The time the two spent entwined together was even longer than Rosalia had imagined.
At first, she had only intended to give Liliya a light, dragonfly-kiss on the lips—a simple, happy gesture to wash away the gloom and disgust weighing on her heart.
But when her lips truly touched Liliya’s, she realized she had overestimated her own self-control.
She was like a child whose parents weren’t home, sneaking a snack and finding herself unable to stop.
She became enamored with the sweet taste of Liliya’s lips, allowing herself to forget the negative emotions that had come with The Return of the Old Acquaintance.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought about pulling away.
But every time she considered it, those negative emotions would surface, and she’d become more desperate to drown herself in Liliya’s kiss, forming a vicious cycle that only ended when Liliya was nearly unconscious—when the girl who gave her that sweet feeling was once again about to faint.
Only then did she finally pull away from Liliya, gently caressing Liliya’s delicate face.
The infatuation in Rosalia’s eyes was laid bare, without the slightest attempt at concealment. The person before her was the most important person in her life—there was no reason to hide anything.
On the contrary, if Liliya understood her feelings, perhaps she’d care even more about her.
Once more, she lost herself in matters concerning Liliya, letting thoughts of The Return of the Old Acquaintance slip from her mind.
She sensed her courtyard being disturbed—its balance forcefully altered. The detestable Holy Light rampaged wantonly through the City of Evernight, driving out the darkness unique to the bloodkin.
Suppressing her irritability, Rosalia maintained her elegant demeanor before Liliya, patiently helping to straighten the girl’s disheveled clothes.
“Liliya, don’t go out on your own for a while, understood?”
“Mm…”
Liliya, her mind already fogged by Rosalia’s kisses, responded instinctively without a hint of hesitation.
To her, Rosalia’s kiss had driven away all the unknown fears within her heart—she feared death, she feared that the hard-won things she had might suddenly disappear today.
Having endured such long torment, Liliya didn’t want to wander the Soul River alone. She wanted to remain in this world, continuing to savor the peace Rosalia brought her.
And that lingering kiss from Rosalia had perfectly dispelled the terror in her heart.
It was mere coincidence, yet it made Liliya’s affection for Rosalia grow even stronger.
She became even more dependent on Rosalia.
Half-dazed, she didn’t try to make Rosalia stay, obediently listening to her words. She returned alone to her bed, waiting quietly for Rosalia’s return.
Of course, she couldn’t really sleep. She’d already slept enough these past days, but that didn’t stop her mind from going blank, her thoughts still lost in that kiss that had lasted over ten minutes.
Cared for.
Rosalia’s foul mood finally eased, soothed by Liliya’s obedience.
She truly didn’t care much for the return of that old acquaintance.
Even if she came to take everything away—her identity as The Progenitor, this castle, all her power—Rosalia did not care.
There was only ever one thing she cared about.
Liliya.
“Wait for me to come back.”
At this moment, she seemed just like any ordinary man, leaving his sick wife at home because of work, softly reminding her before departing.
Only…
She heard a familiar, mocking laugh.
That uninvited guest was ridiculing her naïveté, mocking her that a bloodkin Progenitor barely two thousand years old could reveal such a juvenile emotion.
Rosalia’s expression soured.
She walked to her wardrobe and took out a black evening dress meant for receiving guests. Its elegant design carried an air of proud confidence.
Her crimson eyes and silvery hair revealed her unique, otherworldly charm.
Had she appeared at a ball in any nation dressed so, she would instantly draw every eye, becoming the undisputed mistress of the event.
But she and that old acquaintance would never share such intimacy.
She left her room without summoning a single maid, making her way alone into the courtyard.
Today, the courtyard reeked of an unpleasant presence unlike any before.
The once-wild grass had been trimmed neat in an instant. A faint golden radiance shone atop the emerald blades.
Countless holy orbs floated amid the sweet grass, like fireflies.
The vines that once wrapped around the statue had all fallen away, as if bowing down in submission to someone, every one of them pointing to a person standing at the center of the courtyard.
Rosalia gazed at these changes with revulsion. With a flick of her hand, boundless darkness instantly swallowed every glimmer of light.
The trimmed grass, under the influence of her magic, returned to its former, untamed state.
She followed the sense within her and quickly saw today’s guest.
“Margaret, what have you come here to do?”
The girl called Margaret wore a pure white gown trimmed with gold.
Her golden eyes seemed to brim with compassion for all things; her downcast lashes gave the illusion she was weeping for the world’s suffering.
The wildflower she’d casually plucked blossomed with unnatural colors in her hand, under the effect of the Holy Light—so pure it seemed picked from the realm of gods.
Yet, in less than five seconds, that splendid color faded under the Holy Light’s touch, leaving only a dull, ashen white.
The moment Margaret let go, it crumbled to dust, scattered across the courtyard—becoming more Holy Light clinging to the wild grass.
Margaret paid no mind to the undisguised malice in Rosalia’s gaze. She spoke in the tone of an elder lecturing a child, addressing her:
“Rosalia, didn’t I tell you five hundred years ago that, as a noble, you must maintain your elegance at all times?”
“I have nothing to say to you. Especially with your current status.”
Rosalia remained every bit as disdainful.
“What’s wrong with my status?”
Margaret feigned ignorance, smiling lightly, even spinning around to show off her dress before Rosalia like a simple little girl eager to share a new outfit with a friend.
Rosalia’s face darkened. If this wasn’t just an avatar of Margaret, she might have killed her outright by now.
“As the Saintess of the Church, is it so wrong for me to visit my dear ‘brother’ who’s always protected me?”
Margaret chuckled, and her very first words instantly set off Rosalia’s temper.
Blood seeped through Rosalia’s fingers, instantly forming a Blood-Colored Cross Sword, its edge pressed to Margaret’s throat.
She changed her mind in that instant—even if this wasn’t her real body, she wanted to kill her right now.
What she hated most was anyone laying hands on what belonged to her.