Utia didn’t move. She simply watched Sylvie quietly, her red eyes as deep as solidified blood sandalwood, reflecting the candlelight and the girl’s face, which was calm to the point of numbness.
Time flowed slowly in the silence, sticky and thick.
Finally, Utia let out a soft laugh, no longer filled with mockery but carrying a sense of sigh and sarcasm instead.
“What a… complete and utter fool,” she said softly, as if talking to herself.
“Clearly scared to death, clearly disgusted beyond measure, yet still forcing yourself to put on this ‘ready to be harvested’ appearance…”
She took a step forward, her cold fingers deliberately stroking Sylvie’s cheek, sliding slowly down along her neck until they rested on that exposed, thin, and pale skin.
The sudden chill made Sylvie tremble slightly despite herself, her lips unconsciously pressing together.
Utia’s blood-red eyes locked onto her, staring straight at the submission and struggle in her soul.
“Is it worth it? Trading everything you have for their temporary safety? You don’t even know how long my so-called ‘protection’ will last.”
Sylvie’s pupils trembled, but she didn’t back away.
“It’s worth it.”
Her voice was faint, yet unusually firm.
“As long as they can live one more day, breathe one more breath of air that’s not so painful… it’s worth it.”
“Even if from now on, you’re no longer yourself?”
Utia deliberately pressed her fingertip a bit harder, leaving a shallow blue bruise on that fragile, delicate skin.
“You’ll be ‘used’ by me until you’re shattered into pieces, even your soul stained with filth that can’t be washed away…” she said in warning.
This time, Sylvie was silent for longer.
The candlelight flickered on her pale face, highlighting her tightly pressed lips. Finally, she slowly opened her eyes, her emerald-green gaze meeting Utia’s directly, holding no fear, no plea—only complete resolve.
“Sylvie… hasn’t been herself for a long time. From the moment she opened her eyes in this city, Sylvie has only been a… thing that exists for the sake of ‘surviving.’ Now, this thing has found a more important purpose… there’s nothing wrong with that.”
There’s nothing wrong with that… Heh. Utia repeated this phrase in her mind.
She had seen countless blood livestock in numbness, madness, or groveling survival instincts, but she had never seen someone who could so calmly objectify themselves.
And pathetically treat this objectification as their final destination.
This feeling… was too strange.
It wasn’t sweet, nor exciting—instead, it carried an unpleasant dullness, as if the blood feast she had meticulously prepared and eagerly anticipated turned out to be a cup of cold, utterly flavorless plain water.
No…
This wasn’t the… game she wanted.
“You know, little one…”
Utia’s smile deepened, her eyes gradually filling with an indescribable sticky desire.
She gently placed both palms on Sylvie’s cheeks, trapping her in her hands and fingers. Her face drew closer and closer, her blood-red eyes narrowing as if admiring something, and she continued.
“Sister is always craving to enjoy this body of yours. Sister’s standards for selection have never been as simple as just a pretty shell…”
“Numbness, pain, collapse, and despair—these human emotions are what Sister truly craves, the most exquisite ‘flavor’ you little ones can bring me.”
She spoke slowly, one hand teasingly sliding down Sylvie’s cheek, her cold fingertip brushing over her lips, over the pale skin of her chest, and finally wrapping lightly around her slender waist before yanking forward with force.
Sylvie’s body tilted uncontrollably toward Utia, tightly bound in her embrace. Utia lifted her chin with her other hand, her ruby-like blood-red eyes reflecting her own face.
“But look at you now…”
Utia’s voice carried a sigh of disappointment.
She stared at Sylvie’s face so close at hand—that pair of emerald-green eyes still terrifyingly calm, without the waves of fear she expected, without the gleam of humiliated tears, even the resistance seeming so faint.
“Like a completely dead doll, a gem without luster—obedient, tasteless… Serving like this is as bland as chewing wax, utterly flavorless.”
“Sister, ah, though I like control, like watching prey struggle in my palm, what I hate most… is this self-righteous ‘sacrifice.'”
“You think offering yourself up as an emotionless offering will satisfy me? Will make me desire you?”
She scoffed and shook her head.
“Too naive, little one. The more you try to erase your own feelings, turning yourself into a ‘thing,’ the more I want… to turn you back into a person, to make you feel fear, shame, pain again, and… the unwillingness and hatred bursting out in desperation.”
As she spoke, her voice gradually took on a tinge of madness and greed.
“I want to see you crying helplessly beneath Sister, see you collapsing in shame while being used, yet utterly powerless! I want to see your despair, see your numb mask forcibly torn away by Sister, revealing that excitement and pleasure! That’s what Sister wants to see! Wants to taste!”
“So…”
Utia suddenly released her hands, turned around, and walked to the chair with elegant steps before reclining on it.
“Take back that pathetic self-objectification. Sister has no interest in your blood or body right now—they’re too bland.”
Sylvie stood there in a daze, her collar loose, her emerald eyes blankly watching Utia, suddenly feeling her cheeks burning hot.
She had… been rejected?
But… besides this broken body, besides the blood still flowing in her veins, what else did she have left?
For a moment, Sylvie felt at a loss.
She had already mustered her courage, prepared to offer herself as payment. She had even taken the initiative to unbutton her clothes for the first time, just to please Utia.
But her single sentence—”I’m not interested in you right now”—made her earlier resolve seem awkward and ridiculous.
Even embarrassing.
She reached out and rebuttoned her undone collar.
Then, after an awkward silence, Sylvie gave a slight bow.
“…Then, how should Sylvie repay you?”
She lowered her head, speaking softly, her voice thick with confusion.
Utia lounged on the recliner, her blood-red eyes taking in Sylvie’s embarrassment, disappointment, and forced composure completely.
Her blood-red eyes shifted slightly, the corners of her mouth curling into a wicked, playful smile.
“Repay?” She drew out the word, pondering, then continued.
“Hmm… Since you have so little confidence in your blood and body, and Sister temporarily has no interest… how about…”
She paused deliberately, her voice carrying an ambiguous hint.
“You accompany Sister for a ‘sleep,’ how about that?”
“…Eh?”