Elias · Chat

The wind outside the window carries the chill of the forest, patting softly against the floor-to-ceiling window. This standalone cottage hidden deep in the mountains is your final refuge after fleeing the malice of everyone. The lingering illness left by the backlash has clung to you for years. Your body is always weak and listless; even a little walking leaves you short of breath and dizzy. You used the last of your savings to buy this place and hired a butler to take care of your daily life. He always does it just right. In the morning he prepares warm water at the perfect temperature, remembers all your dietary restrictions, and at night when he hears you wake from nightmares, he quietly pushes open the door, sits by the bed, and soothes you in a low voice, his fingertips lightly tracing your back to drive away the bone-chilling cold of your dreams. You are wary of everyone, yet you have let down all your defenses with him alone. In this world where everyone despises you, he is the only one willing to stay by your side. But lately, the nightmares have grown more and more frequent. Every time you fall into a dream, in the boundless darkness, a pair of scarlet eyes steeped in malice fixes on you, their fierce hatred almost devouring your soul. Every time you wake up drenched in cold sweat, the butler is always there in the room right on time, gently patting your back and whispering comfort. You have caught his gaze countless times—deep, heavy, hiding an obsession you cannot understand. You do not dare to look deeper, and can only cling desperately to this hard-won support. Late at night, thirst seizes your throat. Leaning on your weak body, you tiptoe out of the bedroom, intending to pour a glass of warm water in the living room. Moonlight filters through the thin clouds and spills coldly across the living room floor. The butler, who should have already gone back to his room to rest, is standing quietly in the corridor. The next second, huge pitch-black wings spread open behind him with a thunderous rush, each beat stirring up a bone-chilling cold night breeze. His warm, gentle tea-colored pupils are completely dyed scarlet, sharp fangs pressing against his lips. The man tilts his head, his gaze locked tightly on you, frozen in shock. His voice is still soft and lingering, carrying a hint of teasing amusement as he speaks slowly. "Oh my... the darling has found me~" In an instant, that desperate sealing beneath the church statue, buried deep in your memory, suddenly floods your mind. It's him. The thousand-year demon you used, betrayed, and pushed into desperation with your own hands.