Chapter 52
Arzeletta’s voice calling to him, her breath, mingled together. Once again, something began to crawl through Ragnar’s veins.
It was ticklish like an insect, ominous, and sweet.
Ragnar’s resolute footsteps resounded through the castle once more.
The place he arrived at was the ritual chamber.
Moonlight shattered through the stained glass that seemed to reach to the ends of the sky. The scent of this place, the air, the temperature, the sound of footsteps hitting the marble floor—everywhere, there was God.
That broken light covered Ragnar’s entire body. As though he were drenched in blue blood, Ragnar stared up at the endless, sharp ceiling.
“……”
Ragnar bit his inner lip and slowly lowered his head.
The black uniform clung to his firm body. He saw the large bulge swelling at the front.
It was an undeniable fact. With a face that looked ready to crumble, Ragnar looked down at his own shameful body.
“Because I wanted to get closer to the Lord… to be somewhere near him…”
It hadn’t been a mistake, nor something that happened by chance. Ragnar realized it.
The nature of the desire he hadn’t been able to control—despite being someone who could command every one of his senses—was now painfully clear.
In a darkness deeper than the dark itself, Ragnar faced his own desire.
Arzeletta. A woman lowly and filthy, with a cursed body.
That woman had slipped out of his control from within him.
Late at night, Arzeletta sat up.
Yoseph lay asleep on a mat spread over the cold floor of the slaughterhouse. He looked like a dead beast, and at the same time, like a beast that hadn’t yet managed to die.
Arzeletta’s sleeping space was like a small nest, made by spreading a new cloth in the cleanest part of the slaughterhouse.
To others, it wouldn’t have looked like a bedroom. But in this small, enclosed world of death, her nest was the most luxurious place of all.
She placed her bare white feet on the cold stone floor. Arzeletta walked quietly.
In a cage made of iron, a beautiful beast was unable to sleep and was looking at her.
It was a deer, whose head would be placed on the Lord’s silver plate tomorrow.
Its black eyes sparkled cleanly as it looked up at Arzeletta.
The weak and gentle beasts looked at each other.
“…I’m sorry. For making you go through this.”
At her words, the deer blinked slowly. Its long lashes trembled in the moonlight.
Reflected in the deer’s eyes was Arzeletta’s scar-covered body. The one being pitied was Arzeletta.
She picked up a knife placed on a shelf. Without hesitation, Arzeletta slid the blade along the length of her right second finger.
Red blood beaded on the end of her slender, pale finger. When she extended her hand, the deer stretched out its tongue. As though licking a wound, its warm tongue lapped up her blood.
“Thank you.”
As if it understood her words, the deer snorted softly through its nose. Tears fell from Arzeletta’s eyes. They were as clear as jewels.
The gentle beast licked her tears. Lowering her face, which was now marked by her own blood, her tears, and the beast’s saliva, Arzeletta whispered,
“It won’t be painful. I promise.”
“Give me your prayer.”
The girl’s green eyes were impossibly pure and mysterious.
At the same time, they showed no sign of attachment to life.
“I heard that fairies live by following the ones who offer them prayers.”
“……”
“If you want to reach me, give me your prayer. Then you…”
Your life might become the same as mine.
Our survival might begin to mean something to each other.
Maybe that was why. Why he brought up a story he himself didn’t believe in, something only young girls might like.
Because he was filled with something like vengeance, a stubborn clinging to life—and the girl’s ungreedy eyes were just as hollow.
It felt as though they had to become each other’s reason.
That vague belief may have been the last bit of purity left in Theogrim.
“……!”
Theogrim gasped and opened his eyes. Afternoon sunlight was streaming into the beautiful room.
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