Beatrice’s slender fingers pinched Aurora’s soft cheeks as she forcefully pressed her down against the pristine white bedsheets.
Her right arm still throbbed with pain—she could even feel liquid slowly trickling along the curve of her arm, drop by drop.
“Let go of me! The sheets are going to be stained with blood!”
She tried to use that as an excuse to get Beatrice off of her, but clearly, Beatrice didn’t care in the slightest about the now blood-soaked sheets.
The fingers pinching Aurora’s face showed no sign of releasing her. Instead, Beatrice’s eyes only grew darker—more furious.
“Tell me—do you really care about that Avila girl?”
Her tone was like warm ice, if such a thing existed—each damp breath brushing across Aurora’s face only sent a deeper chill crawling down her spine.
Aurora didn’t want to avoid the question. In fact, she had a bit of resentment bottled up and was ready to tell Beatrice exactly how she felt.
“She’s my friend. She’s even helped me before. Of course I care about her!”
“I—mmph!”
She wanted to say more, but the pain in her arm suddenly flared up, forcing a cry from her lips.
She turned her head—and saw that Beatrice had gripped her injured arm tightly. The colder Beatrice’s eyes became, the tighter her grasp grew.
More thick, crimson blood gushed from the wound, blooming like a rose across the white sheets. But the owner of that rose… her forehead was now drenched in sweat from the pain.
It felt as if her wound had been clamped shut by the fangs of a wild beast, and the tearing agony surged through her mind like a tide.
Her clenched teeth and falling tears made her suffering unmistakably clear.
Beatrice had long since lost herself. Her mind kept replaying Aurora’s words:
“Of course I care about her.”
That sentence twisted deep in her guts, each syllable stabbing with unbearable jealousy. It surged to her head like a poison, and her pitch-black pupils were now filled with possessive rage.
Only when the thick scent of blood flooded her nostrils did her senses begin to return—pulling her back from the abyss called jealousy.
In front of her was Aurora’s face, pale and unconscious. To the left of her vision, bright red blood was slowly soaking through the sheets toward her.
And yet, staring at Aurora’s tears… she didn’t feel the usual rush of excitement.
Because right now, Aurora looked pale and unreal, just like when they first met—her body nearly translucent, as though a single breath could blow her away, scatter her like dandelions drifting farther and farther from her reach once more.
“Tch.”
A green glow appeared around her body as she looked at the wound on Aurora’s arm.
Blood had completely soaked the limb, and what was originally a small cut had now been torn into a gaping wound, from which thick, chilling blood continued to gush.
“Damn it.”
She cursed under her breath, then began to chant rapidly in her mind.
The green glow surrounding her started to emit shimmering specks of light, which linked together into a fine thread and floated toward the wound.
That thread entered the skin near the wound and slowly began stitching it together.
Even though the bleeding had stopped, Aurora’s complexion remained pale—no, even more frighteningly pale than before.
Beatrice reached out, gently touching her bloodless cheek. In her gaze appeared a rare mix of emotions—pain and pity. The pain was for Aurora.
The pity, for herself.
“Aurora, is it really that hard to care only about me?”
The unconscious Aurora couldn’t answer. Her life force was dangerously weak, like a candle about to burn out, leaving only a pale gray glow.
“But even so… Even if it means making you suffer like this… I still want to keep you by my side, to shape you into what I want you to be—someone who loves only me.”
She leaned down and gently kissed Aurora’s lips.
*****
The Next Day.
The sun rose as usual, but unlike before, Aurora didn’t wake up early to take care of the house.
The bedroom curtains were drawn. Only a few golden rays of light slipped through the window into the room.
Aurora was still asleep in bed. Her expression was uneasy, as though in discomfort—probably because Beatrice’s chest was smothering her face and cutting off her oxygen.
When the golden light slowly crept over her eyes, Aurora finally opened them.
Soft whiteness filled her vision, and warm breath brushed past her ears. As Beatrice’s chest gently rose and fell, that pink softness brushed her cheek again and again.
Her drowsy mind cleared in an instant at the sight. Instinctively, she tried to pull away from the snowy white softness, but her weakened body could only lean back slightly.
Just as her face pulled away, Beatrice gave a sleepy hum and pulled Aurora tightly back into her arms again.
“Mmhh…”
Her cheek was once again pressed into that soft warmth. In her weakened state, Aurora had no strength to escape from Beatrice’s embrace and could only let herself be held tightly.
She began to recall the events of the previous night. She remembered that there had been a wound on her arm, but now she felt no pain at all.
Could it be that Beatrice had healed it?
Her arm was currently being held tightly by Beatrice, their fingers interlaced. Aurora looked down and, sure enough, the wound from yesterday had completely healed.
The skin was smooth and fair, without the slightest trace of injury.
That wound had worsened because of Beatrice, and Aurora often found herself in pain because of her. But even so, she couldn’t bring herself to hate her—for she had hurt Beatrice first.
She didn’t have the right to hate her.
She didn’t know what kind of convenient magic Beatrice had used, but even the bloodstains on the sheets had vanished.
If not for the weakness still in her body, she might have thought everything that happened yesterday was just a dream.
She wanted to know what time it was. With the curtains drawn, she couldn’t see the position of the sun, but judging by the angle of the sunlight coming through, it was probably already late morning.
Beatrice had a lecture scheduled for this afternoon. Her students were all looking forward to it—she couldn’t let her oversleep like this.
Thinking this, Aurora gently poked her cheek and whispered softly into her ear, “Time to get up, Master.”
Beatrice slowly opened her eyes.
When she met Aurora’s gaze, it seemed like she smiled for a moment—but the smile quickly faded, replaced by her usual icy expression.
She rolled over and pinned Aurora beneath her.
Her bare body pressed against Aurora’s, and Aurora could clearly feel those alluring curves rubbing up against her inch by inch.
Beatrice was delighted—delighted that Aurora hadn’t held a grudge over what happened yesterday. Now she understood just how high Aurora’s tolerance was.
So high, in fact, that even when Beatrice hurt her, she wouldn’t get angry.
Perhaps, then, she could treat her even more strictly—so Aurora would become the person she truly desired.