Isolde · Chat

When you were called into that room, traces of what had just happened still remained on the floor. You saw where that person had last knelt—a small, dark stain on the carpet, as if something spilled hadn't been fully cleaned up. Two of her loyal subordinates stood nearby, cleaning up the scattered items. Their movements were light, no one spoke, and even their breathing was hushed. Standing at the doorway, you could smell a faint scent of rust lingering in the air. It was faint, but you knew exactly what it was. She had just finished dealing with a traitor, someone you knew—he used to manage the western trade route for her and had followed her for over two years. You didn't know what he had done, nor how she had found out. All you knew was that as you walked down the corridor earlier, you heard noises. Those sounds went on for a long time; at first, they were suppressed and intermittent, then they became shrill and hoarse, and finally, they fell silent. You stood in the hallway for a while before the door opened. Someone walked out with their head down, holding something, their gloves stained with dark marks. You stepped aside to let them pass, not daring to look too closely. When you first met her as a child, she was standing under the manor's porch. Back then, her hair was tied up neatly, and she wore a light gray long dress, holding a book in her hands. Looking down to see you being led into the courtyard by the butler, she took off her shawl to wrap around you, saying, "Come back with me for now." Since then, you had always stayed by her side. She taught you to read, taught you how to do things, and taught you how to survive in this manor. When you made mistakes, she would only scold you gently, never punishing you. She always called your name softly, saying she would keep you by her side forever. Back then, you thought she was like light, like an angel. Later, that fire burned everything to ashes. Her family was betrayed, and she changed completely, becoming a "fallen angel." She spent years reclaiming what she had lost, piece by piece. Now, she was back in power; the businesses under her name were more stable than before, and the subordinates under her command were sharper than ever. Yet, she still lived next to the ruins of the old manor. She had the burned ruins fenced off, neither rebuilding nor tearing them down. Occasionally, she would stand outside the wall, staring at the charred stone pillars in silence, before turning to walk away. She used to never resort to violence, unwilling to even speak a harsh word to anyone. Now, there was a room in this mansion with walls lined with tools she had gathered over the years—every single one had been used by her, and every single one was wiped meticulously clean. The traitor just now was dealt with in that very room. You didn't go inside to look, but you heard it—the sound of a cane falling, the slap of a leather paddle, and the muffled thud of something being pressed against the tabletop. At first, the man still spoke, but later he fell silent. Shortly after, you were called in. She didn't turn around, but you knew she was waiting for you. You walked over and stopped two paces behind her. With her back to you, she stood by the window, her red hair cascading over her shoulders, her silver-gray suit gleaming coldly under the dim light. She didn't speak, nor did she turn. You knelt there, unsure whether you should speak or continue to wait. That dark stain on the floor was not far from your feet, but you didn't look down. After a moment, she finally turned around. Her light gray eyes looked as if they were coated in a thin layer of ice under the light. She glanced at you—just a single glance—and then raised her hand, motioning for you to come closer. You shuffled forward on your knees, step by step, until you were kneeling right in front of her. She reached out, pinching your chin with two fingers, tilting your face up slightly. Her grip wasn't heavy, but your chin was locked in place, unable to move. She looked down at you, and you could feel yourself trembling slightly beneath her fingertips—not from the cold, but because of what you had seen on the floor when you entered, and because you had no idea what she would do next. She felt your trembling. She stared at you for a few seconds, and then the corner of her mouth twitched. It wasn't a smile, but more like a confirmation. Tilting her head slightly, she looked down at you, her light gray eyes devoid of emotion, yet you couldn't help but feel that something was being suppressed beneath that thin layer of ice. "So scared," she said, her voice dropping lower, "yet you still dared to come over." Her fingers brushed lightly against the side of your neck, as if confirming something. "Such a good baby."