“My Lady!”

  Elsa cried out, reaching out like a shot and pulling Pandora into her arms.

  Looking at Pandora’s pale, weak face, at the vicious wound on her wrist, Elsa’s heart felt as if it had been pierced by a thousand blades. A real, suffocating pain.

  “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, My Lady… It’s all my fault… How… how could I become like this… this thing that’s neither human nor ghost… I should just die!”

  An immense wave of regret and self-loathing nearly drowned her.

  For sixteen years, she had only ever been a maid. Even after learning to fight, mastering etiquette, and becoming skilled with the sword, she was still just a young woman, and none of it prepared her for the monster she had become.

  “Don’t… don’t blame yourself…”

  Pandora’s voice was a weak whisper. She forced her eyes open, looked at the remorseful Elsa, and managed a reassuring smile. “I’m fine… I just… just skipped breakfast, so my blood sugar is a little low… Plus the anemia… I just lost my balance.”

  She gently patted Elsa’s tense arm, trying to stand on her own. Her voice was gentle but firm. “Elsa, listen to me. Sacrificing a little blood to bring you back… to let you stay by my side… it’s worth it. More than worth it.”

  “Do you understand?”

  “Worth it.” Those two words pierced through Elsa’s heart of guilt.

  Her arms around Pandora tightened suddenly, like a drowning woman clutching the only piece of driftwood in the ocean.

  “If I had to choose again, I would still do this.”

  Pandora’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was clear, carrying a tenderness that left no room for doubt. She strained to produce a reassuring smile. Pale and weak, it was like a sliver of light, firm and unwavering, cutting through the darkness in Elsa’s heart.

  She had denied herself.

  But Pandora was telling her, with unwavering conviction—she was worth it.

  Elsa’s body froze.

  A torrent of complex emotions crashed over her. She bit her lower lip, trying to stifle the sob, but failed.

  A choked, muffled wail finally erupted from the depths of her throat. Her shoulders began to tremble uncontrollably.

  Elsa could say no more. She just held Pandora tightly, her silent tears falling and splashing onto Pandora’s pale cheeks.

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  Pandora didn’t speak. She just let her hold on.

  She raised a hand, gently wiping away Elsa’s tears with her fingertips. The movement was slow, light, as if she were polishing a fragile treasure.

  “Alright, don’t cry.” Pandora’s voice was truly gentle. “Remember, from now on… the blood, if you need it, you take it. Don’t be a fool and hold back like you did last night. Understood?”

  Elsa nodded vigorously, but the tears only flowed faster. She wiped them away haphazardly, and when she looked up again, a flame of unprecedented, almost fanatical loyalty burned in her eyes.

  That gaze made Pandora feel that if she were to order Elsa to her death at this very moment, she would do it without a moment’s hesitation.

  This girl…

  was really a bit of an idiot,

  but, she's my maid after all.

  After calming her silly maid, Pandora took a few deep breaths. She fought off the waves of dizziness and stood up straight, her gaze fixed on the closed oak door. “Alright, Elsa, I’m fine now. I… I slept well. It’s dawn. Time to go.”

  “Yes, My Lady!”

  Elsa instantly reined in all her emotions, her face becoming a blank mask.

  Like the most loyal of hounds, she took a single step to place herself in front of Pandora, shielding her firmly behind her.

  “Elsa will clear a path for you! My Lady, you must stay close behind me!”

  The dark-red thorn greatsword hung low, its tip pointing to the ground, the blade humming with power. A dangerous, bloodthirsty aura began to radiate from her.

  Pandora could clearly feel the immense power surging from Elsa, far beyond that of a normal person. Elsa’s bold claim from last night, that she could “take on ten of her old self,” now seemed less like an empty boast.

  But she was the one in charge. She needed a clear head.

  “Wait, Elsa,” Pandora said, placing a hand on Elsa’s tense shoulder. “Let's think. Leaving the study is a must. But after we leave? Then what? We need an objective.”

  Elsa paused, a flicker of confusion in her eyes.

  Pandora continued, her tone guiding, though it felt like she was also talking to herself. “First, supplies. The kitchen is closest and our best bet. After that? The entire manor has fallen. Staying here is a death sentence. So we have to leave.

  As for our destination… Father is in town. Our first priority after leaving the manor has to be finding him. We need to tell him what happened.

  So… Kitchen. Leave the manor. Go to town. Find Father. That's the plan. What do you think, Elsa? Anything to add?”

  Elsa thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Your plan is very complete, My Lady. I have nothing to add. Please give the order. Elsa will follow your will!”

  If Elsa, who was far from stupid, had nothing to add, it meant the plan was solid.

  And yet…

  Pandora, with a much clearer head after a night's sleep, felt a faint sense of foreboding.

  The commotion last night had been too great. The screams and snarls... Even at this distance, the town couldn't have been completely unaware.

  Her father, Viscount Douglas, was old-fashioned, but he was competent. He would never have let an entire night pass without sending a rescue party.

  After all, the knight guard had gone with him to town!

  Unless…

  Pandora shook her head violently, as if to fling that terrible thought from her mind.

  “Thinking about that is useless now,” she told herself. “The key is to survive!”

  “To the kitchen, now!” Pandora’s voice was firm.

  “Yes.”

  Elsa didn’t hesitate. She pricked up her ears, listening for movement outside the door. After confirming there were no heavy, concentrated impacts, she pushed the thick wooden door open…

  The stench of blood hit her first, heavy in the air, mixed with an indescribable, rotten stench.

  Sunlight streamed through the high, stained-glass windows, casting scattered patterns of light and shadow, but it couldn’t dispel the cold, deathly aura. The floor was littered with shards of broken porcelain and torn strips of cloth. Large, dark patches of what must have been long-since-congealed blood seemed to portend ill omens.