[Location: Morningstar Manor, New York]
By the ti dinner rolled around, Gabriel and Selene had settled down—mostly.
Which, in this house, ant:
Selene wasn’t trying to film Gabriel doing chores anymore.
Gabriel had stopped accidentally sanctifying random objects.
Zeraphira hadn’t threatened murder in the last four minutes.
...Progress.
I shifted Grayfia slightly in my arms as I entered the dining hall.
She was awake now.
But quiet.
Too quiet.
Her silver lashes fluttered, her expression composed, serene—yet sohow stiff.
Not cold. Not hostile.
Just... wrong.
Grayfia Lucifuge was a terrifyingly powerful demoness, the Silver-Haired Queen of Annihilation, the most disciplined maid in existence.
"Fia... are you feeling... okay?" I don’t know what to ask, seeing her like this.
"...Mm."
She hud, but her hold on my sleeve tightened—barely, but enough for to notice.
Grayfia never fidgeted.
Grayfia never hesitated.
Grayfia never gripped.
Sothing was off.
Before I could ask again, she lowered her gaze, her voice soft, controlled... and completely unreadable.
"Master... I-I’m glad to... see you again... at that ti I was... afraid... that I wouldn’t be able to reach you."
Her whisper was so faint it almost dissolved into the air.
I paused.
Grayfia Lucifuge did not stumble over her words. She did not hesitate. She did not sound unsure.
Ever.
Yet now—her voice trembled, barely holding shape, as if each syllable was fighting to escape her throat.
Her fingers curled a little tighter around my sleeve.
"Fia..." I murmured.
Her silver eyes flickered up—just for a mont—before lowering again, lashes trembling like frost-laced feathers.
"I... failed you," she whispered.
My breath hitched.
"What?"
Her voice wasn’t cold.
It wasn’t stoic.
It wasn’t controlled.
It was raw.
The raw that sounded like she had spent the last thousand years holding those words together with threads of sheer discipline, and now—finally—those threads snapped.
"Grayfia," I said softly, shifting to turn toward her fully, "Fia, look at ."
She didn’t.
Instead, the grip on my sleeve tightened again—tighter than before, tight enough that the fabric creaked.
"Master," she whispered, "please... do not look at right now."
"...Why?"
Her shoulders trembled.
Just slightly.
Just once.
But it was enough.
Grayfia Lucifuge—who faced armies with a calm expression, who annihilated scouts without blinking—was shaking.
"I..." she took a steadying breath, "...I am... ashad."
My heart lurched.
Of all the emotions I expected from her—anger, fear, exhaustion—sha was the last.
"GRAYFIA LUCIFUGE!"
My voice louder than intended
Grayfia flinched.
Actually flinched.
Her shoulders jerked, her breath hitched, and for the first ti since I’d known her—since I’d beco Dominic—she looked like soone had struck her.
Slowly... painfully... she lifted her eyes.
And the mont her gaze t mine—
—I imdiately regretted raising my voice.
Because those silver eyes weren’t cold. They weren’t strong. They weren’t guarded.
They were broken.
Like a crystal that had been cracked a thousand tis but forced to maintain its shape through sheer will.
"Master..." she whispered, voice trembling so softly it barely existed. "...please do not scold ."
My chest tightened.
"Fia," I said, much quieter this ti, "I’m not scolding you."
Her eyes lowered again.
"...You shouted."
"That—! That was shocking! Not anger!"
"...Mm."
Another barely audible hum.
Except this one wasn’t her usual composed agreent.
This one was small.
Almost frightened.
Gabriel, who had been silently nibbling on bread like a polite celestial mouse, froze mid-bite. Selene paused with her chopsticks halfway to her mouth. Zeraphira’s eyes narrowed, her senses honing instantly on Grayfia’s shift.
But no one spoke.
The whole dining hall waited.
Grayfia took another shaky breath, as if she was forcing her voice to work.
"...Master. I... failed you."
"You didn’t—"
"I did."Her voice cut off.
But not sharply.
It was a desperate, fragile interruption. Like she was terrified that if she didn’t speak now, her courage would crumble.
Her fingers tightened around my sleeve again—no, not just tightened.
They were clinging.
"I thought... I could fight all of them at the sa ti... thought after a millennium of no major conflict... they would be..."
Her voice cracked.
"—weaker."
My breath stilled.
"Wrath even achieved Sin Trigger Form," she whispered, each word trembling as if her throat was refusing to release them, "and I am sure the others must have... must have reached similar heights."
A shudder ran through her shoulders.
Not fear.
Not exhaustion.
Self-hatred.
"I should have anticipated it," she continued, her voice barely holding together, "I should have accounted for it. I should have been stronger. I should have—"
"Grayfia."
She froze.
Because I didn’t raise my voice.
I didn’t sound shocked.
I didn’t sound frustrated.
I sounded... steady.
And it made her breath hitch again.
Slowly, painfully, she lowered her hands from my sleeve—almost like she thought she no longer had the right to hold it.
But I caught her wrist before she could pull away entirely.
Her head jerked slightly, silver eyes widening one fraction—but not looking up.
Not daring to.
"Fia," I said quietly, "tell what happened."
For a mont, she said nothing.
Just silence.
Silence so thick it pressed against the walls.
Then—
"...I wasn’t enough."
My grip tightened.
"I even used House Morningstar’s Execution Act Arts, but... it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t take even a single one of them with ."
Her words hit the air like a blade dipped in ice.
...Execution Act Arts?
What?
My face must’ve twisted in genuine confusion because Grayfia’s trembling stopped for a second—just a second—as if she sensed the shift in my expression.
But she didn’t look up.
She couldn’t.
Her voice fell to a whisper."...Master...?"
I blinked, mind racing.
Execution Act Arts.House Morningstar.OG Dominic’s mories.
There was nothing about that.
Not a scrap. Not a hint. Not even a passing ntion.
"Ah! You weren’t inford about them, as it is sothing Queen Lilith herself implented long before your birth. And you were only nine when you were... sealed."
Grayfia’s voice thinned to a whisper again, as if the explanation itself pained her.
"I... was not permitted to teach them to you back then. Her Majesty intended to instruct you personally when you ca of age." Her breath trembled. "But she entered Demon Sleep before she had the chance."
The room fell into a heavy stillness.
Even Selene—eternal gremlin, chaos incarnate—went silent.
Zeraphira’s expression tightened, her eyes sharpening with rare seriousness.
Gabriel stopped chewing entirely, her wings folding closer in concern.
And Grayfia... Grayfia seed to crumble further with every passing second.
She clutched her hands together in her lap—so tightly her knuckles turned pale. Her head remained bowed, silver hair cascading down like a curtain, hiding her expression.
"The Execution Act Arts..." she continued softly, "...are the Morningstar Clan’s ultimate killing system. Techniques were passed only from monarch to heir. Each one is crafted to end a Sin-class demon in a single strike."
A small, broken laugh escaped her.
Except it wasn’t a laugh.
It was a sound people made when they were too tired to cry.
"I used all two Acts I was permitted to learn."Her voice grew smaller."And I still failed."
My heartbeat thudded painfully.
Not because she said she failed.
But because of the way she said it.
As if failure wasn’t the result—it was a cri.
"Fia..." I murmured.
She shook her head instantly, almost violently.
"No. Please... do not comfort ."Her voice shook."I do not deserve it."
"FIA! You’re my woman. If you dismiss yourself again, I will... I will—"
My voice cracked.
Not in anger.
In sheer, helpless frustration.
Because I didn’t know what to threaten her with.
What punishnt could possibly exist for a woman who had already torn herself apart a thousand tis before the world ever got the chance?
Grayfia froze, breath catching like a string pulled taut.
Slowly—agonizingly slowly—her trembling lashes lifted.
"...Master...?"
Her voice was so quiet, so fragile, it barely felt like Grayfia at all.
I tightened my grip on her wrist—not enough to hurt, but enough to anchor her.
"Listen to ," I said, leaning closer, my voice firm but low. "You. Did. Not. Fail. ."
Her lips parted.
I didn’t let her speak.
"Do you hear , Grayfia?" I continued, each word deliberate, heavy, absolute. "If you say that again... if you ever tell you’re ashad of protecting —after everything you’ve done for a thousand years—then I’m the one who should be ashad."
Her fingers twitched.
Her eyes widened by a fraction.
But she still looked like soone told her the sky was green.
Because Grayfia Lucifuge... didn’t know how to accept being defended.
She only knew how to serve.
How to protect.
How to take bla.
How to break herself quietly so I didn’t have to break at all.
I exhaled softly.
"Fia," I said, "look at . Please."
Her lips trembled.
She didn’t move.
Not until I gently brushed my thumb against her wrist.
Only then did she finally—slowly—lift her gaze fully to mine.
And it hit .
Hard.
Those silver eyes... weren’t simply broken.
They were terrified.
Terrified that I’d be disappointed.
Terrified, I’d reject her.
Terrified that after 1,022 years of unshakable loyalty... one loss ant she no longer deserved to stand beside .
It made sothing inside my chest twist painfully.
"Fia," I murmured softer, leaning closer, "you fought Wrath, whatever Sin Trigger form is, fought seven satan at the sa ti.
And you ca back alive."
Her voice trembled.
"...Barely."
"And you still ca back to ," I said. "You didn’t fail anything."
Her breath hitched.
A small, broken sound escaped her throat—so soft I almost missed it.
"...Master..."
I reached out with my other hand and lifted her chin—carefully, gently, as if she’d shatter if I applied too much pressure.
"Look at ."
She did.
Her breathing was shaky.
Her eyes shimring with sothing dangerously close to emotion, she never allowed herself to feel.
"You didn’t fail," I repeated firmly. "You survived sothing impossible. You protected . You ca ho."
The last two words made her eyes widen again.
Ho.
That single word nearly broke her.
Her fingers trembled against my sleeve again, clutching the fabric weakly—no, desperately.
"...Master... I... I wished to be by your side," she whispered, "even if my body failed... even if my mana ran dry... even if I—"
I didn’t let her finish.
As my lips pressed against hers before she could finish that sentence—That awful, self-damning sentence I refused to let her speak into existence.
Grayfia froze.
Not in shock.
Not in fear.
In sothing far more devastating.
Her breath hitched sharply against my mouth, her entire body going rigid in my arms like she had been struck by divine lightning. For a heartbeat, she didn’t move—didn’t breathe—didn’t exist.
Then—
Her fingers spasd.
Her lips parted—just barely.
Not in rejection.
But in disbelief.
As if her mind hadn’t caught up to reality yet, as if she could not fathom that this was happening, that I had initiated it.
It was a soft kiss.
Not lustful.
Not frenzied.
A grounding one.
A desperate one.
A kiss that said everything she refused to believe:
You did not fail.
You ca ho. You are mine.
I’m not letting go.
When I pulled back—only a fraction, only enough for breath—her silver eyes were trembling like fragile moonlight.
Not wide with shock.
Not clouded with fear.
But trembling.
Trembling with a storm of emotions she never allowed herself to feel.
Her lips parted again—this ti to say sothing—but her voice caught, and no sound ca out.
"Fia," I whispered, brushing my forehead against hers, "don’t ever say you failed ."
Her breath shuddered out in a warm, uneven exhale against my lips.
"...M-Master..." she breathed, softer than silk, thinner than mist.
But I didn’t let her look away.
"I love you, you hear ."
Her breath stopped.
Completely.
As if the entire world froze with her.
Her silver eyes widened—not dramatically, not theatrically—just enough for the pupils to tremble, just enough for the light to fracture inside them, just enough for to feel it.
Like she’d been struck in the soul.
Like my words were sothing she had never, not even once, allowed herself to imagine she could receive.
Not from .
Not from anyone.
"...M–Master...?" she whispered, voice barely shaped, barely sound.
I didn’t pull away.
I didn’t give her space to retreat back into discipline or duty or self-punishing thoughts.
My hands remained right where they were—one still holding her wrist, anchoring her, the other cradling her jaw with calm, steady warmth.
"I said," I murmured, lowering my forehead to hers again, "I love you."
Her lips parted once more—but nothing ca out this ti either.
Her breath trembled, her shoulders shook—just slightly, just enough for to feel her struggling to hold herself together.
This was Grayfia Lucifuge:
The Silver-Haired Queen of Annihilation.
A woman who slaughtered legions with ice so cold it erased sound.
A demoness feared by the Sins themselves.
A maid whose discipline was myth, whose loyalty was legend.
And right now—
She was shaking like a terrified girl who didn’t know how to receive love.
"...I... I..." she tried again, voice breaking softly, "I-I do not... deserve—"
I pressed a finger gently to her lips.
"No," I whispered, "you don’t get to say that."
Her breath hitched.
"You don’t decide what you deserve," I murmured, "I do."
Her eyes widened a fraction more.
"And I say you deserve love. Mine."
Silence.
Silence heavy enough to swallow even mana.
Then—
The smallest, quietest, most heartbreakingly fragile sound escaped her throat.
A soft, trembling exhale that wasn’t a cry...
...but the beginning of one.
Her hands lifted—hesitant, trembling like she feared she’d be swatted away—and then slowly closed around the front of my shirt.
Not in desperation.
Not in lust.
In sothing much deeper.
Sothing that had been buried under duty and discipline and loyalty for a thousand years.
Sothing she had never let herself have.
"...Master," she whispered, voice breaking entirely now, "if you... say those words... I will not be able to stop myself."
My heart skipped.
"...Stop yourself from what?" I asked gently.
Her fingers curled tighter.
Her lashes lowered, trembling.
"From loving you... more than I already do."
Her voice cracked.
"...From loving you to the point where I no longer rember how to breathe unless you tell to."
A sharp inhale left my chest.
Grayfia’s voice continued, barely able to hold itself together.
"...If you say such things, Master... then I... I will not be able to remain simply your maid."
I cupped her cheek.
"Good," I breathed.
She froze.
Absolutely froze.
Her lips trembled.
"M-Master...?"
"I don’t want you to remain just my maid."
Her breath stopped again.
"Fia," I whispered, my thumb brushing softly along her cheek, "I love you. Not your loyalty. Not your discipline. Not your title."
I leaned closer—close enough that our breaths mingled again.
"I love you."
Her eyes shone—the faintest, shimring tremor of tears she refused to release.
"...M-Master... Dominic..." she whispered, voice cracking, "if you say my na like that—"
I kissed her again.
This ti slower.
Deeper.
Her fingers tightened in my shirt, but not out of desperation...
...out of surrender.
A surrender she never allowed herself.
A surrender she didn’t know how to give—
—but was giving now.
When we finally pulled apart—barely—her forehead rested against mine, her breath warm and unsteady.
"...Dominic..." she whispered again, softer than moonlight, "...I-I... I love you."
The words were small.
Shaking.
Tender.
Terrified.
Real.
And nothing in any realm—not Hell, not Heaven, not Earth—felt as powerful as hearing her say them.
I pulled her closer, letting her settle against , her trembling finally easing as she hid her face against my neck.
Gabriel quietly covered her mouth with both hands, wings fluttering in soft joy.
Selene squealed like she was witnessing a confession scene in an ani.
Zeraphira... looked away, jaw tight, eyes shadowed with sothing heavy and quiet—but she didn’t interrupt.
And in that mont, with Grayfia trembling in my arms as if she’d finally been allowed to feel sothing forbidden for a thousand years...
...I held her closer.
"Fia," I whispered into her hair, "you’re ho."
Her breath broke.
And for the first ti since I’d woken up in this body—
Grayfia Lucifuge cried.
Softly.
Silently.
Into my shoulder.
Finally letting herself love.
Finally letting herself be loved.
Finally letting herself break in a way that healed instead of shad.
I wrapped my arms around her—
—and held her until the trembling stopped.
***
Sorry, I know it’s too much of a slice of life content. But worry not, fighting is not far wink* wink*
Stone , I can take it!
Leave a review, seriously, it helps.
Comnts are almost nonexistent. Which, in turn, demotivates the authors. Please have so compassion.
Reviews
All reviews (0)