Darkness flowed through the cramped room, carrying suffocating despair and pain, sorrow and numbness.
In the courtyard, inside Sylvie’s small hut, she hugged her legs and sat curled in a daze at the corner of the white-sheeted bed.
That frail, fragile figure looked as though it was about to be completely swallowed by the flowing shadows.
Black hair fell down, nearly covering her entire face, revealing only a pale jaw and dry, bloodless lips.
Through the curtain of hair, her half-open eyes could be faintly seen.
The emerald pupils were dim and lifeless, like an inanimate object—no pain from violation, no fear from torment, no grief after dignity and freedom had been trampled and stripped away without mercy.
Only… hollow deathly silence and emptiness remained.
It hurts…
She remained wordlessly silent, yet every inch of her skin, every organ in her body screamed in pain.
Cold moonlight poured down from the narrow window high on the wall.
That soft silver glow, almost mocking, fell squarely upon Sylvie as she shrank in the corner, shrouding her body in drifting motes of light.
It laid bare the hideous, terrifying bruises and bloodstained bite marks covering her—left after she had been greedily “consumed,” madly “used,” pleasurably “tasted,” and endlessly “taken.”
Her gaze slowly shifted, numb and vacant, unconsciously settling on the glaring blood mark on her wrist…
It’s fine…
A faint voice echoed in her empty mind, as though whispering from the cracks of a consciousness on the verge of shattering.
Anyway… it will heal soon.
She told herself, her tone as flat as if stating something long familiar.
These bruises, these bite marks, these traces that felt as though they would tear her apart and devour her—before long they would fade and vanish, leaving only faint shadows beneath pale skin.
Just like countless times before.
The body… is just a vessel.
Pain… is only an empty sensation.
It will pass.
But…
Her eyes drifted uncontrollably upward from the blood mark on her wrist, sliding past the deep purples covering her arms, past the few deepest marks on her neck that looked as though they had nearly torn her throat apart, until finally… they came to rest on her bare toes, faintly trembling in the moonlight.
There still seemed to be bruising there from when they had been tightly gripped, forced into certain positions.
And… some sticky, icy memory of pain.
…
Something even colder surged up from her shattered heart, dousing the last remaining sparks of warmth within her.
It was not anger.
It was not sorrow.
It was not even shame.
It was… the hollow echo left after everything had been burned to ashes.
She could feel it…
Her “temperature” was lower than ever before.
But that was a good thing, wasn’t it?
It’s fine…
She repeated silently, then slowly lowered her head, licking the wound on her wrist by instinct, like a small cat.
Anyway… tomorrow…
Everything will pass…
Just like always telling yourself…
Sylvie… it’s fine.
Because you’re still alive…
Sylvie gradually buried her face deeper between her knees.
Her black hair slipped down, completely enveloping her, leaving the moonlight to illuminate only her curled outline and those shocking marks upon her body.
Vivid… numb… alive…
………
Outside the house, Utia leaned soundlessly against the doorframe.
The heavy stench of blood on her had mostly been scattered by the night wind, leaving only a trace of her own cold presence.
She heard it.
The intermittent whimpers squeezed out from deep in Sylvie’s throat, mixed with sobs that were desperately suppressed yet failed, and the faint rustling sounds caused by an uncontrollably trembling body.
The night wind swept through the courtyard, carrying despairing cries with it.
Only the moonlight remained, coldly casting itself over Utia’s lonely figure and the tightly shut door behind her—a door that separated two worlds.
From behind her, she took out the metal syringes left behind by those humans.
The red glimmer on them, as if guiding something, slowly turned into a faint green light…
She closed her eyes.
She listened as the crying inside gradually grew quieter, fading into hiccupping gasps from someone who no longer had the strength to weep, until at last it fell into complete silence.
After a long while, Utia slowly opened her eyes.
She clenched the syringe in her hand.
In those vertical pupils, all emotion had settled, leaving only a coldness and resolve purer and deeper than the night itself.
***
The next day arrived, right on schedule.
The order for a large-scale purge of blood livestock, abruptly issued not long before, was just as abruptly suspended by the Queen that very night.
It was said that nearly three thousand blood livestock had been eliminated within that single day, almost all of them small and frail “inferior stock.”
The corpses piled up in the streets were also cleared away and thrown beyond the walls into the outside world.
It was rumored that in less than a day, those remains vanished completely, leaving only bloodstains smeared across the ground, like marks left by something dragging them away, stretching toward the city ruins not far from Eternal Night City.
………
Early in the morning, before the moon had climbed high, Sylvie had already stepped onto the long staircase leading to the main hall.
There were far fewer vampire enforcers standing on either side, likely because they had gone to deal with the corpses.
And even though she had endured six hours of unrestrained torment and violation the day before, her service the next day could not stop for even a moment.
Because that was her duty…
She stopped before the heavy, pitch-black doors of the hall.
Sulga and Utia were already waiting there.
Sylvie did not look at the woman.
She went straight to Sulga as usual, greeted him respectfully, and then extended her wrist.
“…Good morning, Lord Sulga.”
Her voice was hoarse and dry, devoid of any inflection.
Her eyelids hung low, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks.
Those dim emerald eyes held nothing but empty deathly stillness.
Dark circles ringed her eyes, and her complexion was even paler than before, tinged with the ashen hue of blood loss and extreme exhaustion.
Combined with her already slender frame, that face worn to the extreme made her look even more fragile, as though a single gust of wind could knock her over.
Sulga’s calm gaze swept over her.
He saw the numbness on her face—no longer forced composure, but a hollowness like a soul that had been drawn out.
As if she had been completely drained.
“This morning’s service has been canceled, Sylvie. You may return,” Sulga replied evenly.
Upon hearing this, her fingers trembled slightly, and the light in her eyes dimmed even further.
“Has Master… become disappointed in Sylvie…”
“There is still blood remaining in Sylvie’s body, and after a night of rest, her strength has recovered somewhat. Sylvie can still… continue to serve.”
Her tone carried no rise or fall, her expression and gaze numb and calm.
“She went out…”
Utia, leaning by the door, suddenly spoke.
Sylvie’s body stiffened almost imperceptibly, her fingers curling tighter.
She did not turn her head, yet out of the corner of her eye she could not avoid that figure resting in the shadows.
Utia seemed unconcerned with her reaction and continued in an almost casual, conversational tone.
“She went to the newly discovered rat hole in the western penned district. Those humans… never give up, and they left behind some troublesome little ‘gifts’ that need handling.”
“Her Majesty went personally. It’ll probably take a few days.”
At last, she turned her gaze toward Sylvie.
Those vertical pupils held none of their usual mockery, only an eerie calm.
“So for the next few days, you’re temporarily ‘free.’”