The time alone came faster than she had imagined.
Rosalia didn’t want to push her little pet too hard; in these past couple of days, she had already instilled too much into Liliya’s mind.
If she didn’t give the other girl some time to process, all her efforts would likely be for nothing.
So, after lunch, once Rosalia and Liliya finished eating, Rosalia gave Liliya some free time.
She left Liliya’s room and returned alone to her study to handle official business.
Although most of her attention still lingered on Liliya, it was no longer as before, when every ounce of focus was poured upon her—so meticulous that even the slight curling of Liliya’s delicate toes would not go unnoticed.
Liliya knew that Rosalia was a good Master. She didn’t like to recall those painful memories, not even the ones they once shared.
But Liliya felt she shouldn’t be like this. Since Rosalia had done so much for her, she shouldn’t take it all for granted.
She wanted to respond sincerely to Rosalia’s feelings, and she wanted to recall the memories between them.
This would make her feel unbearable pain.
But she was ready for it.
Her tender little feet kicked off her slippers, and she climbed, little by little, onto the overly soft bed, savoring the feeling of being wrapped in the bedding.
Perhaps because Rosalia had stayed by her side while she slept, the bed still seemed to retain a faint trace of Rosalia’s scent.
Wrapped up like this, Liliya felt as if she were enveloped by Rosalia herself, and a subtle, unspeakable sense of security welled up in her heart.
If it was here, she thought, then she could try to recall those things.
Rosalia is a good Master.
Once again, that thought filled her mind.
She pulled the quilt over herself, her smooth, long hair fanned out over the bedding, still something she wasn’t quite used to.
Perhaps because she was actively touching upon those memories, the details she had overlooked on the first day came flooding back. Once again, she felt she shouldn’t be like this.
At the very least, her chest shouldn’t feel so heavy, nor her shoulders so sore and weak.
***
Rosalia…
She furrowed her brows.
Once again, she felt she shouldn’t be this way.
Clenching her lips, she forced herself to ignore those thoughts, instead sinking her mind deep, to touch the stinging pain hidden beneath the sweet, metallic taste, starting from a small, lingering trace and probing ever deeper.
It hurt, it hurt so much—like a needle being driven into the crown of her head and twisted ceaselessly inside.
“Mm—”
A small whimper escaped into the room, but Liliya quickly bit down on the quilt to muffle it.
Her canines slowly sharpened, and with the force of her bite, they pierced through the blanket, exposing the downy feathers inside.
Droplets of crystal moisture at the corner of her mouth soaked the quilt, and some escaped, running down the elegant curve of her jaw, sliding across her pale neck, and falling into the hollow of her collarbone.
Only a few seconds had passed, but to Liliya it felt like years. The stabbing pain in her mind nearly drove her mad; the light in her eyes gradually faded, and she was about to lose consciousness.
She was about to give up, to rest a moment before continuing, but just then, a voice suddenly echoed in her mind.
“Master.”
The voice was faint—so faint it felt like a hallucination.
But Liliya did not let it slip by. Instead, she traced the voice in her memory, trying to remember more.
She thought, this “Master” must be a memory of herself calling out to Rosalia. Maybe this was when they first met.
With a clue now, Liliya naturally refused to let go.
With each memory, the stabbing pain in her mind increased exponentially, to the point where it felt as if her skull would be split open.
“…?”
A low moan.
Liliya was a little dazed.
That voice wasn’t related to Rosalia.
That “Master” wasn’t spoken by her, but by something else—something to do with a sword.
Sword… Spirit?
That voice—it was a conversation between the Sword Spirit and herself.
Light.
She should be holding a sword.
She remembered the Star-Marked Longsword. A meter and twenty centimeters in length, pure silver from hilt to tip; every swing trailed a flash of silver light.
Where it passed, heads parted from bodies.
This sword was important—it was her symbol. Only she could wield its full power.
What did I do while holding this sword?
Fragmented memories surfaced in her mind. She remembered propping herself up with the sword, while a blurred figure approached, face shrouded, reaching out to seize her heart.
A strange pang struck her chest.
Liliya’s breathing grew rapid, her eyes more clouded.
Who was she…?
She seemed so much like the one in her dreams—the one who devoured her.
Was this what happened when she was captured?
Next, was it Rosalia who came to save her?
She began to look forward to it. The pain, once torturous, became bearable in that instant. She kept reaching, desperate to seize this chance to learn what happened next.
Maybe then, she could remember her first meeting with Lady Rosalia—remember the warmth in her treatment. Then, at their next dinner, she could talk with Lady Rosalia about these things.
Perhaps Lady Rosalia would even gently pat her head, showing that gentle smile.
Maybe she would say, you did well.
Such formless hopes spurred Liliya on, letting her endure the exponentially mounting pain in pursuit of the answer.
But, unfortunately……
She found nothing.
Her mind had reached its limit, and as she recalled the next step of that blurry figure, her consciousness faded away.
Tears filled her eyes, trailing down her cheeks and soaking the pillow.
Before she lost consciousness, that familiar voice came again.
“Master, come to the basement on the first floor.”
Basement…….
Though she didn’t recall what happened next, she did remember a clue.
The sword inhabited by the Sword Spirit seemed to be in the basement on the first floor. If she could get there, perhaps she could ask the Sword Spirit about what happened next.
That way, she wouldn’t have to endure this pain anymore.
Tonight, maybe she could try to go and look…….
With that thought, her mind finally gave out, and she drifted into sleep.
Once again, her pain was covered by that sweet, metallic haze, turning most of her efforts into nothing, leaving only the fragments she had managed to recall lingering in her memory.