Chapter 50
Chapter 50
I looked around. Shattered fragments littered the room, a chaotic and disorderly scene. I shook my head sharply. This wouldn’t do.
This wasn’t a place fit for Cesar. This dangerous, sharp-edged chaos wasn’t right for him. He deserved warmth, light, a proper human life. And so, I reminded myself, almost as if trying to convince my own heart, that all of this was necessary for Cesar, for his ultimate well-being.
He couldn’t remain cloistered in this small room forever. This was a rite of passage, a necessary step toward his happiness.
Steeling my resolve, I slowly spoke. “Are you… startled?”
A whimper, barely a sound, escaped him, and he flinched. “It’s alright,” I reassured him, my voice slow, gentle, yet firm.
I then began to put my long-held plan into action, carefully retrieving the hidden object I’d brought with me. “Cesar. Come here.”
A breeze stirred the curtains, allowing a shaft of sunlight to illuminate the space, catching the colorful jewels embedded in the object I held—the dagger Giovinetta had given me. Cesar winced as the silver light flickered across his eyes, sensitive even to this small brightness.
A thumping sound began—not drums, but the frantic beat of my own heart, pounding against my ribs, sending blood rushing through my veins. It echoed in my ears, so loud I felt it might burst from my chest.
“I’ve… been thinking,” I said, taking a slow, deep breath, and then began to lift my skirt. My hands trembled so violently I almost dropped the dagger. But this, too, had to be done.
A low groan escaped Cesar, and he finally looked up. I had no time to examine his expression; my own situation was too precarious. My gaze remained fixed on a single point. “There’s no time. Not now, not…”
I started counting down in my head, slowly twisting open the dagger’s sheath. Though ornamental in appearance, its edge had been honed to a razor sharpness. The cold gleam of the blade felt as though it could slice through my heart. Fear choked me, and I swallowed hard.
Ten, nine, eight, seven… The numbers dwindled. I clenched my jaw, determined to stifle any sound. I never thought I’d do something so horrific with my own hand. But it had to be done.
Four, three, two, one.
A cry escaped my lips. The dagger clattered to the floor. A hot, sharp pain tore through my calf. The sound made Cesar’s head snap up, but I couldn’t spare him a glance. I bit my hand, stifling another moan.
Slowly, Cesar crawled towards me, on all fours as he had when we first met. His movements were slow, deliberate, driven by a single, desperate need. Crimson blood flowed down my leg, from calf to ankle.
I had agonized over where to cut myself. My hands were already scarred; I could hide new wounds with gloves, but eventually, they would be discovered. My leg, then, was the only option—my damaged leg. This useless limb, for once, offered an advantage.
A fall could explain away any injury. A limping woman falling and hurting her leg wasn’t unusual. I lived with a constant dull ache in my leg anyway, so any display of pain wouldn’t seem out of place.
I hadn’t worn stockings today, anticipating this moment. But the throbbing, burning sensation spreading through my calf pushed all other thoughts aside.
“Hurry,” I whispered, lifting my skirt higher as Cesar drew near. It began without hesitation. I squeezed my eyes shut.
The first sensation was the prick of fangs. I had anticipated Cesar’s hunger, having withheld blood for several days. Pain made my shoulders heave.
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