Memories receded like a withdrawing tide, and the cold wind of Eternal Night seeped back into Utia’s bones.
She bit her lip hard, and in those vertical pupils that usually carried mockery or frivolity, suppressed fury now churned with dark light.
Yes… she hated.
She hated everything.
She loathed Klal’s sickness—treating her like a toy in the palm of her hand, viewing everyone around her as playthings.
She loathed Sulga’s so-called rationality, that nauseatingly hypocritical arrogance masquerading as reason.
She loathed this icy city.
She loathed herself, a vampire just like them.
What disgusted Utia the most—so much that it nearly made her retch—was that she knew with absolute clarity what was happening right now, beyond that thick, pitch-black door, inside the bedchamber veiled in crimson gauze.
Sylvie… was being “consumed,” little by little, by Klal.
And this time, it was not merely the extraction of blood.
The Queen had never wanted just blood.
Utia knew it well.
What Klal wanted were reactions, warmth, devotion—pleasure wrung from forced servitude, steeped in pain and humiliation.
A noble’s senses far exceeded those of ordinary vampires.
She could easily catch even the faintest sound.
And so she could hear them now, slipping through the deliberately not-quite-closed door crack beyond the threshold… those subtle noises.
One by one, drilling straight into her mind…
They were not screams.
They were not sobs.
If they had been, Utia might have felt slightly better.
Instead, they were thicker, more clinging, more intimate sounds… the faint rustling of fabric, accompanied by breaths and moans crushed low into gasps.
Every so often, there came Klal’s lazy, satisfied chuckle, like someone savoring a delicacy, or murmured whispers laced with amusement and command.
The interweaving of those sounds left Utia suffocating, nausea churning together with disgust and shame.
She knew Sylvie was in there.
She knew exactly what Sylvie was going through.
And she could only stand here, forced to become part of this act of “service,” nothing more than another instrument for Klal’s perverse amusement.
Yes…
“She hated Klal… she hated everything here.”
***
Six hours passed…
Outside the door, Sulga seemed to sense something.
He turned his head and spoke to Utia.
“Her Majesty is summoning—”
“She’s calling me… there’s no need to say it,” Utia cut in coldly, turning without hesitation.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside, leaving behind one final sentence.
“I can hear it…”
The doors closed with a dull, heavy thud.
The dim, cavernous hall was steeped in an indescribable stench… the cold, dense reek of Klal’s desire, and the fragrant scent of blood from Sylvie’s body.
Those odors assaulted Utia’s senses, making her stomach churn once more.
At the far end, behind the throne shrouded in crimson drapery, two vague silhouettes could be seen.
Utia dropped to her knees, fingers clenched tight, masking the hatred in her heart with the most respectful voice she could manage.
“…Your Majesty the Queen, for what purpose has Utia been summoned.”
“Nothing much, hehehe…”
Klal’s languid voice drifted from behind the gauze, carrying the unhidden pleasure of one who had just been thoroughly satisfied.
Sweet.
Sticky.
Obscenely intimate.
Utia’s entire body stiffened.
“It’s just that… our little blood livestock seems especially diligent today,” Klal chuckled.
“So diligent that… she doesn’t even have the strength to stand anymore. Poor little thing.”
There was not the slightest hint of pity in her tone, only lingering relish.
“So then, Utia…”
Her voice slowed deliberately, steeped in deep malice.
“Come up here and do me a favor. Take that little doll at your feet—the one I’ve used up—and carry her back to her own room.”
“After all, leaving her lying around here all filthy in the main hall would be improper, wouldn’t you agree?”
The edge of the curtain was slowly lifted by a pale hand.
In the dim, faintly crimson light, Utia saw it—
On the crimson velvet bed beside the throne, a frail figure curled in on itself, nearly blending into the darkness… Sylvie.
She was wrapped in nothing but a thin robe, far too large for her slight frame, almost swallowing her whole.
And yet it still could not hide the ambiguous, blood-stained marks across her neck, her collarbones, and the skin faintly exposed even lower down… nor the savage bite marks.
Her black hair lay scattered in disarray across the bedding, obscuring most of her face, revealing only tightly pressed, utterly colorless lips… and one half-open emerald eye, hollow and unfocused.
Her body trembled faintly, spasming—whether from cold, weakness, or the lingering traces of… something else, it was impossible to tell.
The thick, stinging air—mixed with Klal’s sweet, metallic blood scent and that decadent, languid “fragrance”—silently testified to what kind of long, thorough “consumption” and “extraction” she had endured over the past several hours.
Klal wanted her to see it.
To see clearly how Sylvie had been used until she was nearly broken.
To force her to personally touch that body which had just been utterly violated, saturated with the Queen’s presence.
It was another layer of humiliation—toward her… and toward Sylvie.
“…Yes, Your Majesty.”
Utia’s voice betrayed no fluctuation, yet it was far hoarser than before.
She reached out toward the curled-up girl.
But the instant her cold fingers touched that bruised skin—
“Ah—”
A terrified, instinctive whimper escaped.
The lifeless body jolted upright from the bed, scrambling backward with hands and feet alike.
Even after her back slammed heavily into the headboard, she still frantically kicked her legs, desperate to retreat.
She lifted her face.
Beneath the tangled black hair, those emerald eyes were wide open now, pupils tightly constricted, filled with spreading terror, lingering pain, and an almost instinctive resistance… and fear.
She curled herself tighter into the corner, clutching the robe to cover that already shattered body, trembling violently.
A quivering lament escaped her throat.
“Shh, shh, shh…”
Klal moved to her side, lowering her voice, and with an eerily gentle manner pulled Sylvie into her arms.
One pale hand rested against the girl’s trembling cheek, while the other stroked her hair as if in comfort.
“You frightened her, Utia.”
She leaned in close, whispering sweetly into Sylvie’s ear.
“Good… good… it’s all right… Master is right here with you… hehehe.”
Utia watched the scene in silence.
The expression on her face grew ever more complex.
She saw Klal’s arms—seemingly gentle in comfort, yet in truth locking the girl’s body in place like a living cage.
She saw the dark, malicious gleam in Klal’s eyes as they mocked her directly.
And she saw the girl in her arms looking back at her as well—
Eyes filled with near-maddened terror and panic… and hatred.
Ah…
Utia clenched her fingers even tighter, a trembling sigh rising within her heart.
What a disgusting feeling…