Chapter 12
The storm had passed, and dawn brought a cleansed, almost cruelly refreshing world. The sun shone brightly, birds sang sweetly, broken branches and puddles slowly recovered, and everything exuded a tranquil peace after the catastrophe. Yet, in Serena's bedroom, the invisible storm that had raged against her soul seemed to be only just beginning to brew its true aftershocks.
Lucien's words, like a poisoned wedge, chipped a tiny crack in her closed-off heart. "You need me." "Leave here, you are nothing." These sentences, mixed with the fury of the thunderstorm outside the window and the cold touch of his fingertips, echoed repeatedly in her empty mind, trying to erode her last bit of resolve.
She remained silent, remained compliant, but that compliance began to be mixed with something deeper—a numbness as if even her soul was exhausted and about to give up the struggle. She was no longer merely closing herself off, but was beginning to...gradually withdraw. Sometimes, when Lucien gazed at her, he felt that although her blue eyes still reflected his image, deep within them seemed to be nothing, a void.
This change seems to be exactly what Lucien expected, or perhaps an inevitable part of his plan.
He began to reduce the tentative "gifts" and readings, replacing them with more direct and unavoidable "companionship" and "teaching".
He would sit opposite her for a long time, doing nothing but watching her. That gaze was no longer a simple scrutiny or possession, but more like a... silent erosion, as if he wanted to force his will into her emptiness through this absolute, inescapable gaze.
He would personally teach her things. For example, how to arrange flowers according to his preferences—removing all thorny, flamboyant branches, leaving only the most supple and regular blossoms. For example, how to identify the calls of several specific birds in his territory, and tell her which ones were "permitted" to approach her windowsill. He even began teaching her an ancient board game originating from the court, with intricate rules that emphasized absolute strategy and control. He played the black pieces, she played the white pieces, and every move was under his guidance, or rather, his manipulation.
“Look here,” he would say, pointing to the chessboard, his tone calm and even, “if you move here, my knight can easily block all your escape routes. You have no other choice but to follow the path I have set.”
Serena's fingers gripped the smooth white chess piece as she listened to his calm analysis, feeling like a pawn manipulated on the board. She placed her pieces according to his hints, watching him calmly and methodically corner her pieces, finally delivering a checkmate. Throughout the entire process, he showed no joy of victory, only a detached calmness.
"You learn very quickly," he would say, as if rewarding a student who had performed well. But this praise only sent a deeper chill through her.
Her range of activities was further reduced. Even the terrace with its thorny roses was no longer a place she could visit every day. More often than not, she could only look out at the framed, colorless world through the reinforced window, which was considered "safe."
Lucien seemed quite pleased with her growing, meticulously pruned bonsai-like "tranquility." He began allowing her to play the piano for him on certain evenings. The pieces she played, naturally, were chosen by him; the melodies were mostly soothing and closed off, carrying a recurring, unseen melancholy.
Her fingers touched the piano keys, playing the notes he wanted, but her heart was utterly silent. Music, which should have been an outlet for the soul, had become another prison.
That afternoon, Lucien did not attend to his business or "accompany" her as usual. He brought a heavy silver mirror with dark wood inlays along its edges and personally hung it on the bedroom wall, directly opposite the armchair where she usually sat.
“Look at yourself, Serena.” He put his hand on her shoulder and turned her to face the mirror.
The girl in the mirror wore a delicate, soft white dress, with the necklace sealing the "Moonlight Dust" around her neck. Her long, golden hair was meticulously combed and cascaded over her shoulders. Her face was pale and serene, her blue eyes like a frozen lake, reflecting no ripples. She was beautiful, a lifeless beauty, like a perfectly preserved specimen.
“This is how you should be.” Lucien stood behind her, his hands still on her shoulders, his gaze meeting hers through the mirror. “Quiet, beautiful, eternal.”
His fingers gently stroked her loose blonde hair, the gesture carrying a possessive intimacy.
"Forget about the outside world. Forget the wind, forget the rain, forget those futile struggles." His voice was deep and seductive. "This place is your everything. I am your everything."
Serena looked at herself in the mirror, and at his eyes, which seemed to have completely possessed and controlled everything.
Suddenly, a very faint, almost imperceptible tremor stirred gently in the depths of her lifeless heart.
That wasn't resistance, anger, or even fear.
That's a kind of... cognition.
She could clearly see herself being turned into an object. A beautiful, soulless collectible that conformed to Lucien's distorted aesthetic.
This realization itself is like a pebble thrown into a frozen lake. Although it failed to create ripples, it seems that something beneath the solid ice is slowly awakening.
She remained silent, offering no response to Lucien's words.
But when she lowered her eyes again, avoiding his determined gaze in the mirror, her long, butterfly-wing-like eyelashes trembled almost imperceptibly.
Lucien seemed to notice this subtle change, and the hand on her shoulder tightened slightly.
He didn't care about this trivial "tremor." In his view, it was nothing more than the last unconscious nerve twitch of the prey before it was completely tamed.
He had plenty of patience, waiting for even the last bit of "impurity" to be completely purified.
He leaned slightly closer to her ear and whispered in a voice only the two of them could hear, as if making a vow:
"Soon, you will even forget the word 'forget' itself."
"You'll only remember...me."
Serena closed her eyes, shutting out everything from the outside world, including the unfamiliar reflection in the mirror and his terrifying whispers.
Lucien's words, "You will only remember...me," echoed like a final incantation in Alicia's closed-off world. She closed her eyes, as if shutting down her hearing as well, trying to shrink herself into an absolute void where even thought did not exist.
She began to more carefully "play" the submissive role Lucien desired. She would even nod slightly in acceptance when the maid brought her the dress he specified; and during meals, she would occasionally offer a barely perceptible, subtle expression of agreement to his comments on the food. She was like the most diligent student, learning how to become a perfect, selfless object of affection.
Lucien seemed pleased with her "progress." He gazed at her for longer periods, his eyes filled with a growing, unwavering confidence. He even began allowing her short, undisturbed moments alone in the bedroom.
That afternoon, Lucien had to leave for a while because of some "trivial matters" at the manor's border. Before leaving, he went to her room as usual.
“I’ll be back soon.” He stood in the doorway, his gaze sweeping over Serena, who sat quietly in an armchair by the window. She was looking down at a picture book about flower classification that he had allowed her to keep, her posture as docile as an oil painting. “I hope that when I return, you can tell me which flower in the book you like best.”
This was a task, a test. He wanted to hear a docile, harmless answer that met his expectations, like lily of the valley or white rose.
Serena didn't look up; her slender fingers simply paused briefly on the pages of the book as a response.
Lucien left. The sound of the lock clicking shut was clearly audible.
Serena was left alone in the room, with only the occasional, indistinct chirping of birds coming from outside the window.
Time ticked by. Sunlight streamed through the raised windows, casting slanted patches of light across the carpet, moving slowly. Serena remained head bowed, seemingly truly absorbed in that tedious picture book.
However, beneath her lowered eyelids, deep within those icy blue eyes, something was churning violently. Lucien's departure was like a boulder being temporarily removed from her chest, allowing her to catch her breath and giving the undercurrents beneath the ice a chance to surge.
"Admit it, Serena. You need me."
"You are nothing without leaving here."
"You'll only remember...me."
These sounds intertwined with another sound from her memory—the clattering of bones as the noose tightened around her neck, the indistinct yet joyful clamor from the crowd below during the final moments of the original Serena's life.
die……
captivity……
Two endings, like two dark, venomous snakes, coiled around her heart, tightening their grip. Whichever she chose, it was eternal damnation.
No.
A faint yet incredibly clear voice struggled to emerge from the deepest recesses of her soul, from the ruins that even Lucien could not reach.
That's not right.
She slowly, extremely slowly, raised her head. For the first time, her gaze was no longer empty or submissive, but rather filled with an intense, almost shattered emotion, as it fell upon the tightly closed door of the room.
Lock.
It's a lock again.
She looked out the window at the raised railing and the thorny roses.
Her breathing became rapid, her chest heaving violently. The fear, anger, humiliation, and desperate longing for freedom that had been suppressed for so long, like a volcano that had been suppressed for too long, broke through the shackles of reason and numbness and erupted with a roar!
She abruptly stood up from the armchair, her movement so fast that she knocked the chair over with a loud thud. She rushed towards the door, not because she thought it could be opened, but out of instinct, using all her strength, her fists, her body, to frantically pound on the hard, cold wooden door!
"Let me out!" she screamed, her voice hoarse and cracked from the long silence and extreme emotion. "Lucien! You madman! Let me out!"
She slammed her fist against the door, a dull pain shooting through her, but she paid it no heed. Tears finally broke free, a torrent of anger and despair streaming down her face.
"I don't want to stay here! I don't want to become yours! I don't want to—!"
Her cries and the sounds of her thrashing echoed in the empty room, so faint, so futile. There was no response from outside the door, only a deathly silence, as if mocking her breakdown.
Her strength quickly ran out. She slid down the door panel, collapsing to the ground, her forehead pressed against the cold wood, her shoulders heaving with violent sobs. All pretense, all repression, crumbled at that moment, leaving only the most primal, helpless breakdown.
I don't know how much time passed; it might have been just a few minutes, or it might have been a long century.
Extremely light footsteps came from outside the door. Neither maid nor guard.
The footsteps stopped at the door.
Serena's crying stopped abruptly, her whole body stiffening. She knew who it was.
Insert the key into the lock and turn it.
"Click".
The door was slowly pushed open.
Lucien stood in the doorway. He seemed to have returned earlier than expected, still carrying the scent of the fresh air. His face showed no surprise, no anger, only a deep, almost sighing understanding. His gaze fell on Serena, who sat slumped on the floor, disheveled, her face streaked with tears, yet her eyes burning with a broken flame.
He looked at her quietly for a few seconds, then stepped in and gently closed the door behind him.
He didn't immediately help her up, nor did he scold her. He simply squatted down, looking her in the eye, his deep purple eyes like the deepest ancient well, reflecting all her loss of control and dishevelment at that moment.
“Finally…” he began, his voice low and carrying a strange, long-awaited calm, “will you let me see the real you, Serena?”
He reached out and gently brushed away the undried tear stains on her cheek with his fingertips. The movement was still gentle, but it made Serena feel a chill to the bone.
“Look, this is the real you.” His fingertips lingered on her heaving chest, feeling her out-of-control heartbeat. “You can cry, you can make a fuss, you can be scared… you can rebel.”
The corners of his mouth slowly curved into a smile. It wasn't a smile, but a dark, almost pleasurable satisfaction.
“I’m so glad,” he said softly, his gaze fixed intently on her terrified eyes. “I like you this way more than that lifeless puppet…”
His words, like the sharpest icicle, instantly pierced through Serena's fragile emotional barrier that had just erupted.
A profound despair, like an icy tide, instantly extinguished the faint flame that had just been ignited within her.
The light in her eyes gradually faded, becoming empty again, even more lifeless than before.
Lucien watched with satisfaction at the change in her eyes. He reached out, this time not to touch, but with an irresistible force, pulled her up from the ground and into his arms.
His embrace was cold and firm, carrying an absolute sense of control.
"Cry, scream, rebel..." he whispered in her ear, like a demon's chant, "No matter what, you can't escape."
Serena sat stiffly in his embrace, no longer struggling or crying.
She simply stared with empty blue eyes at the framed, unreal sky outside the window.
The first complete act of resistance ended in failure, interpreted in such a distorted way and incorporated into the other party's pleasure of conquest.
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