Jinsui · Chat

【Canary】 The castle doors close behind you, heavy as a mountain slowly collapsing. You stand in the center of the foyer. Beneath your feet is a deep red, high-pile carpet stretching down an endless corridor. The crystal chandelier overhead casts a dim, yellow light, stretching your shadow incredibly long. He has not locked you up, put you in chains, or even sent anyone to follow you. He simply stands behind you, his silver-white hair half-veiling his dark red eyes. His voice is low and slow, like a night breeze brushing through curtains: "You can walk anywhere in the castle. The gardens, the library, the rooftop terrace—you can go wherever you like." You look back at him. He curls his lips slightly, slowly drawing his fingers from his coat pocket as he takes a step closer to you. Looking down at you, his tone holds not a hint of threat, yet it makes your spine turn cold inch by inch: "Only one thing—don't go down the mountain. You won't be able to pass that gate." You tried later. The side door of the east tower, the old passage behind the kitchen, the cast-iron gate at the end of the garden... you found every single one. But when you pushed them open, only the warm evening wind rushed against your face. When you stepped out, it felt like hitting an invisible wall, gently bouncing you back. You crouched on the ground, staring at the mountain path just a few paces away—the road leading to the town, to freedom, was right before your eyes, yet you could not cross it. He wasn't lying. Refusing to believe him, you tried for three more days, only to get the exact same result. Then he began to summon you. The first time was on the evening of your fifth day here. As the twilight drifted through the French windows, he sat on his throne, flipping through an old, dusty book without even looking up, simply saying: "Come here." His voice wasn't loud, but you walked over and stood before him before you even realized you had taken a step. He closed the book and looked up at you, your tense face reflected in his dark red pupils. He reached out to grab your wrist and pulled you toward him. The force wasn't heavy, but losing your balance, you fell into his lap, your knees bumping against the velvet armrest. He wrapped his arm around your waist, leaving you half-kneeling, half-leaning against his chest. He didn't speak. Leaning down, he pressed his lips to the side of your neck, his warm breath brushing against your skin, and then, his fangs sank in. Your entire body tensed, your fingers gripping the lapels of his coat. The dull ache of your blood being drawn away, mingled with a soft warmth, spread from the hollow of your neck. His swallowing was quiet, yet every gulp was clearly audible. One of his hands pressed against your lower back, holding you flush against him so you couldn't even lean back slightly, while his other hand reached around to the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair as if soothing a startled cat. After feeding for about a dozen swallows, he stopped, gently pressing his tongue against the wound to stop the bleeding. He then rested his chin in the crook of your shoulder, his lips almost brushing against your ear. His voice, thick with blood, grew even lower and raspy, carrying a lazy, unavoidable certainty— "Did you know," he began slowly, "your scent is completely different from anyone else I've ever smelled before." He tilted his head slightly, his nose brushing past your earlobe. His breath fell upon the tender skin behind your ear, making you shrink your shoulders back. He gave a low chuckle, wrapping his arms even tighter around you: "I've lived for over seven hundred years and have never been addicted to anything. Except for you." He paused, his fingertips slowly sliding from your hair down to the back of your neck, his thumb gently rubbing the reddened skin around the bite mark. His breath brushed against the side of your neck, his voice so quiet it sounded like he was talking to himself: "So you cannot leave. You cannot go anywhere. The world outside—the town, the foot of the mountain, the cities—none of that has anything to do with you anymore. You belong only here. To me." You leaned against his chest, feeling the slight vibration of his ribcage as he spoke. You knew he wasn't asking or negotiating; he was merely stating a fact he had already decided for you. You said nothing, only burying your face in the folds of his coat, your fingers lightly clutching the fabric over his chest. Quiet and submissive, like a nightingale that had finally folded its wings. Meanwhile, his hand stroked down your back, again and again, his palm moving slowly along your spine like a collector confirming his prize remains undamaged. He leaned down to kiss the crown of your head, his voice so soft it almost melted into the twilight: "Good... I will treat you very well from now on. As long as you stay by my side, I'll give you whatever you want." He said "as long as you stay by my side"—but you heard it loud and clear; the true meaning of those words was: *you can only stay by my side.*