Silence enveloped the dining hall.
The floating soul flames ceased their flickering, the edges of the Frost Halo crystallizing with frost.
Even the light trembled.
Avira’s question was not a choice.
It was a sentence.
“Do you love your mother, or do you love me?”
She trembled uncontrollably.
The shiver at her fingertips spread along her nerves, rushing through every limb and bone.
This was no act.
It was the most honest lament of a fragile body facing the threat of death.
Blood-red eyes welled with tears, blurring her vision instantly.
Her throat was gripped by an invisible hand, barely able to force out broken breaths.
Avira stared at her intently.
Her stunning face twisted into a terrifying expression, a mixture of anticipation and madness, admiring the masterpiece about to shatter.
Sylvia’s gaze shifted past her shoulder.
She saw the stiff-faced maid behind her.
She saw the empty throne of bones radiating endless pressure.
She saw the abyssal darkness at the end of the hall, swallowing the queen’s figure whole.
A flood of icy despair completely engulfed her.
“You’re scared.”
Avira’s voice suddenly turned calm.
She stared at Sylvia’s pale cheeks streaked with tears.
The madness in her eyes was replaced by a cold, twisted rage.
That rage was not directed at Sylvia.
It was aimed at Ophelia, who had just left, her lingering presence still felt.
“It’s your mother who frightened you.”
She answered herself firmly.
She caught the fleeting fear in Sylvia’s eyes when they glanced toward the throne.
“She’s always like that.”
“With a sickening dignity, she terrifies the weakest and most beautiful things in the world.”
Avira rose and walked to Sylvia.
***
The next moment.
A tight grip at the waist, and she was lifted off the ground, falling into a cold yet powerful embrace.
“We’re leaving.”
Turning, her military boots struck the polished floor with a crisp, resolute rhythm.
“To my place.”
“There, your mother won’t be.
No one will ever be able to scare you again.”
Sylvia instinctively buried her face in Avira’s neck.
The faint scent of blood mixed with the cold fragrance of unknown wildflowers, oddly blending into Avira’s unique aura.
Dangerous, cold.
Yet in this moment, it became her only lifeline.
The Long Corridor stretched deep and dark, its wall reliefs shifting from Myth to scenes of bloody War and Slaughter.
The soul flames changed from King’s Blue to Avira’s own Crimson Slaughter.
She stopped before a massive black metal door.
The door sensed its master’s presence and silently slid open on both sides.
What lay beyond stole Sylvia’s breath.
This was no bedchamber.
It resembled a Private Armory, or rather… a slaughterhouse.
Walls hung with all manner of grotesque weapons—swords, battle axes, flails.
Many blades bore dried, dark brown bloodstains.
In the center, the black stone floor was engraved with complex forging runes.
In a corner lay a battered Silver Training Dummy, its chest pierced through completely.
The only proof this was a bedroom was the enormous Black Iron Bed shrouded in shadow at the far end.
“You’ll live here from now on.”
Avira gently set Sylvia down on the edge of the bed.
“This place is safer than your mother’s.”
Sylvia remained silent.
Avira crouched to meet her gaze, her crimson eyes flickering with childlike excitement.
“You still carry the scent of those servants on you. I don’t like that.”
She leaned in, sniffing Sylvia’s neck with a frown of disgust.
“I’ll wash it away for you.”
Before Sylvia could react, Avira rose and walked straight to a side door.
Moments later, the sound of flowing water filled the room.
Sylvia’s heart sank further into despair.
She looked at the beautiful yet binding palace dress on her body, then at her slender, weak wrists.
There was no escape.
“Come in.”
Inside, a circular bathtub large enough for several people was filled with hot water.
The rising steam temporarily dispersed the room’s rust and blood stench.
Avira leaned against the doorframe, undoing her leather armor to reveal a fitted black outfit beneath, watching Sylvia leisurely.
“Take off your clothes.”
Her tone was matter-of-fact, commanding as if ordering a pet.
Sylvia froze.
“What?”
Avira tilted her head, her gaze suddenly dangerous.
“Need me to help?”
Sylvia shivered.
She knew she had no choice.
Slowly turning, back facing the gaze that made her skin crawl, trembling fingers struggled to untie the intricate laces of her dress.
The tiny knots were a massive challenge for these unfamiliar, girl’s hands.
The more anxious she became, the less responsive her fingertips grew.
Suddenly.
A cold hand rested on the back of her neck.
Sylvia’s body stiffened like a trapped cat, seized by fate.
“So slow.”
Avira’s warm breath brushed her ear, and before she could finish—
“Rip—!”
The tearing sound was sharp.
The exquisite, expensive dress was violently torn from behind, the shredded fabric falling weakly to the floor.
Cold air instantly enveloped her naked body.
Sylvia instinctively crossed her arms, overwhelmed by a huge, unfamiliar shame mixed with fear.
Her delicate skin prickled with goosebumps.
Avira circled to stand before her, eyes shamelessly inspecting this perfect body crafted by her mother’s own hands.
“So perfect. Not a single scar.”
A flicker of jealousy, even Avira hadn’t realized, flashed in her eyes.
“Your mother’s craftsmanship is indeed impressive.”
She reached out, fingertips lightly tracing Sylvia’s flat abdomen, then abruptly lifted her chin, forcing their eyes to meet.
“But now, you belong to me.”
The warm water embraced her body, dispelling the chill, but it could not chase away the cold and trembling in Sylvia’s heart.
Avira stepped into the tub and sat behind her, picking up a soft loofah.
“Don’t move.”
Those hands, capable of crushing an elder’s star-forged skull, now moved with eerie gentleness, infused with a possessiveness that seeped into her bones.
“Your hair is beautiful—better than the Moonlight Silk your mother treasures.”
She grasped a strand of silver-white wet hair, bringing it to her nose to inhale.
“And your eyes—no Bloodjade Marrow I’ve ever extracted from a dragon’s body can compare.”
“Sylvia, you are the most beautiful… thing I’ve seen in a thousand years.”
Every word of praise was an invisible chain; to Sylvia, it sounded more terrifying than any curse.
Because she knew all too well that behind this pathological obsession lay madness capable of destroying everything.
The cleansing dragged on as if it lasted a century.
Sylvia’s entire body remained tense, a puppet at someone else’s mercy, her heartbeat and body temperature climbing uncontrollably.
Finally, Avira seemed satisfied.
She pulled Sylvia from the water, wrapping her tightly in a huge towel, then strode back to the bedroom.
The Black Iron Bed had somehow been prepared with soft velvet bedding.
Sylvia was laid down, covered, with only her small head peeking out.
Avira sat at the bed’s edge, silently gazing at her.
Her eyes were focused and fanatical, as if trying to imprint Sylvia’s soul onto her pupils.
Sylvia closed her eyes tightly, pretending to be asleep.
But her body, newly charged with “Newborn Dew” energy, was in a state of unprecedented excitement, with no trace of sleepiness.
***
Time passed, second by second.
Avira’s gaze burned with tangible heat on her eyelids.
After an unknown length of time.
The bed sank suddenly on the other side.
Startled, Sylvia opened her eyes instantly.
Avira, now wearing a loose black silk robe, lay on her side beside her.
Less than a fist’s distance separated them.
She could even clearly feel the cold temperature radiating from Avira’s body.
“Sleep.”
Avira’s voice was soft, careful not to disturb her.
She reached out, sliding her fingers over the blanket, gently curling a lock of Sylvia’s silver hair resting on the pillow.
“My dear little sister.”
“I will always be here with you.”
This jealousy is really scary🙃