Chapter 17
‘Boring.’
A twisted face.
Tears streaming down.
Eyes frozen in terror, legs giving way.
Seventeen-year-old Lezeta collapsed helplessly onto the floor.
Ian Brighton averted his gaze, bored.
Shadows swayed near him, whispering.
‘What shall we do, Ian?’
‘Shall we devour her?’
‘Shall we swallow her legs?’
‘Shall we cut off her ankles so she never runs from you again?’
‘How much of her shall we shove into our mouths?’
Ian replied flatly.
“Look carefully. See what she’s holding.”
The voices hissed, not quite human.
‘A hawthorn branch!’
‘Ha! A child’s toy!’
‘Not even blessed by a saint, and she carries it as a talisman?’
‘But it’s true. If we eat her while she has that, she’ll taste foul.’
‘Our tongues will burn.’
‘You’re still weak, Ian. Even that much would hurt you.’
The voices chorused.
‘But then it wouldn’t be fun…’
Ian turned away, losing interest.
“It’s already boring enough…”
And then—one of the ‘voices’ whispered in his ear.
‘Ian, her scent is on her.’
Ian froze.
“What?”
‘Sissi.’
Laughter rippled through the shadows. Ian stared at them in disbelief.
‘Ian, it seems Sissi didn’t want this girl to die…’
But why?
That dawn, Ian had wrestled with the thought.
Not that his “wrestling” amounted to much—just tossing his pillows and blankets across the floor in frustration.
‘That brat treated you like garbage. You think I don’t know?’
Ian Brighton didn’t know everything happening in the mansion. Unless his shadows reached, he couldn’t obtain precise information.
But he had sharp enough hearing to catch servants whispering.
And he had heard it… servants scrubbing the grand staircase, gossiping about Sissi and Lezeta.
“Lezeta’s bound to cause trouble someday. With that nasty temper, how could she ever succeed?”
“Sissi’s one of the youngest among us. And she still gets called sly and conniving? Lezeta’s five years older than her! What kind of person bullies someone that much younger?”
“Good thing Sissi’s so kind. If it were me, I’d have slapped Lezeta by now. That girl’s way too mature for her age.”
Did he bully ‘Lezeta’ because of Sissi? If asked directly, Ian wouldn’t admit it…
But as night settled, Ian lay in his room, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the hawthorn branch.
Said to protect people from demons, spirits, unholy things.
It wasn’t strange for Sissi to give Lezeta such a thing.
Sissi had seen Ian Brighton at ten at night with her own eyes.
She had seen the rats, the insects, the crows crowding outside his window.
She must have heard the rumors—Ian Brighton, child of a demon.
So her choice of gift made sense.
But what mattered was the intent behind it.
‘She tried to protect that girl from me.’
Ian didn’t care if someone thought him dangerous—he was dangerous.
But…
‘She cared about that girl…’
Ian Brighton had no concept of cherishing anyone.
No one had ever cherished him, either.
His demon blood aside, even the people around him had never taught him what it meant.
His mother, Agatha Brighton, did love him.
But her love was laced with fear.
Even as she greeted him in a trembling voice, she never whispered “my beloved Ian.”
She feared the demon. She feared it would take her son. She feared Ian himself.
As for Rosa Brighton? She simply hated him. Enough said.
And the Duke?
That stone-hearted man valued his wife above all, even his children.
To him, Ian was not a son but a danger to be watched.
But Sissi was different.
She looked past all of that. She alone treated Ian as “precious.”
Ian could sense emotions quickly—another gift from the demon, perhaps.
Hatred, fear, hostility, suspicion—he could recognize them instantly the moment eyes met.
The reverse was true as well.
Sissi was kind toward him.
She held genuine affection.
She wasn’t afraid of him. She didn’t hate him.
If her smiles had been fake, Ian would’ve noticed.
But after a month at her side, he was certain:
That girl is real. She truly treats me as precious.
It was the first pure kindness Ian Brighton had ever received.
Whether he wanted it or not, Sissi’s affection inevitably occupied a special place.
And so…
‘Did she care about Lezeta as much as she cares about me?’
Even that small suspicion was intolerable.
‘Come to think of it, she smiles at everyone, doesn’t she? Is there anyone she dislikes?’
The notion that one could be kind without cherishing someone was far beyond him.
He hadn’t yet grasped such pure human emotions.
Another voice whispered from within him.
‘She’ll be angry, Ian.’
The whisper carried laughter. Ian knew the speaker well.
The most blasphemous, filthy being.
A crippled half-body, leeching off him.
His demon.
And his only friend.
From his first breath, the demon had always been there.
When Ian disliked someone, it happily drowned them in a ditch. When someone threatened him, it removed them without hesitation.
Why reject such a companion? To Ian, it was only natural.
And now… see—
‘Sissi likes Lezeta.’
“Shut up.”
‘Sissi likes everyone.’
“I said shut up.”
‘You banished the girl Sissi liked. Will she forgive you for that?’
“Shu—…”
‘Say Lezeta was cruel.’
It always offered solutions, just like this.
Always had.
Ian’s eyes flashed. A faint smile curled on his lips.
‘Say she scratched your hand. Say she was spiteful, so you lashed out without meaning to.’
After a long silence, Ian dragged his nails across his hand, raising a bloody scratch.
“…That’s a very good idea.”
And so Ian Brighton spent until dawn thinking of nothing but Sissi.
Not even caring that a red-haired maid had run across the garden and fled.
Ian Brighton’s eyes snapped open.
His crimson pupils gleamed in the dark.
The carriage had stopped at the base of a mountain road.
Once they left the duchy, villages would be scarce.
So on this first day toward the villa, camping outdoors was almost inevitable.
Sleeping outside didn’t bother him.
In fact, it was refreshing.
That suffocating mansion had never pleased him.
Here, the world was wide open. Fresh night air rushed in when he cracked the carriage door.
Crickets sang.
And no servants flinched in terror upon running into him in the halls.
Ian turned his head.
There, leaning against him, a girl slept soundly.
He reached out without thinking and brushed her hair.
Her soft brown curls shifted under his fingertips.
Just that morning, he had wanted to ask, “Is Lezeta really so important to you?”
“Master Ian enjoys going outside. He loves lying on the lawn and soaking in the sun. I think his favorite flower is the trumpet creeper.”
“Maybe I only know him for a month, so perhaps I’m mistaken. There could be terrible things waiting for me. But even so…”
“Compared to the days when I was despised and called a worthless parasite, I’m so happy now. This time is precious to me.”
“I just want it to last a little longer.”
But now it was fine.
Now it really was fine.
‘Ian. Do you like her?’
The demon whispered, as always, after ten o’clock.
‘Do you like her more than me?’
“Shut it. Don’t be jealous.”
‘I’m not jealous. If Ian’s happy, I’m happy too. You know that, don’t you?’
“…Yeah. I know.”
‘The people Ian hates, I’ll hate too. The ones Ian likes, I’ll like too. But Ian, don’t love.’
“…”
Love.
Ian rolled the foreign word on his tongue.
Love?
The demon whispered again. Softer than anyone, sweeter than honey.
The voice that had sung him lullabies for twelve years, when no parent ever held him.
‘Don’t love, Ian. One day, it will kill you. One day, love will drive a stake through your heart.’
