided. His light pink eyes were distinct amongst the citizens—they burned with unruly hate. That handsome man scowled at me.
He wanted to kill me—I knew it.
In my jail cell, it was less cramped than the alleyway which I vomited in earlier. The heaps of sewn straw was more comfortable than the cobblestone ground. In one way, I was pretty lucky to have found myself a new home.
It was only a bit noisy.
I could hear the sound of other prisoners ramming their bodies against the bars, desperately trying to escape. Why are they struggling? There is no other future left for them. They should just accept it. I am already satisfied with what I've gotten.
The priests who murdered my family are all dead.
I am content.
When I opened my eyes, I was greeted by three figures. A small and meek woman bowed her head, with only dark purple strands of hair covering her face. I doubted she could see, but I felt a discerning gaze sweep over my entire body. Her invisible sight surged through my whole being, as if she could delve deep into my thoughts and swim in my ocean of consciousness.
Beside her was... Miss A.?
Her blonde hair had been let undone, the long and unruly locks scattered across her slender back. When I looked at her, I noticed that she shared something in common with me. Our eyes both are aflame in the smouldering remains of liquid red rose petals.
We both looked like we were wounded and aggrieved.
Then... beside her was an old woman. Her back arched in a disgruntled stance, a piece of her bone spurn high, as if the sails of a ship were pulled up. Her skin sagged along with the folding wrinkles, resembling a wilted flower. She opened her mouth to speak. All her teeth were charcoaled in black soot.
"It's time to leave, youngster." She reached a creased hand within the bars, her arm elongating with added flesh, grabbing acutely onto my hand. "You may borrow our strength. Deal?"
I couldn't understand.
These three are... intruders? And they are offering to help me... escape?
Both the purple-haired girl and Miss A. reached a hand in too, holding onto me. They weren't warm—much colder than the metal of my copper bell. But not only warmth can cure sickness. This coldness was my medicine, throwing me up above the clouds and into the rain.
I tightened my grip on their three hands.
Their bodies sink in my hold, as if they were melting like liquid mercury. Surprise flashed before their eyes, and a gush of power cascaded in my veins, a dam overflowing by the sudden spill. I spit out congested blood, my hand releasing them and clasping over my mouth.
When I raised my eyes, they were gone.
No, they weren't gone.
They were apart of me now.
My consciousness began to fade in and out, black mist fondling my sight, and the world dimmed. When I awoke again, the entire Underground Prison was destroyed. Not a single human was left unscathed. Their scattered limbs and decapitated heads rolled in the pool of blood.
Before me was a cold woman, her appearance whiter than the moon, almost becoming transparent. Her eyes were fruitful red, the most poisonous toxin that I've ever marvelled before. Perhaps she was a ghost sent to hunt me down, to fetch my soul and deliver me back to the Underworld, for I am less human than even the deadliest demons.
Instead, her red eyes glowed.
She spat, "Give them back to me!"