Chapter 11
Since that drastically different nightmare, Serena felt as if a part of her had truly died. Not the death of her body, but the very spirit that sustained her struggle and resistance, which had been completely ripped away in that dream by Lucien's cold yet fanatical declaration. If the recurring nightmares of hanging were punishment for the past, then this new dream of eternal imprisonment was a bloody rehearsal for the future.
She became unusually quiet.
She no longer tried to communicate with the servants Lucien had placed around her, no longer showed any interest in the affairs of the manor, and even stopped going to the window to look out at the "Moondust" hillside she had poured her heart and soul into. Like a puppet, she ate mechanically, washed mechanically, and most of the time simply sat silently by the fireplace in her bedroom, hugging her knees, staring blankly at the leaping flames, as if her free will, long since turned to ashes, was burning within them.
Lucien took in all the changes in her.
He showed neither satisfaction nor displeasure. He simply appeared in her room more frequently, intruding into every detail of her life with an air of undeniable authority.
He would personally come to "keep" her company at dinner. The conversation at the table started with tentative recollections, but later turned into a one-sided whisper about the external situation and his own ambitions. He told her how the old emperor's illness had worsened, how certain noble families were secretly taking sides, and how he was gradually weaving his own network of power in the Southern Territory. It was as if he were confiding in a tree hollow that would never reveal any secrets, or as if he were showcasing the value of his most precious possession.
Serena never responded, only lowered her head and ate her food in small bites, finding it tasteless.
He would come in in the afternoon, perhaps with a book of poetry or some insignificant business report, then sit in the chair opposite her and begin to read. His voice was deep and melodious, with a strange rhythm, as he read passages praising freedom, love, or depicting vast landscapes. This almost cruel irony made Serena's fingers clench slightly, but she remained silent.
He even started interfering with her clothing choices.
“This color is too dark; it doesn’t suit you,” he would comment, then instruct the maid to bring out the expensive, exquisitely designed dresses he had prepared beforehand, mostly in soft, light colors—white, pale gold, lavender purple… as if to transform her into a pure, flawless porcelain doll in need of meticulous care. Serena obediently changed into them, like a soulless clothes hanger.
What terrifies her most is the night.
He no longer simply locked her in the room. Sometimes, in her half-awake state, she would feel the door gently pushed open, and a familiar figure would silently appear beside her bed. He wouldn't touch her, but simply stand there, gazing at her quietly. She could feel those two tangible gazes, like cold spider silk, binding her sleep and seeping into her dreams. Sometimes, she would wake up in extreme unease, sitting bolt upright, only to find the room empty, with only the cold moonlight outside the window and his icy presence seemingly still lingering in the air.
She couldn't tell whether it was reality or the beginning of another nightmare.
This pervasive, psychological erosion and control was more devastating to her than any physical torture. She felt herself being hollowed out bit by bit; her personality, preferences, even her fears and anger as "Serena" were being slowly and resolutely erased and reshaped. What he wanted was a "Serena" who perfectly suited his desires, quietly staying in the cage he had created, belonging only to him.
That evening, Lucien came in again. He seemed to be in a good mood today, carrying a long, narrow box wrapped in velvet.
“Look what I brought you, Serena.” He opened the box in front of her.
Inside was a necklace. The chain was woven from extremely fine silver wire, exquisitely crafted. And the pendant was none other than a silver-green "moonlight dust" leaf perfectly encased in a transparent crystal! The leaf was exceptionally well-preserved; even the fine veins were clearly visible, and it gleamed with a faint, familiar yet eerie luster under the indoor light.
Serena's pupils contracted sharply.
Lucien picked up the necklace and walked behind her. Serena stiffened, but did not resist. She felt his cool fingertips brush aside the hair at the back of her neck, felt the necklace with the "Moonlight Dust" pendant gently fall between her collarbones, the crystal against her skin, the touch as cold as a snake.
He fastened her clasp, but didn't immediately remove his hands. Instead, he gently placed them on her shoulders, leaned down, and whispered in her ear, his warm breath caressing her earlobe:
“Look how well it suits you.” His voice carried a twisted sense of satisfaction.
He pressed down on her shoulder with his fingers, forcing her to lift her head and look at the ornate silver mirror on the dressing table opposite her.
In the mirror, a pale, beautiful girl with vacant eyes like a doll was reflected. She wore an exquisite white dress, and around her neck was a necklace inlaid with the symbol of her life's work. Behind her stood Lucien, handsome as a god, yet with eyes as deep as a demon's. He slightly curled the corners of his lips, his posture intimate and possessive, as if displaying his most prized possession.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Lucien gazed at her in the mirror, and at himself, his tone calm and resolute. “This is how you should be, Serena. Quietly, stay by my side.”
Serena looked at her reflection in the mirror, at a version of herself she could hardly recognize, and at Lucien's undisguised desire for control. A chill ran through her from her heart to every part of her body.
She slowly closed her eyes, no longer looking at the despairing reflection.
Lucien looked at her closed eyelids and slightly trembling eyelashes, and the corners of his mouth deepened slightly. He didn't care whether she was being compliant or protesting silently. He had plenty of time to slowly smooth out all her rough edges, until she became completely his, inside and out.
The process itself brought him an unparalleled, dark pleasure.
He gently patted her shoulder, like a master comforting a pet.
The necklace inlaid with "moonlight dust" became the most ornate shackle around Serena's neck. The cold crystal pendant clung to her skin, a constant reminder of her lost freedom and hope. She no longer tried to remove it, just as she no longer tried to resist everything Lucien had arranged for her. She silently wore the clothes he chose, silently ate the meals he prescribed, and silently lived in the increasingly narrow world he had drawn for her.
Her bedroom became the master of her entire world. Occasionally, she would be allowed a brief respite on the small terrace adjacent to her bedroom, "accompanied" by two silent maids. The terrace had been renovated; the exquisite wrought iron railing had been raised and reinforced, and thorny rose vines climbed through the gaps—beautiful, yet insurmountable. Standing there, she could overlook the "Moonlight Dust" slope that had once belonged to her, watching it grow ever more lush under someone else's care, its silvery-green light shimmering in the sunlight, stinging her eyes.
Lucien's "taming" became more meticulous.
He began to scrutinize her reading. He removed all books that might spark "unnecessary fantasies"—travelogues, epics, even certain poems and novels imbued with a sense of free will. In their place were dry gardening manuals, gentle and harmless fairy tales, and… some classics about imperial history, especially those emphasizing loyalty and obedience. He seemed to want to reshape her mind in this subtle way, smoothing out the last remaining rough edges in her soul.
He even started to "regulate" her routine and expressions.
“You need to get plenty of rest at night; it’s good for your health,” he would say, personally supervising her to go to bed on time, even if she was wide awake.
"I don't like seeing you frown." He would gently smooth the furrow between her brows with his fingertips, his tone gentle yet carrying an undeniable command.
When she stares blankly into space for a long time, he will ask her to "look at me," and then gaze into her eyes for a long time, as if trying to force a sliver of gentle light, belonging only to him, into that blue silence.
Serena cooperated like a puppet. She neither cried, nor laughed, nor got angry, nor did she fight back. She sealed her heart in a depth that even she herself could hardly reach, leaving only an empty, submissive shell for Lucien. It was a passive resistance, the last insignificant part of herself she could protect.
However, Lucien was clearly not satisfied with this.
He began to bring her "gifts." Sometimes it was a string of fragrant pearls from the far East; sometimes it was a rare bird that could sing melodiously and was kept in a golden cage; sometimes it was even a beautiful piano piece he had composed himself, with a melodious tune but filled with endless loneliness. He would sit in front of the piano in the corner of her room, which he had moved there at some point, and play it for her.
These gifts, without exception, were all forms of beauty that were imprisoned and unable to act on its own. Just like the kind of beauty he wanted her to become.
At these moments, he would carefully observe her reaction, trying to catch the slightest fluctuation in her lifeless eyes—whether it be affection, disgust, or even fear. But Serena simply listened and watched quietly, then lowered her eyes, like a delicate, soulless receiver.
Her indifference seemed to subtly anger him, or perhaps it aroused his deeper desire for control.
That night, a rare storm struck the Southern Territory. The wind howled, whipping up large raindrops that pounded against the windows, while thunder roared overhead like the bellows of a giant beast. Lightning flashed repeatedly, tearing through the night, illuminating the room as if it were daytime, only to plunge it back into darkness in an instant.
Serena was awakened by the thunder. She sat up, clutching the covers, and in the fleeting flash of lightning, watched the wildly swaying shadows of the trees and the torrential rain outside the window. A long-forgotten fear of the forces of nature, mixed with a long-suppressed, secret yearning for wild freedom, quietly began to grow in her heart.
Just then, the bedroom door was pushed open.
Lucien entered. He didn't turn on the light, but walked step by step to her bedside, guided only by the occasional flashes of lightning that pierced the night sky. He was wearing a bathrobe, his dark hair slightly disheveled, as if he too had just woken up. His face was expressionless, but his deep purple eyes, illuminated by the lightning, shone with an astonishing brightness, churning with an indescribable emotion as intense as the storm raging outside the window.
He sat down on the edge of the bed, his gaze fixed intently on her.
"Are you scared?" he asked in a low voice, his voice muffled in the intervals between the thunderclaps.
Serena hugged her knees tightly and did not answer.
A blinding flash of lightning was followed almost simultaneously by a deafening clap of thunder! The entire room seemed to shake.
Serena instinctively flinched.
This subtle gesture seemed to please Lucien. The corners of his lips curled up very slightly.
Another flash of lightning illuminated the scene, and he reached out, not to touch her, but to point out the window at the raging, uncontrolled world.
“Look,” his voice carried a strange, almost seductive calm, “that’s how it is outside. Chaos, danger, full of unpredictable destruction. It can easily destroy everything you cherish, just like that hailstorm.”
He withdrew his fingers and gently touched her chest instead. Through the thin nightgown, he could feel her heartbeat quickening slightly.
“And here,” his fingertips lingered on her heart, his gaze fixed intently on her, “is the only safe place. Under my control, under my protection.”
His words, like venom, accompanied by the thunder and lightning outside the window, tried to penetrate her closed-off heart.
“Admit it, Serena.” He leaned closer, his breath brushing against her cheek. “You need me, you need my protection. Without me, you are nothing, you’ll just be torn apart by the storms outside.”
His voice was not loud, but it carried a resolute certainty, as if he were stating a universal truth.
Serena looked up and, in another flash of lightning, met his eyes, which were filled with obsession and possessiveness.
A profound sense of absurdity and fear gripped her. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
Lucien didn't seem to be in a hurry for an immediate answer. He looked at her intently, as if trying to imprint even the slightest hint of her wavering.
Then he stood up.
"Think it over carefully." He left those words behind and, just as he had come, silently disappeared into the darkness outside the door.
The door closed gently, the sound of the lock being swallowed up by another rumble of thunder.
Serena remained alone in bed, the storm raging outside the window, but the chill she felt came from within.
This silent confrontation on a stormy night was more terrifying than any direct violence. Serena curled up, burying her face in her knees, feeling as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice of utter collapse, with Lucien's cold hands behind her, neither allowing her to fall nor escape.
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