villainess'ss Secret Service

c125

Coming home

The dark, small, humble Temple bedroom was ominously silent. Only faint, occasional grunts and breaths traveled through the cold, still air, shaking the space like distant thunder.

Altair was kneeling on the cold wooden floor, his tightly clenched fists pressed against his thighs, dark blood dripping from the long, deep wounds on his bare back.

Slowly, as if led by a string attached to his right wrist, he moved his arm up and pressed his open palm against the hot skin on his back, slightly moving it up and down, smearing more blood over it, as if trying to feel something with his fingers.

At last, he raised his head once more, confronted by the sinister, almost demonic voice coming from the darkness around him.

"Pathetic fool. Your heart wavers yet again. I bestowed upon you immense power, and you waste it to shield a miserable girl whose life hangs by a fragile thread. Pitiful. Loathsome."

As though stung by the chilling words, Altair's gaze dropped to the floor, now stained with his own blood. He shut his eyes, tiny lines of worry tracing around them, while the voice continued,

"You feel it too, don't you? The turmoil within your people, the chaotic storm of your own thoughts. Do not let your sacrifice be for nothing. She will never accept your true self anyway."

Altair slowly lifted his body, swaying unsteadily as he tried to regain his balance. With deliberate steps, he approached the wall in front of him, fixing his gaze upon the shiny surface of a small hanging mirror.

In that reflective pane, he saw a face marred by atrocity, white locks drenched in dark crimson, clinging to his body in clumps. His pale skin, almost see-through, gave off an eerie glow, while his platinum eyes now flickered with tiny red sparks.

His scrutiny lingered on his own reflection, as if trying to remember it or simply get used to this changed self. Then, he closed his eyes once more, and his voice, cold and tinged with a hint of sadness, whispered softly,

"The real me... I hardly recognize who the real me has become."

***

"Well, Rosalie, I must say you look much better now. The fresh spring air seems to be doing wonders for you. It's such a relief that Revered Altair has allowed you to go outside. You must have been terribly bored, stuck all alone in that mansion!"
With a dramatic flourish, Princess Angelica inhaled deeply, her chest swelling as she filled her lungs with air. She then let out a joyful breath, giving Rosalie a warm, heartfelt smile. In response, the duchess couldn't help but chuckle a little at the dramatic display and returned the smile.

Spring had undoubtedly arrived, marking the start of a new and refreshing season.

Almost a full month had passed since the dreadful incident that burned down Lord Theodore Xarden's grand mansion, claiming the lives of nearly all its occupants.

Rosalie remained caught in a web of uncertainty about the events that happened that fateful night at Lord Xarden's estate. When she eventually woke up, after her mysterious return home with Altair's help, her memories were deeply distorted. She found herself struggling with fragmented recollections of that harrowing evening, like pieces of a broken mirror showing only partial truths.

"You must have been so deeply shaken that it affected your memory," became a constant refrain from those around Lady Ashter. Over time, she reluctantly accepted this explanation, finding herself with no choice but to believe it.

Deeply concerned for her well-being, Altair, who had devoted himself exclusively to Rosalie's care during this period, imposed strict limitations on the duchess. He forbade her from leaving her home and from entertaining guests unless it was absolutely necessary. Altair firmly believed that peace, paired with his continuous healing therapies, was the only way to mend Rosalie's shattered emotional state.