Chapter 1
The bar was a symphony of chaos—clinking glasses, boisterous laughter, and the low, throbbing beat of a distant melody. Yumi moved through it all as if she were a ghost, a silent figure in a world filled with noise. At 14, her silence had become her shadow, following her everywhere, a heavy shroud that set her apart. She polished a glass until it gleamed, her small hands moving with a practiced, weary grace. In the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs. Petrov, a woman with a laugh as sharp as a broken shard of glass, leaning in to whisper to her friend.
"She's a broken thing, isn't she?" Mrs. Petrov said, her voice a low sneer that still carried through the din. "Not a word in her head. Just stands there, a pretty little thing with nothing to say. Worthless, if you ask me." Her friend giggled, and Yumi felt the familiar twist in her stomach. It was the price she paid for her silence, the endless whispers that called her a doll, a ghost, a thing without a soul.
She kept her gaze fixed on the endless row of bottles, tuning out the noise as best she could. She had learned long ago that the best way to survive was to shrink herself, to become as small and invisible as possible.
Then, the air shifted. It didn't happen with a crash or a grand entrance; it was more subtle, a sudden, chilling stillness that stole the heat from the room. The music seemed to fade, and a heavy, cold presence settled over the bar. A wave of fear rippled through the patrons, but Yumi didn't look up. She felt the gaze—intense and ancient, like a cold fire—sweep over the room. She knew it was directed at the workers, a predator's hunt, but she refused to acknowledge it. She kept her head down, polishing the same spot on the bar, ignoring the feeling of being watched.
"Lord Lysander, a pleasure to have you here," the bar's owner, a burly man named Sergei, boomed with a fawning smile. "The finest selection is at your disposal, sir. All of them ready to serve."
A deep, melodic voice, as smooth and cold as polished stone, replied. "I appreciate the sentiment, Sergei. But I didn't come for your finest. I came for what's unique."
Yumi still didn't look. She could hear the whispers of the other girls, their hushed questions and frightened murmurs. Who was he? Why was he here? She focused on the bar top, a small world of her own, ignoring the immense presence that now stood just a few feet away.
"You said you had a ghost," the voice of Lysander continued, a low rumble that seemed to fill the sudden silence of the room. "The little one who never speaks. Where is she?"
Sergei, with a quick, nervous smile, walked over and grabbed Yumi's arm. His grip was surprisingly gentle as he pulled her forward, placing her in the center of the sudden, hushed attention. "Ah, Lord Lysander, you mean Yumi! She's right here. She doesn't speak, but she's the most obedient worker I have. You won't find another like her. She's quiet, diligent… a perfect little doll."
Yumi felt the cold air around her grow colder. She finally lifted her eyes, not to him, but just enough to see the hem of his dark trousers, the tip of his polished shoe. She was a doll, an object being offered for sale, and her heart felt as though it would shatter into a thousand pieces.
"A doll, you say?" Lysander's voice was a soft, dangerous whisper that made the hairs on her arms stand on end. "Yes, a broken one, perhaps. But even broken things can be made beautiful."
Yumi finally raised her eyes, and a shiver ran down her spine as she met his gaze. His eyes, a shocking, vibrant crimson, were fixed on her. In that moment, the world shrank to just the two of them. She was a broken doll. And he, the monster who had come to buy her.
The carriage, a sleek black thing that moved with a ghostly silence, glided through the streets. Inside, Yumi sat on a plush velvet seat, the material feeling strange and alien against her rough worker's clothes. Lysander sat across from her, his crimson eyes never leaving her face, a silent, unnerving scrutiny. The journey was long and silent, broken only by the soft rumble of the carriage wheels.
When they arrived, the estate was a sprawling monstrosity of dark stone and intricate ironwork, looming against the moonless sky. It felt less like a home and more like a mausoleum. A tall, gaunt butler with an expressionless face met them at the door. "Welcome home, Lord Lysander. The girl's quarters are prepared."
Lysander simply nodded, leading Yumi inside. The house was cold and silent, the air thick with the scent of old paper and something else she couldn't place, something metallic and ancient. They arrived in a grand, dimly lit study, filled with towering bookshelves. Lysander gestured to a large, ornate armchair for her to sit in. Yumi sat, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
He didn't sit. He paced back and forth, a slow, predatory rhythm that made the floorboards creak. "There are rules here, Yumi," he said, his voice a low, resonant hum. "And you will follow them. You are my possession now, and your existence here is predicated on your obedience." He paused, turning to face her. "Do you understand?"
Yumi remained still, her hands still in her lap. He watched her for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. He sighed, a sound like dry leaves rustling.
"I will ask you questions," he said, his voice softer now, less commanding. "You will answer with gestures. A hand raised for 'yes.' A hand lowered for 'no.' Clear?"
Yumi slowly raised her hand.
"Good. Now," he began, "are you hungry?"
Yumi slowly lowered her hand.
"Tired?"
She raised her hand.
He nodded, as if her small gestures held immense meaning. "Very well. There is one other rule. You are to obey me, and only me. Is that understood?"
Yumi looked him in the eye and slowly raised her hand.
A slow smile, cold and beautiful, touched his lips. He walked over to her, his hand moving to gently tilt her chin up, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "I believe we'll understand each other perfectly." He then took her hand and led her out of the study.
He led her to a library. It was the most beautiful room she had ever seen. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined every wall, filled with thousands of books of every shape and size. The air was thick with the scent of paper and ink.
Lysander gestured to a section. "Find a book on the history of the Sylvanian Empire. Third shelf from the top."
Yumi nodded silently and walked to the shelf. She carefully picked out the book and handed it to him. As she turned to walk away, her eyes fell upon a small, leather-bound book with no title. A strange curiosity stirred within her, something she hadn't felt in a very long time. She reached out, her fingers brushing the spine. She paused, holding the book for a long moment, the weight of it a strange comfort in her hand. Then, with a silent sigh, she placed it back on the shelf and walked away, her heart aching with a silent, unknown longing.
Chapter 3
The days in the manor bled into one another, marked by the silent routine of Yumi's new life. She moved through the cold, magnificent halls, tending to her duties with the same silent diligence as she had in the bar. Lysander would often appear, his presence a sudden chill in the air, asking her questions. "Have you completed the inventory of the library?" She would raise her hand. "Do you find the work too difficult?" She would lower it. Her gestures were a quiet, eloquent language that only he seemed to understand.
One evening, as she was organizing a shelf of ancient scrolls, a voice sliced through the silence of the library. "Come to my study." Lysander's voice held no warmth, no question. It was a command.
Yumi's heart hammered a nervous rhythm against her ribs. She had not done anything wrong, yet the strictness in his tone filled her with a familiar dread. She followed him down the long corridor to his study. The door shut behind her with a heavy, final thud.
Lysander stood before the unlit fireplace, his back to her. The tension in the room was thick enough to taste. She remained standing by the door, waiting, her hands clasped tightly.
He turned slowly, his crimson eyes narrowing as they locked onto hers. "I am not pleased," he stated, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "The way you are performing your tasks is unacceptable. You are methodical, yes. You are quiet. But you are uninspired. You move like a clockwork doll, without thought or initiative."
Yumi's stomach churned. She looked at the floor, a single tear threatening to fall. She was trying. She was doing everything she was told, and yet it was not enough.
He took a step towards her. "I did not bring you here for your silence alone. I brought you here because I saw something in you, something more than a simple servant. And yet you continue to act like one. You are a flawless machine, and I find it... tedious."
His words were like physical blows, each one landing with a precise, cold cruelty. The ache inside her, the familiar feeling of worthlessness, swelled. She had tried so hard to be perfect, to be the thing he had asked for, but it was impossible. She wasn't just a doll anymore, she was a broken one. A single, defiant thought bloomed in her mind: she would not be his perfect doll.
Without looking up, she slowly, deliberately, lowered her hand.
Lysander paused, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "What was that?" he asked, his voice now a low whisper. "I asked you for answers. I did not ask for silence. Do you understand what I just said to you? Are you listening?"
Yumi raised her head, her gaze meeting his for the first time with a flicker of defiance. With a deep breath, she slowly, deliberately lowered her hand again. She would not raise it for "yes." She would not answer his silent demands. She was done.
A moment of profound silence stretched between them. Then, a slow, beautiful smile spread across Lysander's face. The harsh lines on his features softened. He took a single, quiet step towards her, then another.
"I have been waiting," he murmured, his voice now a soft, melodic purr. "Waiting for you to stop being a reflection of what others wanted you to be. A doll. A ghost. A servant." He reached out, and Yumi flinched, but he only took her hand, his thumb stroking her knuckles. "I have purchased many workers in my time. All of them obedient. All of them... predictable."
He was inches from her now. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, terrified drumbeat. The fear was a cold, sharp thing in her throat.
"But this..." he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he looked at her defiant, tear-stained face. "This is a work I have never seen."
As he spoke, the heavy door to the study swung shut behind her with a quiet click.
Chapter 4
The study door clicked shut with a soft finality, plunging the room into a more intimate, terrifying silence. Yumi stood frozen, her eyes wide with a fear that rooted her to the spot. Lysander was a shadow against the dim light, his presence a cold, heavy weight in the air. He moved towards her with a slow, deliberate grace, his eyes fixed on her neck. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.
He stopped directly in front of her, his head slowly tilting. She saw his fangs, sharper than daggers, gleaming in the faint light. He leaned in, and a cold wave of something like dread washed over her. There was no pain, only a prickling, numbing sensation as his fangs pierced her skin. She gasped, not from agony, but from the strange, profound feeling of something being taken and something new being given. A wave of lightheadedness washed over her. In her sudden vulnerability, her hands instinctively rose, one touching his firm chest as if to steady herself.
The moment stretched on, timeless and silent, a strange bond forging between them. When he finally pulled away, she felt a quiet, powerful hum within her, a connection that had not existed before. He reached out and gently touched the two small puncture marks on her neck, his crimson eyes holding a look of intense satisfaction. With a simple wave of his hand, he dismissed her. The command was clear and absolute.
Yumi left the study without a word, her legs feeling shaky. The world seemed different, sharper, more vivid. She returned to her duties, her movements quiet and automatic, her mind replaying the strange encounter. Later that day, as she dusted the windows of the manor's grand gallery, she looked out and saw it.
The garden. A beautiful, wild expanse of green and color. A single, vibrant red rose bloomed at the edge, a pop of life against the muted grays of the stone and brick. It called to her. Her heart ached with a silent longing to go outside, to feel the sun on her face and the earth beneath her feet. But she knew the rules; she had to ask for permission for anything beyond her set duties. She sighed, her eyes lingering on the red rose for a moment before she turned away, a heavy weight in her chest.
The next day, she found herself drawn back to the gallery. She stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the garden again. The red rose seemed to glow, its vibrant petals a stark contrast to the rest of the world. She didn't hear Lysander approach.
"You want to go there," he said, his voice a low, knowing murmur from behind her.
Yumi flinched, turning to face him. She didn't speak, but her eyes, wide with a quiet plea, gave her away.
He followed her gaze to the garden. He was silent for a long moment, a strange look of consideration on his face. "Very well," he finally said. "Go. Pick the flower you want."
Yumi's heart leaped with a sudden, silent joy. She nodded vigorously, a small, grateful smile gracing her lips.
He watched her leave, a faint smirk touching his lips as she hurried towards the garden. She ran, feeling the cool air on her face for the first time in what felt like forever. She knelt by the red rose, her fingers gently touching its velvety petals before she carefully plucked it from its stem. She sat among the flowers, her hands working with a practiced rhythm, weaving other blossoms and leaves together. The result was a simple, beautiful flower crown.
A wave of sadness washed over her as she looked at it. It was a memory of a life she no longer had, of simple days filled with simple pleasures. But then, she shook her head, a quiet resolve settling over her. She would not let her past define her present. She carefully placed the crown on her head, its weight a reminder of the small freedom she had just been granted.
She walked back to the manor, the flower crown a vibrant symbol of her quiet rebellion and new beginnings. She entered her room, closing the door behind her. She turned, and a soft gasp escaped her lips.
Lysander was there, standing by the window. He was holding the very book she had wanted to touch in his library.
Chapter 3
The days in the manor bled into one another, marked by the silent routine of Yumi's new life. She moved through the cold, magnificent halls, tending to her duties with the same silent diligence as she had in the bar. Lysander would often appear, his presence a sudden chill in the air, asking her questions. "Have you completed the inventory of the library?" She would raise her hand. "Do you find the work too difficult?" She would lower it. Her gestures were a quiet, eloquent language that only he seemed to understand.
One evening, as she was organizing a shelf of ancient scrolls, a voice sliced through the silence of the library. "Come to my study." Lysander's voice held no warmth, no question. It was a command.
Yumi's heart hammered a nervous rhythm against her ribs. She had not done anything wrong, yet the strictness in his tone filled her with a familiar dread. She followed him down the long corridor to his study. The door shut behind her with a heavy, final thud.
Lysander stood before the unlit fireplace, his back to her. The tension in the room was thick enough to taste. She remained standing by the door, waiting, her hands clasped tightly.
He turned slowly, his crimson eyes narrowing as they locked onto hers. "I am not pleased," he stated, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "The way you are performing your tasks is unacceptable. You are methodical, yes. You are quiet. But you are uninspired. You move like a clockwork doll, without thought or initiative."
Yumi's stomach churned. She looked at the floor, a single tear threatening to fall. She was trying. She was doing everything she was told, and yet it was not enough.
He took a step towards her. "I did not bring you here for your silence alone. I brought you here because I saw something in you, something more than a simple servant. And yet you continue to act like one. You are a flawless machine, and I find it... tedious."
His words were like physical blows, each one landing with a precise, cold cruelty. The ache inside her, the familiar feeling of worthlessness, swelled. She had tried so hard to be perfect, to be the thing he had asked for, but it was impossible. She wasn't just a doll anymore, she was a broken one. A single, defiant thought bloomed in her mind: she would not be his perfect doll.
Without looking up, she slowly, deliberately, lowered her hand.
Lysander paused, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "What was that?" he asked, his voice now a low whisper. "I asked you for answers. I did not ask for silence. Do you understand what I just said to you? Are you listening?"
Yumi raised her head, her gaze meeting his for the first time with a flicker of defiance. With a deep breath, she slowly, deliberately lowered her hand again. She would not raise it for "yes." She would not answer his silent demands. She was done.
A moment of profound silence stretched between them. Then, a slow, beautiful smile spread across Lysander's face. The harsh lines on his features softened. He took a single, quiet step towards her, then another.
"I have been waiting," he murmured, his voice now a soft, melodic purr. "Waiting for you to stop being a reflection of what others wanted you to be. A doll. A ghost. A servant." He reached out, and Yumi flinched, but he only took her hand, his thumb stroking her knuckles. "I have purchased many workers in my time. All of them obedient. All of them... predictable."
He was inches from her now. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic, terrified drumbeat. The fear was a cold, sharp thing in her throat.
"But this..." he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper as he looked at her defiant, tear-stained face. "This is a work I have never seen."
As he spoke, the heavy door to the study swung shut behind her with a quiet click.
Chapter 4
The study door clicked shut with a soft finality, plunging the room into a more intimate, terrifying silence. Yumi stood frozen, her eyes wide with a fear that rooted her to the spot. Lysander was a shadow against the dim light, his presence a cold, heavy weight in the air. He moved towards her with a slow, deliberate grace, his eyes fixed on her neck. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage.
He stopped directly in front of her, his head slowly tilting. She saw his fangs, sharper than daggers, gleaming in the faint light. He leaned in, and a cold wave of something like dread washed over her. There was no pain, only a prickling, numbing sensation as his fangs pierced her skin. She gasped, not from agony, but from the strange, profound feeling of something being taken and something new being given. A wave of lightheadedness washed over her. In her sudden vulnerability, her hands instinctively rose, one touching his firm chest as if to steady herself.
The moment stretched on, timeless and silent, a strange bond forging between them. When he finally pulled away, she felt a quiet, powerful hum within her, a connection that had not existed before. He reached out and gently touched the two small puncture marks on her neck, his crimson eyes holding a look of intense satisfaction. With a simple wave of his hand, he dismissed her. The command was clear and absolute.
Yumi left the study without a word, her legs feeling shaky. The world seemed different, sharper, more vivid. She returned to her duties, her movements quiet and automatic, her mind replaying the strange encounter. Later that day, as she dusted the windows of the manor's grand gallery, she looked out and saw it.
The garden. A beautiful, wild expanse of green and color. A single, vibrant red rose bloomed at the edge, a pop of life against the muted grays of the stone and brick. It called to her. Her heart ached with a silent longing to go outside, to feel the sun on her face and the earth beneath her feet. But she knew the rules; she had to ask for permission for anything beyond her set duties. She sighed, her eyes lingering on the red rose for a moment before she turned away, a heavy weight in her chest.
The next day, she found herself drawn back to the gallery. She stood by the window, her gaze fixed on the garden again. The red rose seemed to glow, its vibrant petals a stark contrast to the rest of the world. She didn't hear Lysander approach.
"You want to go there," he said, his voice a low, knowing murmur from behind her.
Yumi flinched, turning to face him. She didn't speak, but her eyes, wide with a quiet plea, gave her away.
He followed her gaze to the garden. He was silent for a long moment, a strange look of consideration on his face. "Very well," he finally said. "Go. Pick the flower you want."
Yumi's heart leaped with a sudden, silent joy. She nodded vigorously, a small, grateful smile gracing her lips.
He watched her leave, a faint smirk touching his lips as she hurried towards the garden. She ran, feeling the cool air on her face for the first time in what felt like forever. She knelt by the red rose, her fingers gently touching its velvety petals before she carefully plucked it from its stem. She sat among the flowers, her hands working with a practiced rhythm, weaving other blossoms and leaves together. The result was a simple, beautiful flower crown.
A wave of sadness washed over her as she looked at it. It was a memory of a life she no longer had, of simple days filled with simple pleasures. But then, she shook her head, a quiet resolve settling over her. She would not let her past define her present. She carefully placed the crown on her head, its weight a reminder of the small freedom she had just been granted.
She walked back to the manor, the flower crown a vibrant symbol of her quiet rebellion and new beginnings. She entered her room, closing the door behind her. She turned, and a soft gasp escaped her lips.
Lysander was there, standing by the window. He was holding the very book she had wanted to touch in his library.
Chapter 5
Yumi stood frozen in the doorway, the flower crown feeling suddenly heavy on her head. Lysander was in her room, a space she had come to see as her only private sanctuary, holding the very book she had secretly longed for. A wave of confusion and fear washed over her. He had seen. He had known.
He held the book out to her, his gaze unreadable. "You wanted this," he said, his voice quiet but it still echoed in the small room. He wasn't asking; he was stating a fact.
Yumi didn't move. She couldn't. Her hands, which had been so full of life while weaving the flower crown, now felt like lead weights at her sides. He was so close, his presence filling the space, and the memory of his fangs on her neck was a phantom ache. She was terrified. He was no longer just her master; he was a silent observer of her every secret.
Lysander sighed, a soft sound of impatience. He stepped forward and gently placed the book in her hands. The leather binding was cool against her skin. "I am not a monster who revels in torment," he said, his voice softer now. "I saw your quiet longing in the library. I saw it in the garden. You are not a creature of simple obedience. You have... curiosity. It is a rare quality."
He took another step back, giving her space. "I do not buy objects that do not feel. It is a waste of my time. You are here to learn. To think. To become something more than a broken doll." He gestured to the book in her hands. "Read it. Learn from it. You will find that this house, and I, are not what they seem."
Yumi looked down at the book, then back at him. Her eyes were filled with a mixture of fear and a fragile, blooming hope. She could not speak, but her gaze, moving from the book to his face, was a question.
He understood. "I will return to check on your progress," he said. He gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod and turned, walking out of the room. The door closed, leaving Yumi alone once more.
She looked at the book in her hands, its titleless cover a mystery. She was still afraid, but her fear was now mixed with a strange sense of wonder. Lysander had seen her, truly seen her, and instead of punishing her for her quiet defiance, he had given her a key to a new world. The flower crown felt a little less heavy now. She sat on the edge of her bed, slowly opening the book, ready to begin to understand the secrets of this strange and terrifying man and the quiet hope he had given her.
Chapter 6
The darkness of the night was the only world Yumi had ever truly known. She stood on a street corner, the moon a sliver of light in the sky, her hand clasped tightly in the hand of a boy named Yuki. He was talking, his voice a gentle, melodic stream of words she couldn't hear, but his eyes were filled with a bright, earnest light she could see even in the dimness. He pulled her along, his youthful laughter echoing in the quiet street. He led her to a small wooden door, his smile full of hope. "I'll be waiting," he seemed to say, his eyes shining with a silent promise.
But Yumi, for all her quiet longing, knew the bitter truth of her world. She felt the warmth of his hand, a painful reminder of a life she couldn't have. With a deep, silent sigh, she pulled her hand from his and turned. She could hear his muffled sobs behind her, a sound that twisted her heart. He was calling her name, a desperate plea in the darkness. But she didn't look back. She couldn't.
She woke with a gasp, the memory a sharp, painful ache in her chest. The first rays of morning light were peeking through her window, painting the world in shades of soft gray. The dream felt so real, so immediate. She went about her morning routine with a heavy heart, her movements more languid than usual. She prepared Lysander's breakfast, her mind lost in the past.
As she waited for him in the dining room, she sat at the grand table, a small piece of paper in her hand. Her fingers trembled as she wrote the name that had haunted her for so long. Yuki. The name felt so foreign and so familiar all at once. She stared at it for a moment, her eyes filling with tears she refused to shed. With a silent cry, she crumpled the paper and threw it into the roaring fireplace. She would not let the past poison her future. She stood and walked away, ready to begin her day's work.
From the shadows of the doorway, Lysander had watched the entire scene unfold. He saw the rare display of emotion on her face, the quiet sadness, the silent tears she fought back. He saw the word she had written, and he felt a cold, sharp anger twist in his gut. A man. He knew that much. Was he a memory? A lover? The possessiveness he had felt when he first saw her in the bar now roared to life, a wild, untamed thing. He would not have his possession, his beautiful, quiet creature, broken by memories of another man.
He waited until night fell, until the manor was silent once more. He found her in the library, shelving books. His presence was a cold, furious storm that made the candles flicker. "Who is Yuki?" he demanded, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.
Yumi flinched, her back to him, her heart thumping in her chest.
"Answer me!" he roared, taking a step towards her. "Who is Yuki? You cried this morning for him. Was he your lover?"
Yumi shook her head fiercely, keeping her back to him. The motion was a silent plea, a desperate wish for him to stop.
But he wouldn't. He seized her arm and spun her around, his crimson eyes burning with a furious intensity. "Don't lie to me with your gestures! Tell me! Who is he to you? Is he why you are so broken? Is it his memory that makes you act like a silent, broken doll? I will not have my work undone by the ghost of a worthless human!"
Chapter 7
Yumi recoiled, the fury in Lysander's eyes a terrifying, tangible thing. His grip on her arm was a vise, and her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird desperate for escape. She could not speak. She could not tell him that Yuki was not a lover. The word "worthless" from his lips felt like a stab to the heart. He was a vampire, a creature of cold, unforgiving anger, and she was just a fragile human girl. She knew her silence was only fueling his rage.
Her mind raced, desperately searching for a way to make him understand. She looked down at the book in her hand, the very book he had given her, and then her eyes snapped up to his. She pointed a trembling finger at the cover.
Lysander followed her gesture. "What? The book?" His voice was laced with a cruel sarcasm. "What about it? Is this 'Yuki' in here? Is this some human fairytale?"
Yumi shook her head, a silent, frantic "no." She slowly lifted the book and with a shaky finger, pointed to the title she had only just discovered written in a delicate script on the spine: A Brother.
Lysander's eyes widened almost imperceptibly as he read the title. His grip on her arm loosened, his expression shifting from one of cold rage to bewildered surprise. The anger didn't vanish entirely, but it was replaced by a more dangerous, calculating curiosity. He took a step back, releasing her. "A brother?" he repeated, his voice now a low, dangerous whisper. "Is that what he was? Your brother?"
Yumi raised her hand slowly, her eyes pleading with him to understand. Yes.
"And you left him?" he pressed on, his questions coming faster now. "Did you abandon him? Did you run away?"
She lowered her hand. No.
"Did he leave you?"
She raised her hand. Yes.
"Did you cry for him because he left you?" he asked, his voice filled with a strange, searching quality.
She lowered her hand, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. No.
Lysander stared at her, his expression a storm of conflicting emotions. He didn't understand. If he was her brother, why had she left him on that doorstep? Why did she cry for him if he was the one who abandoned her? The silent language of her gestures was a frustrating, confusing puzzle.
He walked past her and went to the window, his back to her. "You are an infuriating creature," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "A creature of riddles." He turned back to her, his gaze intense. "I will not have a servant who is a slave to her past. You will forget this boy. You will forget this pain. Do you understand me?"
Yumi looked at him, at the immense power and anger he held. She wanted to tell him that she couldn't forget. She wanted to scream that he didn't understand. But she couldn't. With a single, defiant tear rolling down her cheek, she slowly, deliberately lowered her hand. No.
Lysander stood still, watching her. A flicker of something that could have been admiration or annoyance crossed his face. "Very well," he said, his voice as cold as ice. "Then I will help you forget."
Chapter 8
Lysander stood over her, his eyes burning with a cold, terrifying fire. The air was thick with his fury, a palpable thing that made Yumi's entire body tremble. "You will forget him," he commanded, his voice a low, furious growl. "You will forget this Yuki and the painful memory he represents. I will not have my property consumed by such weakness."
Yumi looked up at him, her heart aching. He didn't understand. She wasn't holding on to the memory because it was a happy one. It was a memory of loss, of a choice she had been forced to make, a choice that had led her here, to this cold and beautiful prison. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him that her pain was as much a part of her as her silence. But her inability to speak was a wall between them, and his anger was a fire she could not put out.
Slowly, her head still bowed, she lifted her hand. The gesture was a bitter admission of defeat. She would forget. She would give him what he wanted. She would cut the last tie to her past and become the empty, obedient doll he seemed to desire.
The rage in Lysander's eyes softened, replaced by a cold, victorious satisfaction. The corners of his lips curled into a slow, chilling smile. "Good," he murmured, the word a purr of triumph. "You are learning. Now, go." He gestured toward the door, a silent dismissal.
Yumi left, the weight of her choice a heavy stone in her chest. Days passed, a monotonous cycle of work and silent solitude. One afternoon, she sat in the grand dining room, eating her lunch. The silence of the manor was absolute, save for the faint clinking of her spoon against the bowl. She looked up at the large window, her gaze fixed on a small bird hopping on the ledge outside. It chirped merrily, its wings a blur of motion as it took flight and soared into the vast blue sky.
A lump formed in her throat. A bird with no wings. That was her. She could see the world outside, she could long for freedom, but she was trapped, unable to fly. The thought was a sharp, painful ache, and she pushed it down, forcing herself to focus on the food.
Lunch finished, she stood, her mind already on her next task. As she hurried from the dining room, she wasn't watching where she was going. She turned a corner and bumped squarely into a solid, unyielding obstacle. She stumbled back, her eyes wide with fear as she looked up.
It was Lysander. He had been standing there, a silent statue in the dim hallway. She was so close to him, she could smell the cold, clean scent of his skin, and the faint, coppery tang of blood. Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
He looked down at her, a strange, half-amused, half-puzzled smile on his lips. His crimson eyes seemed to bore into her very soul. "My, my," he said, his voice a low, melodic tone that made the hairs on her arms stand on end. "Are you in such a hurry to forget that you cannot even watch where you are going?"
Chapter 9
Yumi's heart was a frantic drum against her ribs. She was so close to him, trapped between his powerful form and the cold wall. She looked up, her gaze locked on his, a mixture of fear and confusion in her eyes. His smile was a puzzle, and she couldn't tell if he was amused or angry.
"Lost in your thoughts, little ghost?" he asked, his voice a soft, mocking purr. He leaned closer, and she instinctively flinched, but he didn't touch her. "Were you thinking of a world where you could fly? Where you had wings of your own?"
The words hit her with a shock. He knew. He had seen her at the window. He had somehow understood her silent thoughts, her longing for a freedom she didn't possess. The idea that he was watching her so closely, so intently, sent a shiver of dread down her spine.
She looked down at the floor, unable to meet his gaze, unable to answer the question she knew he wouldn't let her avoid.
Lysander reached out and gently tilted her chin up with a single finger, forcing her to look at him. His eyes held a strange, dangerous glint. "It is a waste of time, Yumi," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Wishing for something you can never have. You are a human. A fragile thing that cannot fly. Your wings are broken."
His words, meant to be cruel, were a quiet echo of her own silent thoughts. A single, hot tear escaped her eye and rolled down her cheek. She was a broken doll. A wingless bird. She was nothing. The truth was a painful, sharp thing that cut deeper than any insult.
Lysander's expression shifted. The cruel smirk faded, replaced by something unreadable, a flicker of what almost looked like regret. He released her chin, his hand pulling back slowly. "Go," he commanded, his voice now devoid of any emotion. "Go to your room. You have done enough work for today."
Yumi didn't hesitate. She fled, the sound of her own ragged breathing echoing in her ears. She ran all the way to her room, collapsing on her bed, her body trembling with a fear that was both of him and of her own vulnerability. She was alone, in a gilded cage, with a monster who could read her mind. And for the first time since she had arrived, she truly felt like a prisoner.
Chapter 10
The house was steeped in a deep, sepulchral silence, broken only by the soft rustle of pages turning. Yumi was lost in the book Lysander had given her, the words a quiet escape from the gilded cage she inhabited. She didn't hear the door open, didn't sense the cold presence that slipped into her room. She only knew she was no longer alone when the air grew still, the candlelight flickering as if in a sudden, unseen draft.
A moment later, a cold hand gently but firmly gripped her chin, tilting her head back. She didn't have time to gasp before the familiar, sharp prick of fangs broke her skin. She tensed, her eyes flying shut as a wave of lightheadedness washed over her. This time, there was no fear, just a quiet resignation to her fate. The bond between them, forged in that first bite, hummed in her veins, a low, powerful thrum.
After a long, silent moment, he pulled away. She felt a sharp, almost cruel push against her shoulder as he moved to stand in front of her. She remained still, her head bowed, her eyes still closed. She could feel his gaze on her, the familiar coldness that now seemed to settle deep within her bones.
A low, satisfied sound came from him. "Open your eyes," he commanded. When she didn't, he reached out, his finger gently stroking the puncture marks on her neck. "Look at me, Yumi."
She didn't move. She couldn't.
"You will not defy me," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Look at me when I speak to you. You are no longer just a servant. You are a part of this house, a part of me. You will face me, you will not cower."
Slowly, reluctantly, her eyes fluttered open. She looked at him. The book he had given her lay forgotten on the bed, its pages filled with a world she was no longer in. His face, usually a mask of cool indifference, was etched with a strange, possessive intensity. He was not a monster. He was her fate. And she was a bird with no wings, learning to live in a cage she could not escape.