After finishing her milk, Hill once again expressed her gratitude to Madam Anna, and didn’t hold back in praising the lady’s kindness and warmth.
What she couldn’t quite understand, however, was that she still had a few heartfelt words left unsaid, but before she could voice them, Otis abruptly interrupted her and, rather rudely, took her by the hand and led her straight upstairs to the study.
Madam Anna watched her daughter’s reckless behavior, but didn’t think much of it. She merely felt that even if this was their own home, there was no need to be so tense, and one should still pay attention to basic manners. But—oh well, Otis was, after all, her most cherished youngest daughter.
Upstairs, in the study, Otis rather forcefully closed the door, leaving only her and Hill in this enclosed space.
“Otis, I didn’t expect you to be so eager to learn,” Hill remarked, thinking the girl was impatient to acquire new magical knowledge.
Well, after all, she herself had only just been officially accepted as a student by Teacher Inks, and she was still wearing such an eye-catching apprentice robe.
However, the smug expression on Hill’s face froze the moment she locked eyes with Otis.
For some reason, she felt that Otis seemed a bit off today, completely unlike her usual self.
“Hill, are you still hungry?”
Though they were in the study, the first thing Otis asked had nothing to do with studying magic—instead, she seemed concerned about Hill’s appetite.
Hill was momentarily taken aback, then spoke honestly: “I’m very hungry right now.”
If she didn’t get enough nutrition today, she’d have no choice but to go out hunting at night.
As it turned out, people really are lazy by nature.
Hill had no interest in fighting or killing; if it wasn’t for filling her stomach, why would she risk her life searching for fresh blood at night?
Now, she had a chance to drink her fill in broad daylight, openly and without fear. No need to worry about being discovered by the sheriff, or encountering other unreasonable outcasts, or bearing any unknown risks.
Hill admitted it—she was someone who sought comfort and pleasure, with no grand ambitions.
Why bother with grand ambitions…ahem! Why should anyone need such lofty goals anyway?
Upon hearing her answer, Otis immediately reached for her collar, her fingertips lightly touching the buttons, and, without hesitation, began to unfasten them.
One, two, three…
Otis was about to keep unbuttoning, but Hill, seeing this silly girl about to bare everything, hurriedly stopped her: “That’s enough! That’s enough! Unbuttoning to this spot is just right; any lower and it’s actually less convenient for me!”
Only then did Otis pause. Recalling her previous actions, her face turned beet red as she stammered out a defense: “I just wondered if blood from different parts might taste different…I wanted to let you try…”
“The texture of blood does differ from place to place, but as for flavor, that only depends on your physical state. As long as you keep healthy, it doesn’t really matter where I bite—the taste is pretty much the same to me.”
“…Is that so?”
“Besides, I don’t plan on biting here today.”
“Eh?” Otis looked up at Hill in surprise. “Why not?”
Many books filled with strange tales claimed that vampires loved to bite a human’s neck most, as the skin there was tender and the blood the most lively—it saved effort and preserved some of the joy of feeding. Plus, it allowed one to monitor the prey’s condition.
Hill patiently explained, “This time, I’m feeding in your home. The neck is too conspicuous a place. If I want to make the marks disappear completely after feeding, I’d need to inject a lot of toxin into your body. But that leads to another problem—the toxin would make you sleep for a long time, possibly well into the night. Wouldn’t that worry your mother?”
“Y-you’re right,” Otis lowered her head.
“What’s more,” Hill took a step closer, speaking gently, “Don’t forget, your mother brought me here as your tutor. If you fall asleep right after I feed, how am I supposed to teach you magic?”
“So…” Otis, a little shy, looked at the girl in front of her, who was simply too beautiful. An inexplicable longing and anticipation welled up in her heart. “Hill, which part do you want to feed from?”
“That depends on you.” Hill smiled mischievously.
“Depends on…me?”
Otis was still a little lost, but when she noticed Hill’s bold gaze wandering up and down her body, she suddenly felt like steam was billowing from her head.
So close together, in this sealed space, it was impossible for Otis’s mind not to wander. Her body temperature kept rising; the room seemed hotter and hotter, and the howling winter wind outside now felt like nothing but empty bravado, with the real cold so far away from her.
But soon, she realized this was just her own illusion—the real culprit was this girl in front of her, who appeared well-behaved but was already up to some unknown mischief.
She let out a bashful, half-accusing protest: “D-don’t look at me like that…I’m a little scared.”
“This adorable young lady ought to be scared,” Hill chuckled, putting on a mock ‘villain’ face.
Every time she took a step forward, Otis would unconsciously take a step back—it was like playing a game of wolves and sheep. The study was spacious, but not limitless. Before long, Otis was forced into a corner—onto a wide, soft sofa.
Otis had nowhere to go. As the backs of her knees touched the sofa, her legs gave way and she plopped right down.
The sofa was so soft that Otis not only didn’t get hurt when she fell, but she sank right in, forced into a relaxed posture.
Hill seized the chance, reached out, and brushed aside the thick skirts, fully exposing Otis’s legs, clad only in black stockings, to the air.
These legs looked long and slender, yet the thighs and calves were perfectly rounded—a perfection only a well-pampered noble young lady could possess.
There was no strange scent in the air, only the fragrance of a young girl, and the clean aroma of washed silk.
Hill’s face turned a bit unnatural, naturally, out of embarrassment.
After all, for women in this era, feet were extremely private, and showing them was considered deeply shameful. To be touched, or even simply seen, by others was a grave offense. There were even some arrogant nobles who, if a commoner glimpsed their ankles when the wind lifted their skirt, would have their guards execute the ‘blind fool’ on the spot—utterly brutal.
Otis wasn’t that sort of tyrannical heiress, but that didn’t mean she could let anyone see, let alone handle, her feet without embarrassment.
Even if Hill was her own kind, her best friend, this was still…just too shameful!
Hill’s hands were small, but her fingers were agile and delicate. With a little movement, Otis could feel that previously untouched part of her body sending signals of both joy and embarrassment.
These two signals didn’t clash; instead, they mingled into an emotion she couldn’t describe, leaving Otis’s mind a complete jumble, at a loss for what to do.
My friend is now showing great interest in my feet, and might do something utterly outrageous next.
What on earth should I do?
“H-Hill!” Otis couldn’t bear to look at this sacrilegious scene and covered her eyes, like a child pretending not to hear. Her voice trembled: “So, which part are you going to bite? Can you stop…playing with that place already!”
At these words, Hill stopped her teasing and looked up at Otis seriously, asking, “The least conspicuous place seems to be your legs, Otis.”
After all, with stockings on, even if there were two bite marks, they’d be hard to notice.
Besides, after feeding, the wound would immediately clot, leaving only a faint mark, so there was no fear of staining the stockings.
So…
“Does it have to be this way?”
“Mhm.”
“Can’t we—”
Hill put on a pitiful expression. “My dear, gentle, considerate Miss Otis…You wouldn’t want me to go hungry, unable to teach you, or worse, get caught by the sheriff while hunting at night, would you…”
She trailed off, but there was already a trace of a sob in her voice.
Otis panicked at once—she couldn’t imagine what would happen if someone like Hill fell into the sheriff’s hands!
Though she was mortified beyond words, for her friend’s sake—and, too, for a barely perceptible curiosity—she finally nodded, just barely.
Hill was overjoyed and immediately made an even more outrageous request: “Could dear Miss Otis please take off these pretty stockings for a moment? Oh, surely you wouldn’t want them ruined either, and I wouldn’t want to tear them.”
Y-yes…
With trembling hands, Otis reached under her skirt. These were tights, and taking them off was an extremely private act. She’d thought about asking Hill to look away, but when she glanced up, she saw Hill’s eyes fixed on her, filled with a strange, unfamiliar longing—desire.
A shiver ran through her; a fire ignited within her. She didn’t know what this fire was called, but what she cared about more than the burning heat was the feeling itself.
Excitement, shyness, and a perverse pleasure in surrendering herself.
She was a noble heiress, supposed to always uphold the rules and etiquette—that’s how it should have been.
Now Otis couldn’t hear a sound; her heart thundered in her ears, but it didn’t stop her hands.
The warmth wrapped around her legs faded, replaced by cool air. She no longer cared—she wanted to please her friend, to experience that forbidden thrill.
A single tear slipped from the corner of Otis’s eye, sliding down her cheek—marking the moment when “Otis Mountbatten,” the young noble lady, was reborn!
She’d been dragged down from the heights, rolling in the mud. Except for her initial resistance, all she felt now was an inescapable, electrifying rush.