CLICK.
A stir in the windless air.
The surface of the lake rippled, ever so faintly.
Deep within the weeping willow’s shadow, the air shimred like water. A slender, delicate figure quietly solidified from nothingness and stepped forth.
A few rays of moonlight filtered through the branches, perfectly outlining the newcor’s silhouette.
She was a young girl, appearing no older than fifteen or sixteen. Her fra was slender, and she wore a deep purple, off-the-shoulder velvet gown whose hem flowed like the night, gathering at her ankles.
Her thick, waterfall-like black hair had not been deliberately styled, spilling naturally over her shoulders and back. A few strands, carried by the night breeze, gently brushed against her smooth shoulders and neck.
Her features were so exquisite as to be almost dreamlike. Her skin, under the moonlight, possessed the cold, white luster of porcelain. Her eyes were especially striking—as black as ink, currently reflecting Murphy’s placid profile. A complex light swirled within them, a mixture of adoration, obsessive attachnt, and a strange, feverish excitent.
Her face bore a strong resemblance to Eleanor’s, particularly her eyes and the contours of her face.
But compared to Eleanor’s innocence, sothing far more intense, more mature, and more dangerous burned in the depths of this girl’s eyes.
This was none other than Duke Teris, the Enchanting Witch, Margaret Leonice Teris Purple Eagle.
Or rather, it was the Magic Puppet she had left behind before her departure to maintain the territory’s operations—the Lord Duke who now governed the Teris Territory in the eyes of the world.
"Master..." the girl’s voice sounded. Like her appearance, it held a girlish crispness, yet it was blended with a deliberately drawn-out, cloyingly sweet and lingering tone. "...Finally, I can look at you this closely again. The nights in the South are always a bit longer than in the Northern Lands, and a bit lonelier, too."
Murphy didn’t turn around, nor did he acknowledge Margaret’s nonsense about southern nights being longer than northern ones. His gaze remained fixed on the bottomless lake, his voice flat and calm. "You’ve grown quite proficient at using this vessel."
"Because I thought Master might like it," Margaret said, gently drifting half a step forward. Her skirt remained still as she arrived just behind and to the side of Murphy’s wheelchair. Leaning down slightly, a lock of her hair, carrying a faint, cool floral scent, nearly brushed against his shoulder. "After all, when it was first created, it was modeled after the appearance most likely to move your heart..."
"Get to the point," Murphy interrupted her aningless words, his tone unwavering.
Margaret pouted. The expression held a hint of girlish charm, but the eerie glint deep in her eyes did not diminish in the slightest.
She straightened up, her gaze falling on Murphy’s blanket-covered legs. Her voice softened. "How could Maggie not put her heart into the tasks Master assigns?"
For the first ten years, this puppet had indeed been nothing more than an inanimate object with basic intelligence, handling administrative affairs according to preset programs.
But starting about two years ago, Margaret’s true consciousness began to cross the barriers of the Half-Plane, intermittently possessing this puppet and bringing it to "life."
However, this connection seed unstable, flickering on and off.
"The connection between the Albion Islands and the Wizard forces behind them, as well as the Enclosure Movent... is Master satisfied with this intelligence?" Margaret tilted her head, a flash of cunning in her dark eyes. "If not for my tily reminder, Master might have just dismissed it as ordinary technological proliferation, wouldn’t you?"
"The intelligence ca from the Eye of the Profound," Murphy stated, still not looking at her.
"The Eye of the Profound?" Margaret chuckled. The laugh was like a Silver Bell, yet it sounded ethereal and eerie in the night. "Oh, Master, my dear Master... The Eye of the Profound is certainly an intelligence network the Inheritance Sect has run for many years. But without , the great Enchanting Witch, would those secretive fellows really hand over such core intelligence so easily to an outsider?"
She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping lower, laced with a bewitching intimacy. "It was I, using the authority of the Enchanting Witch, who made them deliver it to Monte Castle. In the end, it was my gift to you, Master."
"So proud?" Murphy finally turned his head slightly and glanced at her, his expression deep and unreadable.
"Maggie would never dare to be proud in front of Master." Margaret imdiately softened her voice, but the slight upturn of her lips betrayed a hint of genuine smugness. "I just hope Master knows that Maggie is always doing her best, even from so far away... I want to ease your burdens."
Murphy watched her in silence for a few seconds.
Then, he spoke. His voice wasn’t loud, but it carried an undeniable authority:
"Kneel."
The air seed to freeze for a mont.
The smile on Margaret’s face, the cunning and smugness in her eyes, all froze instantly before receding like a tide.
Without a hint of hesitation, and with an almost eager submissiveness, she gathered her skirt, walked in front of Murphy, and her knees gave way as she knelt on the cold stone ground before his wheelchair.
Her deep purple velvet dress spread out like a strange flower blooming in the night.
She tilted her head up, her dark eyes fixed on Murphy without blinking, filled now with nothing but pure desire.
She even crawled forward two steps, until she could touch the edge of his wheelchair.
Then, she reached out a trembling hand. Her fingertips gently caressed the part of his legs covered by the fleece blanket, her movents cautious and filled with an emotion akin to heartache.
"Master..." Her voice was choked with emotion. "Your legs... do they hurt terribly? Should I... take a look? Or, let ..."
"They’re fine," Murphy cut her off. "Back to business. Did the developnt of the Deep Red Wilderness really attract people from the New Realm?"
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