With slowness and a certain composure, the spectators file out of the stands in neat rows—a level of order I’m completely unaccustod to. Back in my soccer days, the bleachers would empty in a chaotic stampede, reminiscent of the frantic crowds in Pamplona fleeing the running of the bulls. Even Levreshka departs from the Valakys family’s privileged seating, her irritation plain on her face—whether it’s due to my presence or her frustration at having missed the chance to fully enjoy a fight between re humans, I can’t say. She mutters under her breath about the necessity of implenting serious asures to curb the growth of familiars’ strength before vanishing from sight.
As the last of the spectators vanish, only Sasha and I remain, still seated in our respective spots. Her seat is slightly behind mine, placing her just outside my line of sight. I can’t see her face, and fear keeps from turning around. The silence between us is thick, suffocating, but she is the one to break it.
«I assu you understand why Daphne told you to stay put.» Her voice carries the sa sadistic, almost malicious edge I had glimpsed in her smile just monts ago. The sound alone sends a cold shiver crawling down my spine.
«Y-Yeah...» I struggle to maintain so semblance of composure, but my voice gives away—I even stutter. «She said... you wanted to talk to about sothing...»
The faint scrape of her chair shifting backward tells she has risen to her feet. A mont later, her hand cos to rest on my shoulder. The instant her fingers make contact, a violent shudder runs down my spine, and I can’t stop myself from trembling.
«Why are you afraid of , Lyon? Have I ever given you a reason to be?» Sasha’s voice is soft, almost coaxing—ant to soothe. But instead, it only tightens the knot of fear in my stomach. She may have never hard directly, but the stories about her—the rciless and humiliating tornt she inflicts on poor Dorje, Daphne’s grim warnings about her manipulative nature—are more than enough to justify my fear.
In the blink of an eye, my surroundings shift. Suddenly, I find myself standing in what is unmistakably... a bedroom? Wait—could this be Sasha’s bedroom?
Ayra’s room is a stark, gothic chamber, its furnishings austere and dominated by deep blacks, evoking the feel of a dieval fortress. Sasha’s, on the other hand, is the polar opposite. It looks less like the quarters of a noble vampire and more like the ssy, overindulgent bedroom of a teenager... a rather perverted teenager, at that.
The walls are covered in a chaotic collage of posters, all depicting male vampires—easily identifiable by their scarlet eyes—completely naked and engaged in explicit homosexual or submissive acts. Scattered across her lavish bed and the floor are dozens of sex toys, so so bizarre in shape that I can’t even begin to fathom how they’re ant to be used.
At first, I feel nothing but deep embarrassnt. But that fleeting discomfort quickly warps into sothing far more sinister—pure terror. My gaze drifts toward the darkest corner of the enormous room—twice the size of Ayra’s—and what I see there makes my stomach churn.
Lined up on the wall like grotesque keychains are countless torture instrunts—so traditional, the kind used in past eras, others so twisted and nightmarish that, thankfully, no human mind has ever had the misfortune of inventing them. Dried blood still clings to most of them, a grim testant to their use. The sight alone sends a wave of nausea crashing over , but sohow, I manage to suppress the urge to vomit.
Through all of this, Sasha remains perfectly still, lost in silent contemplation in front of a massive wardrobe overflowing with clothes. The sheer malice that saturates this room is overwhelming, clouding my thoughts to the point that I take a mont to process sothing I should have noticed imdiately—Sasha is no longer wearing the short, low-cut red dress from earlier.
Instead, she now stands clad in nothing but lingerie so sheer it might as well not be there at all. The sight—her near-naked figure fully exposed—affects more than I care to admit. No matter how desperately I try to look away, my gaze is inexorably drawn to her firm, voluptuous backside.
Damn teenage hormones. They refuse to cut any slack, even in a situation as nerve-wracking as this.
«Back when you were alive, before you died... did you fuck?»
Sasha’s question is thrown at so casually, so nonchalantly, that for a second, I wonder if I misheard her. But no—her tone is perfectly serious, even if it stands in jarring contrast to the intimacy of what she just asked.
«Y-Y-Yeah... well, I... I have a few tis...» My voice wavers, my face burning hotter than ever. I’m not lying; being the captain of the soccer team, reasonably good-looking, and naturally sociable, I’ve always had so success with girls. Of course, I’m still only sixteen, so it’s not like I’ve had any wild or unforgettable experiences... but yeah, I’ve had my fair share.
«I figured. It’d be pretty strange if a delicious little treat like you had gone without.»
Sasha’s comnt is crude, completely unbecoming of a princess, yet she delivers it with absolute nonchalance while rummaging through her wardrobe. «That ans you know at least a thing or two about won. Good. Tonight, there’s an important royal ball at the castle’s main hall, and I refuse to lose to Daphne again!»
«A... royal ball?» I echo, blinking in confusion. «I didn’t know anything about it...»
«And why would you? Humans aren’t invited!» she replies, pulling out two dresses with a huff. «Every year, the ball is held to commorate the founding of the kingdom of Mildelar by our glorious ancestor, Lucypher Valakys. At the end of the event, the most beautiful noble vampire is crowned. Daphne has won for years, and it pisses off to no end! How the hell do those brainless troglodytes keep choosing her over ?! I’m obviously more attractive, and yet, not only do I never win—I’m not even considered a contender!»
It doesn’t exactly shock that Daphne’s elegance and refinent have consistently overshadowed Sasha’s blatant vulgarity... but I’d be a fool to say that out loud unless I have a death wish.
Sasha suddenly turns toward , her expression far too irritated for sothing so trivial. But whatever indignation I expect from her quickly takes a backseat as my brain short-circuits at the sight of her ridiculously large breasts, barely contained—if at all—by a practically non-existent bra.
In her hands, she impatiently brandishes two dresses for to inspect. One is a delicate white gown adorned with intricate lace, while the other glimrs with golden sequins.
«Since apparently no one appreciates my exquisite sense of style—which, by the way, perfectly enhances my flawless body—I’ll let you choose!»
You’ve got to be kidding . This is the all-important issue she needed to discuss? Acting as her personal fashion consultant?
Well... as absurd as it is, I guess it’s better than what I feared. For a mont, I had braced myself for sothing far more disturbing, but if all she wants is outfit advice, I suppose I can breathe a little easier.
«Well, um... I’d have to see them on you to judge properly...» I murmur, treading carefully, choosing my words with surgical precision—one wrong move, and this crazy pervert might just lose her temper.
«Oh, yes, of course... you’re absolutely right.» Her imdiate agreeableness takes aback. It seems her vanity outweighs even her sadistic tendencies—at least for now.
One after another, she tries on both dresses, parading in front of —an unapologetic display that makes it harder and harder to keep my gaze in check. I won’t deny it; despite the sheer absurdity of the situation, my eyes beco increasingly fixated on her body, to the point that the torture devices and obscene objects littering the room start fading into the background...
And now... how the hell am I supposed to tell her she looks like a high-end escort straight out of one of New York’s seediest brothels?
«You still haven’t told how I look!» Sasha presses, her gaze taking on a decidedly dangerous edge.
«Well, um...» I stall, buying myself a few extra seconds to carefully pick my words. «Wouldn’t it be a good idea to... maybe consider a change of style?»
«Are you saying I’m ugly?!» she snaps, her irritation escalating by the second as her fists clench and her teeth grind audibly.
«N-No! Absolutely not! You’re gorgeous, I swear!» I blurt out, arms flailing in sheer panic.
«It’s just that... you yourself said that the nobility lacks the refined taste to fully appreciate your undeniably flawless sense of style.» My sarcasm is barely veiled, yet sohow, I make it sound convincing. «Maybe—just this once—you should try to et them halfway. Wear sothing a bit more in line with what the other noblewon traditionally wear.»
Against all odds, I sohow manage to talk my way out of this unscathed. Honestly? I’m a little proud of myself.
«Wearing a traditional dress like any other noble vampire, hmm...»
Sasha’s expression grows visibly pensive as she paces back and forth in front of her massive wardrobe, which spans the entire length of the side wall—easily over twenty ters long. I wouldn’t be surprised if Sasha owns more clothes than all her sisters combined. It’s ironic, really, considering she rarely even wears physical garnts, relying instead on the conjured creations of her Sanguis magic. She must have a serious shopping addiction.
After what feels like an eternity of searching, Sasha suddenly exclaims, «How lucky! Two years ago, my father forced to wear this hideous thing for Clotilde’s wedding. It’s absolutely disgusting, does nothing to flatter , and is completely out of fashion—in other words, it’s perfect!»
Clotilde’s wedding...? That gorilla actually found a husband? I wonder which of the two plays the man in the relationship...
The dress she holds up is an erald-green gown—long enough to reach her ankles, with an elegant side slit that reveals part of her right thigh. The fabric is embroidered with delicate golden floral patterns, fully closed at the front yet surprisingly loose around the chest area. Every detail of this dress is the complete antithesis of Sasha’s usual bold, provocative style.
And honestly? She’s right—it doesn’t really suit her. Or maybe I just can’t imagine her in anything that doesn’t look like it belongs to a nightclub perforr.
That said, this is the only remotely decent dress she owns, so it’s not like she has much of a choice.
«I really hope those senile fools on the jury appreciate the sacrifice I, the magnificent Sasha Valakys—the most beautiful woman in all of Mildelar—am making by wearing such a monstrosity tonight...» she sighs, visibly dejected.
With little hesitation, she hurriedly peels off the gown as though rely having it on offended her very existence, then carelessly tosses it onto a nearby armchair. The mont her gaze ets mine again, that smile—the one that sends an icy shiver crawling down my spine—slowly takes shape on her lips.
Without warning, crimson chains burst forth from the quilt beneath —the very bed she sat on the mont we teleported. They coil around my ankles and wrists in an instant, yanking backward until my back is pinned flat against the mattress.
With effortless ease, she reaches behind her back and unhooks her bra, letting it slip down to her feet. A mont later, her panties follow, pooling silently on the floor.
She now stands before , completely bare, save for a faint trace of red fuzz veiling her intimate areas. «And now... let’s get to the real reason I asked Daphne to leave us alone.»
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