Act XII: The Destruction of Sodom (Part 1)
one
"I'm getting married again." The bloodstains on Anbicia's lips were as vivid as rouge. "Are you coming to Constantinople for the wedding?"
“I can’t leave, my daughter,” Camilla said, her eyes crinkling with a smile. Her skin, teeth, and eyelashes were all white, making her look like an unfinished plaster statue. “With Yubi here, how can I leave?” she said.
Ambikia glanced at her mother's face with her upturned eyes. "With him here, you won't bother me and Inart anymore," she said, half teasing and half relieved. "That's a good thing."
“Oh! You are still my dear daughter!” Camilla suddenly frowned coquettishly. “Are you jealous that I have him, so you no longer love you or Inard?”
The room was dark and cold. Camilla rose from her seat, wanting to kiss the bride's forehead and lips, but unwilling to smudge her exquisite makeup or disturb her heavy, gold- and jewel-encrusted hair, she only made the motions. Ambicea pursed her lips, maturely accepting her mother's unbridled speculation and increasingly intimate advances, without breaking the rare, tender atmosphere of "reunion" in the room. "I didn't mean it that way." She pushed Camilla away, raising her glass to cover her mouth—a set of twelve gifts she had brought back from Lombardy to Transylvania, each piece made of exquisite glass with gold trim. "I'm back to talk to you about Inard." She stared seriously at Camilla's face. "Do you know where he is?"
“When he left, he said he was going to Buda and Pest, to the King’s inner court.” Camilla lowered her gaze.
“He’s not there. I went to look for him. The Hungarian King’s inner court is in chaos, don’t you know?”
"I never care about things that are useless."
Anbichia shut his mouth in dissatisfaction, swallowing back an unpleasant remark.
“I haven’t found either him or his blood slave.” She put down her cup. “Now that things have come to this, you shouldn’t hide anything from me anymore.”
“I didn’t hide anything from you, my dear daughter,” Camilla said with a tearful smile. “How could you doubt your mother?”
“But I have good reason to doubt. I know what you’re worried about; I know you too well.”
“But I also know what you’re all worried about. I’ve raised each and every one of you since you were little.” Camilla sat upright, like a deity, like a mentor. “You always fail to see the true nature of life, always throwing yourselves into endless struggles, making yourselves suffer in a cycle. Young people are always like this, they don’t listen to the words of their elders.”
Young man? Ambicia found the title both amusing and exasperating. She could barely remember how many years she had lived, yet in her mother's eyes, she was still considered young. How long had Camilla lived? She pondered this unanswerable question, silently praying that she would never one day become like this decaying, old woman.
She kept staring into her mother's eyes, saying nothing, only letting out a soft chuckle, as if condemning her hypocrisy.
"...Why won't you all stay by my side?" Camilla seemed to be hurt by her indifference, and murmured to herself in sorrow, "I only wish that you, all of you, could be happy, I only ask that you each have your own peace...but none of you are willing to do so."
"It wasn't like this before. When my love was still being carefully considered before being given, you were all obedient and peaceful, living as if in a utopia; but the moment I was moved, the moment I gave, the moment I made a sacrifice, you all seemed to change, each chasing after something intangible and invisible, determined to leave me and abandon me..."
She started again. Ambicia knew what her mother meant by "happiness" and "peace." To her, the peace her mother craved was death itself—to make her live without any ambition or desire was no different from locking her in a tomb—Inard must have felt the same way, which was why he ran away. Seeing her mother in this frenzied state, a nauseating pity and anger surged up uncontrollably, washing away the girl's composed facade like a tidal wave, revealing disgust and contempt on her face—but Ambicia remained too lazy to utter a word, simply waiting quietly and motionless for her mother to finish her outburst, huddled in her chair like ice. She thought her face must be more terrifyingly stiff than a Venetian mask now.
“Until Yubi came along…” Her mother pretended to cry for a while, then laughed, “He’s different from all of you. He’s the only one who knows how to be considerate and how to love.”
“That’s because he’s still young and doesn’t understand anything.” Anbichia frowned slightly. “When he grows up, he will disappoint you just the same.”
“I just said you were jealous, and you’re right.” Camilla suddenly seized on her weakness, “Look, you’re not satisfied until you drag Yubi down with you guys, and you can’t stand me saying a good word about him.”
Ambicia shut her mouth again. She deeply regretted arguing with her mother, feeling like a complete fool who had taken a chance.
“Since you won’t tell me where Inard is, I have nothing more to say.” She rose from her seat, pulling up her wide sleeve embroidered with gold thread. “I’m leaving now.”
“But Yubi wants to see you!” Camilla stopped her, a warm, spring-like smile on her face. “Your brother is eavesdropping at the door. It’s one thing if he’s afraid of Inart, but don’t let him be afraid of you too.”
Ambicia reluctantly sat back down. She understood that these words were an admonition to stop being so condescending and to be more approachable to her younger brother—but she simply couldn't do it. She hated children. They reminded her of her own weak, helpless, and foolish childhood—but she still tried to soften her expression and not be as domineering as usual.
Her gaze drifted toward the door. Ever since they entered, the young, mortal-like child had been standing there, chattering noisily with the blood slave about childish topics. Camilla opened the door herself. Like a spring breeze and the sun pouring in, warm air and bright candlelight poured out from the crack in the door, enveloping her.
“…I’m sorry, Mom.” Her dark-haired boy stared at her blankly from behind the door. “I shouldn’t have eavesdropped…Please don’t punish Christina.”
Camilla stepped forward with pity and affection, and welcomed the youngest child into her arms.
Ambicia gazed at their strikingly similar faces, silently calculating Yubi's age: her younger brother would be celebrating his seventh birthday this winter. The child was so small he barely reached his mother's chest, like a doll, easily lifted up—he wore the ruby ring on his hand, his warm breath escaping his lips, yet he shivered with cold in his mother's arms. Even so, his hands clung tightly to Camilla's bodice, refusing to let go.
“You haven’t seen your sister in a long time.” Camilla showed him no expression other than a smile. “Do you still remember Ambikia?”
How could a baby possibly remember anyone? Ambicia had no expectations for his answer. She thought it would be a miracle if the child didn't say anything offensive.
Those red eyes looked exceptionally large and bright on the child's face. Yubi stared at her heavily made-up face with curiosity and trepidation. "...I don't remember." He said, "But she was so beautiful, even more beautiful than in the paintings."
“This is your sister, your family.” Camilla sat back down and placed Yubi on her lap. “She’s just like you and me.”
"Is it the same as Inard?"
"That's right."
Anbichia secretly breathed a sigh of relief. "My dear brother," she forced a smile, "I brought you a birthday present."
"Really!" Yubi's anticipation was written all over her face. "What is it?"
“I have brought you the best Greek teacher and a hundred Greek books.” Ambicia called a slave in from outside the door. “You will need them if you go to Constantinople someday.”
She watched with amusement as the child's expression suddenly turned distressed, and he clung to his mother, pleading with his eyes. "What a wonderful gift, Yubi," Camilla said, amused by his adorable reaction. "From today onwards, you'll have Greek lessons again."
“But I already have to learn Latin, German, French, and Spanish!” Yubi hugged her mother’s neck and buried her face in her breast. “I’m so tired!”
“With each language you learn, you gain a deeper understanding of the thoughts of the people who speak it, learn about the stories that unfold in that place, and grasp the truths of how the world works.” Camilla stroked his soft, velvety black hair. “Language is important, my dear. Language is like a bridge. If people cannot communicate with each other, the world becomes an island, and people no longer see each other as human beings, but rather as inhuman beasts.”
“But there are so many languages in the world, how can I possibly learn them all!” Yubi complained.
“Okay, of course I know you’ve been studying hard.” Camilla sat down and hugged him. “What do you want? Since you’ve added another course, I’ll make it up to you.”
“You’re so good, Mom!” Yubi’s red eyes finally lit up. “Anything is fine as long as I’m willing to learn?”
"Anything is fine."
The child's eyes darted around, then he pouted and thought for a moment. "I want to nurse," he whispered. "Is that okay?"
Ambichia furrowed her thin eyebrows as if pricked by a needle.
“Alright, little one.” Camilla casually unbuttoned her clothes in front of everyone, revealing her cold, corpse-like breasts. “But you’ll have to learn to drink other people’s blood, to eat from their necks or wrists. You’re too big for that now, you can’t breastfeed anymore, this is the last time.”
“I know.” Yubi buried her face in that soft nest and opened her mouth to suckle. “From now on, I will obediently drink other people’s blood… even if it’s not as good as milk.”
His last words were mumbled, but soothed by his mother's hand, he quieted down as if drifting into a dream. Camilla touched the child's finger, skillfully peeled off the ruby-encrusted ring, and put it on her own finger.
Ambikia stared at the almost gruesome scene, watching her young brother plunge his fangs deep into her mother's fragile skin, yet her mother showed no sign of pain. She rarely saw Camilla's blood flow so freely, but now, it was clear that a child could easily harm this powerful vampire—if Ambikia truly felt any ethics or morality, any compassion or pity, the answer would undoubtedly be no. Yet, she still felt uneasy, as if sand were in her eyes, as if she had tasted something utterly unpalatable, as if she had been thrown into a dangerous prison. She couldn't look away, only clenching her hands, watching Camilla's happy and loving expression—like a statue of the Virgin Mary in a church, as if bloodshed and sacrifice were something to be worshipped.
“He’s almost seven years old,” Ambichia couldn’t help but comment. “A seven-year-old shouldn’t always want to nurse.”
“I know, I know.” Camilla’s perfunctory reply was tinged with delight, as if being teased like this was an honor for her. “He will have countless years to come… Seven years old is still very young. He is different from others.”
These words stung Ambichia once again. The bride couldn't understand. Was she envying someone? The hardships of motherhood and the fragility of childhood—did she want to take on one of them, to become either great or naive? Or was she filled with apprehension and fear for this terrible and foolish situation, afraid that one day she would end up like that?
Camilla gently patted Yubi's back, her fleshy arms transforming into an unbreakable, warm cradle, rocking him gently. The cold child in her arms was quickly soothed, his sucking intensifying—suddenly, a sharp little thing mixed with blood rolled off her crotch. Yubi jolted awake, struggling to sit up from his mother's embrace.
"What's wrong?" Camilla asked, looking down with pity.
Yubi didn't say anything. He frantically touched his mother's clothes, and soon burst into tears.
“My little darling, what’s wrong?” Camilla cupped his face and lifted him up to look at him. But as soon as she looked up, Yubi pursed his lips tightly, refusing to open them for her to see. “What are you looking for?”
Ambikia slowly rose. She circled Camilla's immobile body, bent down, and picked up the strange object from her mother's skirt to examine it—a small, brittle fang, stained with blood. Upon seeing it, Yubi could no longer suppress his lip. He opened his mouth wide and howled, a notch clearly visible on his pink gums.
"...My teeth are gone! Mom!" His snot and tears streamed down his face, staining it bright red. "I can't nurse anymore, and I can't drink blood anymore!"
Camilla pinched his chin and peered into his mouth. Her dark, sharp nails probed inside, touching and wiggling each of his tiny, gleaming teeth. Clearly, not just that one sharp one, but all of Yubi's teeth dangled precariously from it, as if the child had been hiding this for a long time. She then pressed her fingertip against the notch—something new and hard was growing inside, pushing aside the fragile, soft old thing.
"Oh! That's normal!" Camilla exclaimed with delight. "My darling, you're getting a new tooth!"
"New teeth?"
"Yes. Every child grows new teeth and replaces their old ones when they reach your age."
“But I’m different from other children.” Yubi couldn’t believe it. “Is this true?”
“Really. Every child is like that.” Camilla kissed his messy lips and cheeks hard. “New teeth are stronger and sharper than old teeth.”
"Then can I still drink blood?"
"Of course."
"What about breastfeeding?"
"If you want to."
"...Will that hurt you more?" Yubi looked at her timidly. "The new teeth are sharper, and the bite wounds will be deeper... I will never drink milk again, Mommy."
Camilla blinked in surprise, tears welling up in her eyes again. This time, the clear liquid finally slid down her cheeks. Not wanting Yubi to see this, she simply hugged him tightly, holding the fragile, soft child firmly in her arms. Her pale lips pressed against Yubi's neck, kissing him, inhaling his innocent, kind scent—and then firmly pushed the ring back onto the child's finger.
"Don't kiss me, Mom, don't cry." Yubi blushed and pushed her away. "I get itchy when you kiss me."
Ambikia handed the small tooth to her mother's blood slave. This rare treasure attracted everyone to crowd around and admire it, passing it from hand to hand before finally being carefully placed into a beautiful little box for safekeeping.
The bride had returned to the retinue of servants outside the gate, ordering slaves to put woolen gloves on her hands, apply rouge to her cheeks, cover her head with a large umbrella, and sprinkle perfume along the way. Dawn was approaching, and she would step into a new battlefield, arming herself with victory and ambition, savoring the thrill of control—that was what she knew, not the bitter, slow-flowing weakness of this place. She scoffed at it; something far grander and more magnificent belonged to her.
Ambicia secretly resolved, "I should never come back. I should never see Camilla again. Every time I see her, it makes me feel terrible. Why bother thinking about her? Why care about someone who tortures me?"
“Seleman,” she called to someone, “let’s go now.”
Seleman simply nodded, offering no further questions. The blood slave helped her into the swirling snow of the night. She sat in a sturdy and magnificent carriage—its curtains inlaid with bluish-purple, its roof adorned with golden sculptures. The servants from the south exclaimed with joy, grateful for the gift of homecoming. All of them would now share in the imperial favor, even though their mistress was about to marry only a collateral branch of the Komnenos; this was enough to fill them with pride and allow them to flaunt their glory wherever they went.
Ambikia overheard the mortals' conversation. She thought, this is just another cycle of pleasure, until the game becomes boring and tedious, and she can't be bothered to keep winning: only, the beginning is always the most exciting and anticipated. But the real game seems endless; when will it ever end?
She suddenly felt a terrible weariness, as if she understood her mother's irrational and crazy words—weariness terrified her. Weariness was proof of weakness, how could she be tired?
Ambikia lifted the curtain and summoned Seleman.
"Do you like Constantinople?" she asked casually.
Sylman was clearly momentarily taken aback by his master's question. "...No one dislikes Constantinople," the Blood Slave said, head bowed. "You will gain the greatest power and pleasure there, and all your servants would be happy to see that."
“I’m asking you, asking yourself what you think,” Ambicea asked again, “Do you like Constantinople?”
Seymman looked up, his dark face showing obvious alarm. "But you're not doing this for my own pleasure, but for your own pleasure. My joy is tied to you, master." He stared presumptuously at his master's face.
Ambikia was stunned, then regretted it and burst into unrestrained laughter, as if she had just watched an extremely foolish puppet show.
“You’re right.” She lowered the curtain, bored, thus blocking the blood slave’s face from view. “Let’s go.”
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
