azazele
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Arc 8-93
🕑 Added 2025-09-04 03:49:24 +0000 UTCI don’t think of myself as a villain.
Dangerously self-absorbed, sure, but that’s par for the course. Most people are selfish. I’m only dangerous because I can wield more violence than most to get what I want, but plenty of people can cause just as much damage with nothing but words. My nature also makes me easy to handle. It’s simple: give me what I want and there’s no danger at all. Unfair, certainly, but I’m hardly a force of nature someone has to curse their luck to stumble into. I can be managed.
When I think of villains, I think of bastards like my family’s tormentors. People who not only cause pain, but enjoy it. The sick hearts that crave cruelty for its own sake, and the broken minds that see people only as tools.
No, I’m no villain—but I can understand how someone might mistake me for one if they only look at the results of my actions.
For both personal and practical reasons, I decide to check in on my unwilling guest. My interest sparks when Talia takes notice of their condition. Since I plan to release them back into their mother’s care once she completes one last task for me, I need to speak with them about their futures—something that may prove more difficult than I expect.
The younger sister freezes the moment I enter and still hasn’t recovered. That clearly wasn’t her plan. My first impression of her is that of a typical noblewoman, hiding weakness behind a polite façade, her carefully practiced smile her only weapon. She thinks she’s prepared for this meeting. I want her to be—had even instructed Talia to ready her. I see my flower’s touch in the girl’s pretty green dress and the petal-shaped clips pinning back her bangs. Her spine is straight, her gaze steady.
But the instant her emerald eyes meet mine, her poise collapses. The transformation is fast, yet I can track it step by step. First her smile falters, then twists into a grimace. The false confidence keeping her spine straight and chin raised drains away, her shoulders hunching with the instinctive urge to make herself smaller. Finally, her eyes dart aside, her body trembling.
The other sister isn’t any better. Where the younger looks ready for a stroll in the city, the best I can say for the elder sibling is that she’s clean. Her short hair begs for a comb, and her dress is more like a sheet tossed over her head—the kind of thing you’d throw on an unruly child to keep them from running around naked. Unlike her sister, who can’t look at me, she can’t look away, staring wide-eyed and unblinking. Her lips part as if she started to speak, only for the words to vanish, leaving her trapped in silence.
Neither is in any condition to talk, which complicates things.
I glance at Talia, who watches from the corner. I motion toward the girls, but she shakes her head. Staying out of it, huh? Or maybe she means there’s nothing she can do.
Sigh. Guess this is what they mean by “you reap what you sow.”
The younger sister is supposed to be the sensible one, right? Saints preserve her, I suddenly have a whole new sympathy for their future. If the elder sister stays as responsive as a dead fish for the rest of her life, the poor girl is going to struggle. Makes me wonder if I overreacted to her foul mouth.
Maybe just a little.
“Leena, right?”
The younger sister flinches. Hesitantly, she looks back at me. I do my best to appear unthreatening. Thankfully, it works. She rallies. She still can’t meet my eyes, but she finds her voice.
“Yes. Good morning, Lady Tome,” she says, her voice cracking only a little as she curtseys.
“Morning. Have the two of you eaten?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Good, good. I came to discuss your futures…” And to check on them, but no one needs to tell me they’re not doing well. “As you know, your stay here was always temporary while your parents handled a small task for me. Good news: with the city recovering, I only need your mother to do one more thing, and then I’ll allow the both of you to leave with her.”
I think that will cheer them up. It doesn’t. The elder sister doesn’t react at all—until she blinks. At least she hasn’t forgotten how.
Leena, though, frowns. “Forgive me, your ladyship, I mean no offense…”
“But?” I prod when her courage falters.
“But…will you release our estate to us? It’s our ancestral home.” She swallows. “It wouldn’t look good for nobles to govern from a shack, and many matters are too delicate to be handled in a hotel.”
Oh. Right—they’ve been locked up here. They wouldn’t know. I glance at Talia; the corners of her lips curl upward ever so slightly. Part of her little experiment, then.
“About that. There’s no need for you to worry about the city.” A part of me almost feels bad for her. “Your father has been stripped of his position. I’ve been named Countess Lourianne Tome-Delarre and given Quest, along with the surrounding lands, to govern.”
She gapes, shock overriding her fear. “But…but…”
I can guess what she wants to ask. “Why was I given the city I destroyed?”
Her lips fail her, but her wide eyes shout the question.
“I don’t know. Fear? Someone trying to use me? Someone dumping the work on my shoulders?” I shrug. “Doesn’t matter. All you need to know is there’s no room for the Teppin family here anymore.”
Saints, she looks like her world’s crumbling. Which…it is.
“Ah, you should, uh, take this as an opportunity.” Who am I kidding? They’re doomed. “There’s more to the kingdom than this city. You can do anything, be anything.”
She scoffs. Actually scoffs. She quickly hides it, eyes wide and nervous as she checks my reaction, but for an instant there’s nothing but sheer disdain on her face.
I can’t help it. I laugh.
“Forgive me, Lady Tome, I—”
“Stop,” I interrupt, smothering my giggles. I wave my hand dismissively. “I don’t blame you. That was pure shit I just tried to feed you. You had every right to react the way you did.”
“Ah…thank you for your mercy.” She licks her lips nervously. “Pardon me for being bold, but will…is my mother being paid while in your employ?”
In my employ, is it? I want to applaud her for that impressive bit of dancing around the issue. Her tutors would be proud. “She was paid beforehand. With your lives.”
“I see.” She swallows. “Rebuilding a city is quite the task.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“One that would be eased with the aid of someone who knows the city. The important names and their temperaments.”
“Someone like you?”
She bobs her head nervously. “I would be honored to work for your ladyship in whatever capacity you should find use for me.”
Brave girl. Smart girl. She sees a hard road in her future without a title and a treasury to depend on. She assumes I have wealth to share, which isn’t a bad guess—money tends to follow power. She also doesn’t act entitled to it, but is willing to work. Impressive. Far more than I expect from a noble lady whose first impression was cowering in her mother’s arms.
I don’t need her, but damn if I don’t want to reward her attitude. “It’d be temporary work. No future in it.”
Her eyes flick to her sister. “I’ll take whatever I can get.”
“Alright. I’ll have it arranged.” Geneva can find a use for her. Er, no. Saints, can’t believe I just thought about making her work under the creature that killed her sister right in front of her. I guess she can follow me? Give an opinion. It’s basically one step away from charity, so that works.
“Thank you, my lady.”
“Thank me by being useful. Or amusing.” There’s a distinct lack of humor in the city these days. “Talia?” I motion for her to follow as I leave the room, stopping just beyond the open door and lowering my voice. “What’s going on with the older one?”
Talia’s smile widens a fraction. “Something very fascinating.”
“If you find a living statue fascinating. Can she do anything but stare?”
“She isn’t physically impaired. She simply does not value words.”
Doesn’t value words? “She doesn’t talk…because there’s no point?”
“Not to her. It would truly be a waste of breath.”
“Okay…” Strange. “That doesn’t explain why she just stared at me.”
“It does. That was the action she found the most valuable of her available choices.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, preemptively working to ease the coming headache. I have the feeling I’m about to hear something problematic. “Make this make sense.”
The amused flower chuckles. “I can explain her thoughts as best I understand them, but there is little sensible about them.”
“Go on.”
She beckons me closer and I oblige, leaning into her as she wraps her arms around my shoulders and ducks her head. “What is death?” she whispers playfully into my ear.
“What kind of question is that?” Her warmth eases my annoyance at her teasing. It’s rare for her to be anything but direct. Cute. “Death is death. The end.”
“How do you determine if someone is dead?”
“The heart. If it doesn’t beat, they’re gone.”
“That would be my response as well. We think of death as a physical thing. Kii bringing the dark blade back from death supports it. Death is when the body stops. Start the body again, save the life.” Her arms tighten around me, excitement coloring her voice. “But Villarey proves that there is more to death than blood and bodily functions. She experienced something in that moment.”
“Something?”
“Something big. Bigger than her mind can hold. I can’t see the whole thing, only the outline. But I can feel the emotion, and I can trace where she changed. Death changed her, Lou. Something that has nothing to do with the body, the brain, yet it has changed her perceptions. She sees the world differently. She responds differently. Who she was doesn’t match her new perception, so she’s discarded it. Everything, from her words to her appearance. It’s a testament to their bond that she hasn’t discarded her sister.”
She sounds far too amused by this. “Part of me wants to call this ridiculous, but I can’t.” Not with the proof still standing in the same place we left her. I bet her eyes are still tracking me, uncaring of the wall blocking her view. “So, what does she care about so much that she’s forsaken everything else?”
“You.”
What? “You’re joking.”
Talia hums. “Not at all. Whatever she experienced, she has somehow connected it to you. And for that, she worships you. True worship. It isn’t the pining for a beloved or servitude in hopes of receiving blessing. She truly, wholly, with every ounce of her conscious mind, believes you are a higher being. You are, hm. You are real. Your being is so present, it mutes everything else. Invalidates everything else. You are all she can focus on.”
“That’s…” Disturbing. Unsettling. A little flattering? The idea of being someone’s everything is strangely enticing. It’s an implied compliment; my ego preens at the thought that I can utterly monopolize someone’s attention like that. But only the idea appeals to me. Someone so focused on me that words become unnecessary sounds more like a problem than anything else.
“Is she dangerous?”
“To you? No. Perhaps if she were stronger, she might pose the same danger as the succubi, ready to lock you in a cage and keep you for herself, but she is a simple woman.”
“And to others?”
“It depends. At the moment, she puts no value on others. They are nothing to her. Their presences are like weeds, their words like the humming of insects. If that changes, hm. I suppose her reaction will depend on how she connects others to her new faith. Will she pity them for not knowing the truth? Will she turn against them, seeing their ignorance as heresy?”
“…why are you enjoying this so much?” She’s not the type to indulge in suffering like this. There has to be more to it.
She hums against my ear. My hands wrap around her waist of their own accord, pressing our bodies together. “Emotions are not one thing. People do not experience one thing at a time…usually. Pure emotions are rare. Studying them, and the effects they have on the mind, is difficult. A rare opportunity. Love, anger, sadness—those are easy to find. But obsession? All-encompassing focus on a singular thing, so powerful it can consume even someone’s identity?”
She pulls back, one hand cupping my cheek, her palm slightly cool, her smile wide enough to show a hint of teeth.
“You have given me a wonderful gift,” she purrs in a delightful imitation of our elf.
I didn’t intend to giftwrap a shattered mind for my mind-obsessed flower. A part of me wonders if her interest will one day turn sinister, driving her to push people past their limits to study the effects. As her soft lips kiss my chin, teasingly taking their time moving toward mine, I answer that worried thought. Of course it will. She was willing to sell herself to progress her studies. If she could gamble her own future without hesitation, why would she stop to consider anyone else’s? The moment the benefits outweigh the risks, nothing will hold her back.
Luckily, that time won’t come to pass, because I’m here. I’d never approve of her snatching innocents off the street and sticking her metaphoric fingers in their skulls. Before, it was the interrogators and the threat of being hunted that stayed her hand. Now, she has no reason to fear them, but she is restrained by the possibility of my displeasure.
It’s amusing—and heartening—to realize I’m having a positive influence on someone in the clan.
I think?
