Chapter 13
Since that collapse of resistance was "accepted" by Lucien in a more chilling way, Serena fell into a deeper, almost nihilistic silence. Crying, anger, struggle… all these intense emotions seemed to have burned away with that futile outburst, leaving only a handful of cold, lifeless ashes. She no longer tried to express herself in any way; both submission and resistance had lost their meaning.
Lucien didn't seem in a hurry to see any new "progress." He treated her like a work of art that had just experienced a slight tremor and needed time to settle and stabilize, offering her an almost cruel "calm." He still appeared every day, accompanying her to meals, conducting his one-sided "teaching" and conversations, but no longer deliberately forcing her to respond. He simply existed, filling every corner of her world with his omnipresent gaze and absolute control, like air.
However, this calm did not last long.
Lucien began introducing a new "therapy." He claimed it was an ancient incense from a secluded tribe in the south, helpful for "calming the mind and soothing the soul." At a fixed time each day, the maid would light a special, silvery-green incense in a burner in the corner of the bedroom. The fragrance was cool and ethereal, carrying a familiar scent that made Serena's heart pound—it was "Moonlight Dust"! But it seemed to have undergone some special processing, becoming more intense, and...more eerie.
At first, Serena passively breathed in the smoke carrying the scent of "moonlight dust," her mind numb. But gradually, she found her mind becoming hazy. The sense of time blurred, and the boundary between reality and dreams began to loosen. She often fell into a half-dreaming, half-awake state, with bizarre fragments appearing before her eyes—sometimes blurry scenes from the world she had transmigrated to, sometimes lavish ball scenes from the original Serena's memories, but more often… it was Lucien's deep purple eyes, watching her through the mist, growing larger and closer, as if to devour her entirely.
She began to lose sight of who she was, unable to distinguish between reality and illusion. The nightmare of being hanged still haunted her, but sometimes, at the moment the rope tightened, the scene would suddenly distort, transforming into Lucien's face near hers on a stormy night, and she would no longer hear the clamor of the crowd, but his deep whisper: "You belong to me..."
In this state of constant spiritual erosion, Lucien's "teachings" became more effective and more terrifying.
He would sit beside her when she was in a daze, repeating certain words over and over again in his deep, magnetic voice.
"Serena, remember, this is your home."
"I am the only one who will never hurt you."
"The outside world only brings suffering; here, there is safety and peace."
"Your life is with me."
These words, like hypnotic incantations, accompanied by the eerie scent of "Moonlight Dust," seeped into her chaotic consciousness and fragile memory barriers. She felt like a lump of soil repeatedly washed by rain, its original shape and structure crumbling and disintegrating little by little, only to be forcibly reshaped by another force.
What terrified her even more was that she found her past memories beginning to blur. Details about the capital, her father's face, even the panic and determination she felt when she first transmigrated, were like faded murals, their colors peeling away and their outlines becoming indistinct. In their place were fragments of "memories" that were... strange, yet strangely familiar.
She "remembered" that Lucien had stayed up all night to watch over her when she was sick;
She "remembered" that he had given her a beautiful "moonlight dust" leaf as a gift;
She even began to "remember" a vague, dependent feeling, as if Lucien's existence had been an indispensable, safe cornerstone of her world from the very beginning...
"No...it's not like that..." In the occasional moments of lucidity, she would clutch her throbbing head, curl up in a corner, and utter weak, barely audible murmurs. But those moments of lucidity were like a candle flame in a storm, instantly extinguished by the pervasive fragrance and Lucien's omnipresent whispers.
Lucien observed the collapse and reconstruction of her mental world with keen clarity. His gaze remained calm, but deep within burned a dark, almost godlike fervor. He was personally erasing the soul imprint of Wilde's daughter, Serena, that he both hated and adored, and then, according to his ideal image, little by little, reshaping a completely new "Serena" that belonged only to him.
That evening, the smoke from the "moonlight dust" in the incense burner seemed unusually thick. Serena fell into a deep daze, her eyes unfocused, her body swaying slightly.
Lucien walked up to her and gently took her hand. His fingertips were icy cold, yet they gave her a strange sense of "anchoring" in her hazy consciousness.
“Serena,” he gazed into her empty blue eyes, his voice as soft as if afraid to disturb a fragile dream, “tell me, who are you?”
Serena's lips moved a few times, uttering indistinct syllables.
"I am……"
"Who are you?" Lucien repeated, his tone demanding and authoritative.
A jumble of chaotic thoughts clashed in her mind. Wilder's daughter? A time traveler? A prisoner? Each identity, like shattered pieces of a shard of glass, fragmented her understanding.
“…Yours…” A word that had been repeatedly instilled in her, as if instinctively, escaped from her lips, faint yet clear, “…I am…your…”
Lucien's pupils contracted slightly, and a bright, almost dazzling light of satisfaction flashed deep in his eyes. He seemed to have been waiting for this moment for far too long.
“Yes,” he leaned down and placed a cold, possessive kiss on her smooth forehead, as if performing a final ritual for an object marked with its ultimate symbol, “You are mine.”
"Always."
Serena's unfocused gaze seemed to focus for a moment, reflecting his face, so close to hers, with the air of a victor. A faint trace of Serena's original fear and struggle, like the last bubble at the bottom of the water, flashed and disappeared deep in her eyes, then vanished completely into the billowing silver smoke and the perception he had forcibly implanted in her.
She slowly, very slowly, closed her eyes. Her body leaned softly against Lucien, as if she had finally given up all resistance, both physical and mental.
Lucien caught her light body, lifted her up in his arms, and carried her to the magnificent bed. His movements were gentle and tender, as if he were handling a priceless treasure that had been lost and found again.
He settled her on the bed and covered her with a silk quilt. Standing by the bed, he gazed at her sleeping face for a long time.
Outside the window, the last rays of the setting sun disappeared, and twilight descended, just like the unfathomable darkness in his eyes, a darkness he had finally achieved.
At this moment, the mental prison seemed to have been completely set in motion.
Time flowed thickly in the silvery-green smoke and Lucien's persistent whispers. Serena felt like a plant transplanted into unfamiliar soil, her original roots withering, the leaves of her memory peeling away, her sense of "self" growing increasingly thin. She thought less and less about the capital, about her father, and even the nightmare of the hanging was gradually being covered by the distorted, caring false memories Lucien had "woven" for her.
She became unusually docile. When Lucien arrived, she would raise her empty blue eyes and quietly gaze at him; when he handed her a glass of water, she would obediently lower her head to sip; even when he stared at her for a long time with that all-controlling gaze, she would lower her eyelids slightly, revealing a vulnerable posture that was almost dependent. This perfectly matched Lucien's expectations, seemingly giving him unparalleled satisfaction. His touch on her blonde hair became even gentler, and the obsession and possessiveness in his eyes settled into a deeper, more unsettling "calm."
However, just as this spiritual wasteland was on the verge of complete assimilation, a tiny, almost forgotten alien object became the first stone to pry open the gears of fate.
It was an afternoon when Lucien had to leave the manor for half a day due to an urgent invitation from several local nobles in the southern border. Perhaps feeling that her "taming" was nearing completion, or perhaps the lack of further disturbances after that "collapse" had lulled him into a false sense of security, he left without his usual lengthy "farewell" and suggestive warnings. He simply glanced at the caged bird as a master would habitually before leaving, making sure she remained quietly in her place, before turning and departing.
Once again, only Serena remained in the room, along with the wafting incense carrying the scent of "moonlight dust."
As usual, she curled up in the armchair by the window, her gaze unfocused as she stared at the framed sky outside. The maid had just changed the incense, and the scent was particularly strong now, making her mind feel as if it were immersed in lukewarm water, her thoughts slowing down, almost stopping.
A gentle breeze blew in through the crack in the terrace door, which wasn't completely closed, stirring the sheer curtains and unexpectedly shifting a small, inconspicuous stool in the corner. On the stool sat a sewing basket, containing the tools the maids used for their daily chores.
With a soft clatter, the sewing basket was knocked over, and its contents spilled out—a few skeins of colorful thread, a few silver needles, a small pair of scissors, and... a small, hard object barely wrapped in dark scraps of cloth rolled out and rolled all the way to Alicia's chair.
That is...?
Alicia's unfocused gaze unconsciously followed the small object. In the drowsy state created by the rich aroma, the object seemed to carry a faint, incongruous "foreign" feeling, out of place with its surroundings.
She slowly and somewhat laboriously bent down, reaching out her still slender but no longer nimble fingers to pick it up.
She untied the somewhat dirty rag. An antique-style bronze badge lay quietly in her palm. On it, a nightingale stretched its wings, an olive branch held in its beak. On the reverse, a clear letter "N" came into view.
Nightingale... Olive branch... N...
These elements, like a few rusty keys, suddenly found themselves inserted into a similarly rusty lock deep within her memory.
It didn't open immediately, but it brought a sharp, metallic, stinging sensation!
A strange man... injured... a stormy night... a badge handed to him...
Some chaotic fragments, long suppressed by fragrance and whispers, suddenly crashed into her muddled consciousness! Related to this was another, even more distant memory, almost completely buried, which, like an undercurrent in deep water, began to surge—
Those weren't her memories! They belonged to the original owner, Serena Wilde, to that true, spoiled duke's daughter—extremely distant childhood memories!
The image is blurry yet warm. A beautiful woman with gentle blue eyes holds her on her lap, humming a soft lullaby. Around the woman's neck hangs a delicate silver chain, and the pendant... is a badge like this! A nightingale and an olive branch!
“Mommy…” Little Serena stretched out her chubby fingers, trying to grab the badge.
The woman smiled gently, took her little hand in hers, and spoke in a voice as sweet as honey: “This is the symbol of the Norton family, my little darling. It’s the family crest from before I got married. The nightingale represents singing hope even in the darkest night, and the olive branch represents peace and protection… This is my root, and it’s part of your root too…”
Norton! N!
It was like a thunderclap exploding in my foggy mind!
This badge… is not Lucien’s trap! It is not a stranger’s chance encounter! It belongs to her long-deceased mother, to the Norton family that chose to live in seclusion during the last power struggle!
That injured man… was he sent by the Norton family?! Or… does he have some connection with the Norton family?
Countless questions, like a burst dam, breached the mental bulwark that had been forcibly constructed over the past few days. The pervasive scent of "Moonlight Dust" seemed to lose its effectiveness instantly, and a sharp pain shot through the brain from the intense information overload, but this pain brought with it an almost cruel clarity!
Serena gripped the badge tightly in her hand, the cold metal edge digging painfully into her palm, but the pain was so real, so...exhilarating!
She quickly rewrapped the badge in the scraps of cloth, her heart pounding in her chest, almost breaking her ribs. She glanced warily at the closed door and the incense burner in the corner, still emanating an eerie fragrance.
Lucien could return at any time.
She must hide it immediately! She has to find a way!
Her gaze swept quickly across the room, finally settling on the overturned sewing basket. Fighting back dizziness and excitement, she swiftly stuffed the small package into a tangled ball of the darkest yarn, then kicked the ball into the shadows beneath the chair.
After doing all this, she leaned back in her chair, exhausted, panting heavily, a fine layer of cold sweat beading on her forehead. But her once empty blue eyes now ignited with a long-dormant flame, a mixture of fear, hope, and determination.
Perhaps this is what it means to find a way out of a desperate situation?
But now is not the time to celebrate. She can't remain numb any longer, she can't let Lucien continue to erode her will.
She had to pretend better, she had to refreeze all her emotions before he returned, and become the docile Serena who was about to be completely "tamed".
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