"I just recruited a new knight to stand by my side," said the green-haired, red-eyed woman as she sat before the mirror, her lips curling into a delighted smile. Her voice lilted like a child boasting about a new toy, laced with eerie satisfaction.
"I thought you had no intention of taking one," replied a voice that echoed through the dimly lit room. Shadows danced in the periphery as the voice, neither male nor female, a chilling whisper warped like sound through water, slithered through the air, directionless and cold.
"Well, it just so happens that the man belongs to Leyla. And now... he's mine." Cynthia twirled on her heels, the hem of her gown catching the cold air as she danced. "I'm simply ecstatic."
She spun again in the dim chamber, shadows stretching with her movements. It was like she danced in a dream—no, in a nightmare. "Come to think of it," she said, reaching toward the mirror with a delicate hand, "it's been a while since we danced, hasn't it?"
From the mirror, inky smoke snaked, a creeping blackness that stank of burnt ash. It pulsed, a living stain, then a shadowy form reached, a cold mist wrapping around her hand. They spun, a silent, dizzying dance.
"Tell me again about that woman," the voice murmured.
"Leyla Nerwine," Cynthia spat the name like venom, her tone sharp, vibrating with deep-seated hatred. "That woman had the nerve to marry my Xerta. I'll make sure she screams in agony, begging for forgiveness."
Each word dripped with rage.
"But for now," Cynthia exhaled deeply, the dance slowing, "I'm satisfied. I've taken her precious knight, Keith. Don't you think that might just push her to abandon Xerta and try to reclaim her knight instead?"
"Keith…" The shadow's voice faltered.
"What is it? Have you heard of him before?"
"It feels like... there's a wall inside me, keeping the memory out. But the name... it echoes in my ears."
"Well, well… I didn't think you'd care for my stories. Usually, you just listen in silence."
"What do you plan to do now?"
Cynthia's steps quickened, heels tapping softly but surely on the stone floor, as the shadow's swirling grew more intense. Silent. Swift. Like breath caught in still air.
"I'm thinking... for now, a few threats. But if she still marries Xerta after that…"
A wave of obsidian energy erupted, the black mist expanding rapidly to consume the chamber. It moved like a suffocating blanket, the remnants of its initial force lingering like embers from a thousand extinguished fires.
Cynthia's form became the focal point of this chaotic display. Veins of glowing black energy snaked across her skin, beginning at her fingertips and branching outwards, climbing up her forearms, and then cascading down her back, tracing the delicate curve of her spine.
Her long, dark green hair, that usually flowed, stood on end, swirling with an unseen energy. Before her, the nebulous black cloud began to solidify, resolving into a tall, imposing figure. The figure's face was hidden in shadow, but the heavy robes moved as if caught in a breeze.
Even though the room was utterly still, the figure's movements had a sense of powerful fluidity. With a gesture of deference, the figure inclined its head, and then, with an unnerving gentleness, reached out and took Cynthia's hand.
"…when that time comes, I'll be counting on your help, Reiya." Her wicked grin gleamed in the mirror's reflection.
"I did make a contract with you, after all," the figure said, kissing the back of her hand with something like reverence—or threat.
Then, as if drained of form, the figure collapsed into smoke and vanished with a hiss. Silence returned—heavy, loaded.
A knock came at her chamber door.
Cynthia opened it to find Epsilon and Keith standing before her. The hallway light spilled into the darkness of her room, outlining them like intruders in a sacred space.
"I've brought him, my Lady," said Epsilon, nudging Keith forward with an elbow.
"Next time, don't teleport me without warning…" Keith muttered, grimacing. "I'm still nauseous from it."
"Well done, Epsilon," Cynthia said, her voice warm as she gave Epsilon a soft pat on the head before turning her eyes—sharp and glinting like polished steel—to Keith. She smiled.
"Let's begin your service… Keith." Her smile was sweet, but it didn't reach her eyes.
Keith met her gaze, unflinching. His stare was sharp, almost dissecting—like he could see straight through her skull, through every mask she wore.
"…I'll try my best," Keith replied slowly, voice flat.