…
The nights in Eternal Night City were always cold and damp.
Of course, in vampire territory, only night existed. Warm light, along with instincts like compassion and kindness, gradually dissolved in this despairing “penned district.”
A grand hall built from black stone and steel stood at the center of the city walls—the symbol of Eternal Night City, the seat of vampire authority, the crimson court of the Vampire Queen.
Leading to the great hall was a series of hundreds of steps made from black stone slabs. Every ten steps, a pair of vampires in black uniforms stood on either side, their faces stern and cold, like lifeless statues.
The entire hall was shrouded in darkness and oppression…
Even ordinary vampire enforcers would not approach lightly. Stepping onto these dark stairs without permission meant being treated as an intruder and executed on the spot.
Yet Sylvie climbed them every day.
Twice a day.
…
Click… click… click…
The crisp echo of heels striking the black stone steps resounded through the vast hundred-level staircase.
The vampires on both sides frowned, countless gazes locking onto the girl heading toward the great hall—some displeased, some scrutinizing, but most filled with contempt and warning.
Those burning stares did not frighten the girl. Or rather, she had long grown used to them. In the end, she simply lowered her head, focusing entirely on the floor beneath her feet, ignoring the eyes around her.
…
At the top of the long staircase stood two massive black doors over a dozen meters tall, guarded by vampires in white uniforms.
One was a male vampire, unsmiling and standing ramrod straight, his furrowed brows examining her.
The other was a tall female, leaning casually against the enormous doorframe with a frivolous expression.
“Ara, you’re right on time, Sylvie. A few more minutes and you’d have been late.”
The woman’s crimson eyes narrowed playfully, the corners of her mouth curling into that spine-chilling light smile.
Her pale fingertips toyed with a strand of silver hair at her chest, her tone teasing.
“Please let me pass, Lady Utia…” Sylvie requested calmly.
“Sigh~ We haven’t seen each other in so long, and you’re this cold to your big sister~” Utia drew out her words, pretending to be hurt.
Sylvie remained silent, her face like a mask, betraying no emotion.
She knew that against this nasty woman, the best approach was… silence.
“…”
But clearly, Utia had no intention of letting her off today. She was in an especially playful mood.
“You look particularly unwell today.” She suddenly leaned in, her cold fingers lifting Sylvie’s chin.
“Let me guess… Did you run into some stray cat last night?”
A flash of panic crossed Sylvie’s eyes, but she quickly suppressed it.
“…”
She said nothing, merely raising her gaze. Her gem-like emerald eyes stared quietly at Utia.
“Ignoring me, are you?”
Seeming provoked by that faintly defiant look and deliberate silence, the mockery on Utia’s face turned colder.
She reached out toward Sylvie, about to do something, when the male vampire beside her interrupted in a low voice.
“Utia, the Queen is waiting.”
“…Tch.”
Utia’s hand, suspended in midair, slowly clenched into a fist. She flashed Sylvie a smile brimming with malice, whispering in her ear with a breathy voice.
“We’ll continue this later.”
The heavy doors slowly opened.
Sylvie started to enter, only to be stopped by the male vampire’s outstretched hand.
“Wait. Put these on… as always.”
He handed over a pair of silver handcuffs.
This was the mandatory procedure for every audience with the Queen. Strange, really—when she was just a weak blood livestock who couldn’t even run a few steps, where would she find the courage or strength to attack the Queen? Did she really need cuffs?
“Yes, Lord Sulga.”
She reached out to take them, but Utia suddenly snatched them away, the malice in her smile deepening.
“I’ll help you, hehe…”
Without waiting for Sylvie’s consent, she opened the cuffs and twisted them forcefully around Sylvie’s slender wrists.
“Hss—”
The sharp pain in her wrists made her draw in a cold breath. The moment the cold cuffs snapped shut, they pinched a fold of her skin.
This rotten, nasty woman.
…
Inside the great hall, vast and dimly lit.
A dark red carpet stretched forward from the doors like congealed blood. Candles flickered on the walls, casting faint light in the gloomy hall.
At the far end was a raised throne platform veiled by dark red gauze curtains. Through them, the vague outline of a figure could be seen lounging lazily on the throne.
Sylvie let out a deep breath, walked to the front of the throne, dropped to one knee, and called out respectfully.
“Lady Klal.”
The shadow behind the gauze made no reply—only dead silence filled the hall.
Sylvie looked puzzled. Changing her address, she tried again, tentatively.
“Master?”
“…”
Still silence.
Just as Sylvie prepared to call a third time, a lazy voice finally came from behind the curtains. She uttered only two words, faintly.
“Come up.”
“…Yes.”
Sylvie hesitated for a moment, then stood and walked slowly toward the throne, gently parting the gauze.
“Sylvie is entering…”
The hanging curtains swayed. When she saw the figure beyond—Klal, her master and the Vampire Queen—lounging lazily on the black throne, silver hair spilling over the seat and pooling on the floor like a river of silver. The crimson gown that should have been on her body lay discarded carelessly on the ground, exposing her flawless skin without reservation. Moonlight streaming from the high windows made her pale complexion appear almost translucent.
In plain terms, she wasn’t wearing clothes.
And from her slightly weary, lazy gaze, it was clear this one had just woken up.
No wonder there was no response for so long—she’d just woken up…
“I’m sorry, Lady Klal. Sylvie will withdraw immediately.” Sylvie kept her expression neutral, lowering her head as she prepared to step back behind the curtains.
But Klal’s voice came first, laced with a hint of cold displeasure.
“Has no one taught you? In your master’s presence, without an order, you have no right to take the next action…”
Sylvie’s movement froze.
“Yes… Lady Klal.”
Unease…
Sylvie had served as the Queen’s personal blood servant for six years.
Six years ago, when she first opened her eyes, she was lying in Klal’s bed and told that she had been born as Klal’s slave. She had fainted from excessive blood loss, losing all prior memories.
Since then, she had continued her duties as Klal’s exclusive blood servant.
Accompanying, massaging, offering blood, and even…
Everything.
Through these years of service, she knew all too well just how vile Klal’s personality could be.
And when she acted like this…
It meant she was in the mood.
Klal yawned lazily.
Her silver hair shimmered faintly in the moonlight. She glanced carelessly at the scattered clothes on the floor, then frowned slightly, as if too indolent to move.
Then, she extended one arm toward Sylvie and said,
“Dress me.”
Sylvie jerked her head up, her emerald eyes filled with disbelief. She raised her cuffed hands, pointing at herself as if to confirm.
“Ah? Me… me?”
Here it comes.
And… she was in quite the mood.