Chapter 11: Irene’s Tears.

Sylvia’s skin became even smoother and more lustrous, like fine jade.
Her silver hair, which had long been dull and split from years of malnutrition, now fell soft and supple, emitting a faint, gentle glow.

Unfortunately, her small, petite frame showed no obvious increase in height. She remained just over 1.4 meters tall, appearing even more childlike than others her age and even younger than her actual age.

At the same time, her originally delicate and dainty face had been meticulously reshaped by the power of the First Embrace. The lines of her face softened slightly, the bridge of her nose became a little straighter, and although her facial features remained essentially the same, they somehow appeared clearer and more refined.

Rose gazed at Sylvia, observing this new creation of hers.

She reached out and pinched Sylvia’s chin, carefully examining the small upturned face from up close.

“Hmm…”

She let out a long, ambiguous nasal sound, as if pondering something.

“Much more appetizing now.”

Rose commented.

Sylvia had yet to recover from the intense transformation between life and death. She could only passively allow Rose to manipulate her.

She could feel the changes in her body, yet she could not tell exactly what those changes were. She only knew that the old injuries that had tormented her constantly seemed to have vanished, and her body felt much lighter.

The sensation was so unfamiliar it was frightening.

Just as she thought the First Embrace had ended,

Rose frowned slightly.

Her gaze slowly moved downward from Sylvia’s face, landing on the body that was still pressed tightly against her own, slightly heated from the power of the embrace.

There was a trace of displeasure in that gaze.

“…That’s all?”

Rose spoke, a hint of surprise appearing in her voice for the first time.

“After sucking just that little bit of blood… you’re already full?”

Rose withdrew her hand.

“My first First Embrace.”

“And I only managed to create such a half-baked vampire?”

Rose laughed in exasperation, utterly speechless. Other Ancestors could create a Prince with their first embrace, yet she had only produced a half-baked vampire.

“Your talent is truly frighteningly poor.”

Rose casually twirled a strand of Sylvia’s soft silver hair around her finger, slowly spinning it.

“A half-baked one it is, then.” She said indifferently.

“Anyway, it’s only for convenient use. At least it won’t shatter into pieces after playing with it a couple of times.”

“Although, even now, you still seem quite fragile.”

“So, little half-baked one.”

Rose leaned down slightly, bringing her face close to Sylvia’s small one. Her hand gently stroked Sylvia’s flat belly.

“Shall we begin? Just like before, I’ll allow you to cry out only when I permit it. At all other times, you are not allowed to scream in pain, okay~?”

Sylvia nodded. She felt a stinging sensation in her eyes.

Why did she feel like crying?

What was there to cry about? Sylvia didn’t know, but her eyes still felt sore.

“…This is my first time… doing this kind of thing with someone other than my wife.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she herself fell into a momentary daze.

The image of her wife’s face had somehow become blurry in her mind.

How long ago had that been? She had not thought of her wife for a very, very long time. It wasn’t that she had forgotten—she simply hadn’t dared to reminisce about those beautiful days.

“Oh, really? You’ve never done it with Ilena?”

Sylvia shook her head. The stinging sensation in her eyes grew even stronger.

Rose’s eyes brightened.

“Really?” Her voice even rose with a trace of delight.

“Not even once?”

Sylvia closed her eyes, trying hard to stop the tears from falling, and shook her head again.

“Haha.” Rose laughed.

“Rip—!”

A horrifying sound of flesh being torn came from the direction of the cross.

It was Ilena. Her palms, pierced by the nails, were frantically and desperately struggling to break free from the dark-red spikes that ran through her flesh.

The nails slid slowly between the bones of her palms, producing the sickening sound of tearing meat.

Fresh blood gushed down along the nails, soaking her already tattered dress and dripping onto the black marble floor, forming a large, shocking pool of blood.

Ilena’s body thrashed violently. Every joint that wasn’t fixed twisted in a nearly self-destructive manner.

The inverted cross shook fiercely from her movements, emitting a low, droning hum. The gaping wound in her abdomen completely ruptured under the violent struggling.

Ilena’s lips moved intensely. From the depths of her throat came indistinct, gasping sounds.

She was shouting.

Shouting a certain name.

“Shh—”

Rose simply raised one finger lazily and pointed casually behind her toward the collapsing chaos and bloodshed.

Ilena’s lips remained frozen in the final shape of that word, yet no sound could escape anymore.

An invisible, terrifyingly pure magical power, like an unseen hand, roughly covered her mouth and nose, sealing off every sound that had yet to leave her.

At the same time, the several dark-red nails that had already pierced Ilena’s limbs were driven even deeper and more firmly by another inch.

“Mmph—!”

Ilena was now completely nailed to the cross.

Now, the only part of her body that could still move freely was her pair of eyes.

Those eyes, once as proud as an eagle’s, were now bloodshot and filled with tears.

Those eyes were staring straight at Sylvia.

Rose smiled with satisfaction. She had deliberately left only Ilena’s eyes free to move.

So this was how good it felt to punish betrayal. If she had known earlier, she wouldn’t have simply ground the previous third party into dust. She should have done it like this.

“Wonderful.”

She lowered her head. Her cool, soft lips pressed against Sylvia’s burning earlobe. Word by word, she branded the next sentence deep into Sylvia’s crumbling consciousness.

“Your first time… your First Embrace… your betrayal… all of it belongs to me…”

Rose’s hand rested on Sylvia’s flat belly and pressed down gently.

Sylvia’s body trembled violently.

Her gaze began to lose focus. Her consciousness grew hazy, but her body was still here—lying there, being caressed, controlled, and claimed by Rose, sometimes lightly, sometimes heavily.

Sylvia’s senses were still here. Rose’s cold fingers, the burning heat of skin, and the suppressed breathing—all of it was received in full.

Under the intense pleasure, Sylvia could no longer control her own line of sight. Her eyes seemed to have lost their focus, reflecting the chaotic and cruel scene within the dark room.

Then, from the corner of her eye,

She caught sight of something.

On the cross—that utterly broken, firmly nailed body—the only thing still able to move was a pair of eyes.

Ilena was crying.

Sylvia’s unfocused pupils struggled to refocus for a brief moment.

She thought she must have seen wrong.

Could blood clan cry? Could a high-ranking blood clan, a countess who had lived for centuries, witnessed countless deaths, and personally taken countless lives—could the proud Ilena shed tears?

But it was real. Ilena truly was crying.

Tears slid silently from the corners of her eyes.