“Who’s come in? Isn’t my chamber supposed to be perfectly safe? Why can anyone just walk in?”
It’s still daytime, barely past two in the afternoon, and by all rights the castle should hold no danger at this hour.
“Aiya, my dear brother, whatever has frightened you so? Look at you, all pale and trembling.”
The voice is sweet, tinged with youthful charm—his beloved little sister, Eve. If only her care weren’t driven by something more carnal, she would be perfection itself.
Harlotte doesn’t know what Eve intends by appearing in his room now, but whatever her purpose, he has no strength left to resist. Even if she meant to strike him to his knees or force him to perform the Star’s Wrath, he could not lift a finger in defiance.
He wills his eyes open and sees the direction of her footsteps. In that instant his pupils shrink in terror. This is not his sweet, white-silken twin-tail sister. Before him stands a monster: its flesh rotting, crimson tentacles writhing from every wound, blood steadily dripping from its deformed body.
It’s all an illusion, he tells himself, forcing his lips to part. Through clenched teeth he croaks a few words.
“Eve … fetch my sister.”
In his current state, the only person he trusts to help is his elder sister. Last night, he must have already slipped into temporary madness without these symptoms—his sister must have suppressed them.
“Ah, that old woman again? Brother, you know I’m far younger and fairer—why do you pester that crone?”
“I know you feel unwell. Sleep now, and you’ll feel better when you wake.”
Eve makes no move to fetch their sister. Instead she glides to his side.
“My dear brother, why not lean on me more? What she can do, I can do too. You belong to me alone …”
“Harlotte is mine and mine alone …”
He hears no more. The moment his sister steps close, an irresistible drowsiness sweeps over him. He drifts into sleep, feeling something soft settle across his body.
He cannot tell how long he sleeps. When he rouses, bloodshot rings still swirl in his vision, but the madness has been stilled. The pounding in his head remains, but the hallucinations and phantom sounds have vanished.
“Sister loves you—so long as you do not become her possession.”
Those words from Mother’s note flood his mind. So the first to come to his aid in his greatest danger was his sister?
“Brother, you’re awake? See, my embrace is hardly inferior to Sister’s.”
At her voice he realizes he still holds in his arms a petite, fair-featured maiden.
He lost track of time, but evidently held her as long as he slept. Truly, his dear little sister is the pinnacle of beauty among humans. By the laws of their world, sleeping in her arms greatly aids in restoring one’s reason.
“Mm.”
Harlotte nods and swings himself to a sitting position, then goes to the dressing mirror in his chamber.
He must see whether his mind still teeters on madness. If it does, he must act quickly while he is clear. He hopes he did not slumber too long—if the full moon has risen, he is doomed.
His mirror is modest in size, used by the head maid to arrange his attire.
Facing it, he beholds his own pale, handsome features—but those eyes, enmeshed in red veins, give the illusion of crimson irises.
What truly chills him is the strange calm mingled with madness in his gaze. His mind is far from tranquil, yet his eyes betray eerie composure. The contradiction makes him feel as though those eyes belong to someone else.
As he studies himself, Eve slips behind him. She wraps slender arms about his waist and inhales deeply. Her rosy lips brush his neck in a kiss, but he feels the press of sharp fangs above his carotid, poised to bite.
Yet she does not sink them in. Instead her soft tongue lightly laps the skin, like a kitten at play.
Harlotte senses the danger—his sister nearly cannot resist feasting upon him.
Perhaps it is love alone that restrains her from striking.
“Eve, do you know where Mother’s room is? I wish to see it.”
He must use this moment of clarity to explore Mother’s chamber for clues. Others may not know its location, but his sisters surely will. If Eve claims ignorance, he must ask their elder sister instead—after all, Eve is younger by the castle’s reckoning.
“Mother’s room? It’s right across from yours. Just go around the corridor and you’ll find it.”
Eve answers without hesitation. It is an open secret in the castle—and not only to him. Even the senior maids know, for in Mother’s day the fortress felt far safer and gentler.
To ordinary servants and guards, the castle then bore far fewer arcane rules.
Harlotte then asks what time it is. Eve tells him he has slept the entire afternoon—it is already dinner time.
He exhales in relief. At least he has not slept into the next day.