Chapter 17: An Unhinged Woman! Stay Away From Me!
"Gah-?!" A loud gasp snapped Elara from her trance, the sound cutting through the silence like a physical blow.
Her unblinking eyes snapped into awareness as she immediately pulled herself away, nearly toppling backward in her haste. But rather than shock at nearly losing control, she felt a surge of annoyance, her brows furrowing, the vertical crease between them deepening with frustration.
Tsk! But her irritation disappeared the instant she looked down and saw her elder sister stirring at last.
Lyra's eyes snapped wide open—their shape the same as always, large and luminous, icy blue streaked with silvery grey—but now, at their center, the pupils glowed a deep crimson.
The transformation was both beautiful and unsettling, like ice lit from within by hellfire.
For some reason, Elara noticed the dazed, vacant stare locked on a single point in her elder sister's gaze, but she chose to ignore it for now.
"Si—"
Elara's furrowed brows lifted, and her parted lips curved into a bright, hopeful smile that revealed the tips of her fangs.
The colored moonlight from the stained glass above caught in her tears, transforming them into prismatic gems against her cheeks.
Yet before she could finish her word, her elder sister, Lyra, suddenly 'vanished'—or rather, blurred past her in a flash, leaving behind nothing but a rush of displaced air and the faintest whisper of tattered silk.
"Hmm?!"
A surprised masculine grunt reached Elara's ears, resonating through the cavernous space like distant thunder.
What she witnessed next was unbelievable, the scene unfolding with supernatural clarity before her enhanced vision.
Her elder sister—now only inches from her face, ash-blonde hair flashing in the dim light like liquid silver—had buried her lips, fangs extended, into the very neck Elara herself had just been fixating on.
Lyra was drinking greedily from the towering vampire, Lucien, unable or unwilling to restrain herself.
Her slender fingers clutched at his massive shoulders with desperate strength, the nails lengthening into claws that tore through the remnants of his poet shirt.
The sound of her feeding filled the silence—a rhythmic, wet pulse that seemed to echo in the vaulted ceiling above.
…
The towering vampire, Lucien, whose blood was being drained, felt…strange. His red eyes widened slightly, then narrowed in contemplation rather than pain. The muscles in his neck tensed momentarily before relaxing into acceptance.
It's like…itching, Lucien thought. The sensation made him slightly dizzy, as though something vital was being siphoned from him—even if it was only a tiny amount.
The impression was almost like the after-effect of a mosquito bite: not painful, but distracting. Dark spots danced at the edges of his vision, tiny pinpricks of shadow that expanded and contracted with each pull of Lyra's lips against his skin.
The bite itself went almost unnoticed at first, leaving only this odd itch that spread outward from the punctures in concentric waves.
But unlike an insect bite, it was the initial contact that was itchy—soothed by the cooling effect of her saliva on his skin and the surprising aroma of jasmine leaves drifting into his nose.
His head tilted back slightly, allowing her better access, his massive frame dwarfing her slender form even as she fed upon him.
With half his vision blocked by the ash-blonde hair of this second vampire woman—strands that gleamed like spun moonlight in the fractured illumination from above—Lucien could just make out the first vampire, Elara.
Her gaze was fixed on her sister's actions, swallowing hard, her expression caught between conflict and envy.
Her pupils dilated and contracted in rapid succession, tracking every movement of her sister's throat as it worked to consume Lucien's blood.
Her own fangs extended involuntarily.
At Elara's reaction, Lucien simply smiled. Yet in that moment, he felt a forceful push against his body—Lyra's palms pressing against his broad chest with surprising strength, creating distance between them.
The sudden separation made a soft, wet sound as her fangs withdrew from his flesh, the wounds healing almost instantly, leaving behind only twin dots of darker skin like a memory of violence.
And Lyra, her lips still stained with his dark blood—viscous and gleaming in the colored light like liquid obsidian—looked at her sister with wide, unsteady eyes and trembling hands.
"W-what have I done?" Lyra gasped, her voice barely above a whisper but saturated with terror.
She scrambled backward across the floor.
"I'm filthy! Filthy—!"
She gagged violently, her entire body convulsing with revulsion. Frantically, she jammed trembling fingers into her mouth, nails scraping against newly formed fangs as she desperately tried to expel Lucien's blood.
Only clear saliva spilled from her lips, tinged with black residue that spattered onto the torn bodice of her gown like morbid constellations.
Elara rushed to her sister's side. She dropped to her knees beside Lyra. Her shaking, uncertain hand patted Lyra's back. "Sister, stop! You'll hurt yourself—"
Lyra shook her head with desperate intensity, her ash-blonde hair lashing across her face and leaving streaks of blood on her porcelain cheeks.
"Don't—you shouldn't touch me. I'm poison now, Sister! I broke every oath, defiled everything I believed in—" She gasped for breath. Her crimson-tinged gaze fell to her bloodied hands, examining them with horror as if they were foreign appendages grafted onto her body.
But what she didn't know was that even her words were affecting Elara, who was also newly transformed.
Each syllable struck Elara like physical blows, making her flinch as if dodging invisible projectiles.
Elara fell silent, torn by inner conflict as she watched her elder sister unravel.
"The Goddess, she—she must despise me—" Lyra continued, voice faltering with shame. A single tear—tinged with crimson—traced a path down her cheek, catching the fragmented moonlight like a drop of blood suspended in time.
Elara gritted her teeth, the sound audible in the tense silence—a grinding of supernatural bone that sent shivers through the air.
A flare of raw anger broke through her uncertainty, causing the temperature around them to drop perceptibly. "Nonsense. Stop it, Sister! You're not—" But her voice cracked mid-sentence, splintering like thin ice, fear overtaking her forced bravado.
Lyra laughed—a harsh, desperate sound that resembled breaking glass. "Don't lie. You were always the smart one, Elara—the strong one! I…I only ever had faith, and what's faith worth now that I'm nothing? Curse me, but at least have the decency to let me finish what I started." Her voice broke on the last word, crumbling like ancient parchment. "It was supposed to end—" Her hands reached instinctively toward the silver knife that lay forgotten several feet away.
Elara lunged forward with supernatural speed, a blur of motion that disturbed the very air around them. She seized Lyra's shoulders with enough force to bruise mortal flesh, her clawed fingers digging into the tattered silk of her sister's gown.
She forced Lyra to look up, their faces inches apart, mirror images of transformed beauty twisted with opposing anguish. "Don't you dare," she growled, her voice trembling with fury and heartbreak, the sound more animal than human.
In that moment, her fangs were fully extended—gleaming like polished ivory in the fractured light, dripping with the dark moisture of her own blood where they had punctured her lower lip.
The sight froze Lyra in place, her wide eyes reflecting twin images of her sister's monstrous rage.
For the first time, Lyra saw her little sister defy her. Elara, who had always been cleverer but never rebellious, the younger sibling who had followed Lyra's faithful example in all things, stood against her now.
But this time, even with scary fangs jutting from her upper lip, Lyra saw something new in her little sister—Elara, the smart and strong one, was truly sad.
The realization struck Lyra like a physical blow, forcing the air from her lungs in a soft gasp.
The fear of loss was plain in her little sister's eyes, with tears streaming down her face—not clear like human tears but faintly tinged with crimson, leaving trails like diluted blood across her porcelain cheeks.
Her mouth formed an ugly, crumpled smile beneath a trembling brow, the expression so raw and unguarded that Lyra found herself transfixed.
It was heartbreakingly real, stripped of the composure that had always been Elara's armor.
"P-please, Sister... hiks... hiks..." Elara stammered and sobbed—a far cry from the composed Elara Lyra had always known.
Her shoulders shook violently with each broken sound, the tattered remains of her blue gown trembling around her like disturbed water.
Her chestnut hair fell forward, partially obscuring her face but not hiding the naked desperation in her expression.
"You're all I have left, Sister—big sister. Our whole world is gone. Do you really want to tear out what's left of mine, too?" For the first time, the proud Elara, who once only sighed and looked down on Lyra for her beliefs, was now the one begging.
Her fingers dug into Lyra's shoulders with desperate strength, leaving small crescents where her nails pressed against the torn fabric.
At that sight, Lyra's heart trembled. The sensation was strange—her heart no longer beat without conscious effort, yet she felt an ache spread through her chest as if the organ were bruised.
How could she, the elder sister, act so spoiled, so childish? The realization made her fangs retract slightly in shame, receding into her gums with a faint tingling sensation.
Still, her lips quivered, catching the fractured moonlight in their moisture. Her ash-blonde hair fell across her face like a silver veil, partially obscuring eyes that now burned with confusion rather than certainty.
"Everything sacred is behind me now. I'm sorry." she went silent and then, "The Goddess blessed me once... but now—there's darkness inside me. I can feel it." She tried to speak, but her mouth wouldn't form the words properly around her newly transformed anatomy.
It twisted, opening and closing like a fish gasping for water, and even Lyra seemed unsure of herself as she looked away.
"I don't care!" Elara snapped, the force of her emotion causing the air around them to vibrate with supernatural intensity.
Tears continued streaking through the dirt and dried blood on her cheeks as she gripped Lyra's shoulders with renewed determination, her clawed fingers leaving small tears in the fabric.
"I don't care about your faith—I care about you. You stubborn, foolish devotee! I need you here. So don't you dare say goodbye. Not again."
It was the first time Elara had ever cursed at her sister, and Lyra was stunned. Her crimson-tinged eyes widened, pupils contracting to pinpricks of shock before dilating again.
A long, broken silence stretched between them, filled only with the soft settling of the damaged mansion around them—the creak of tired wood, the occasional plink of water dripping somewhere in the distance, the whisper of their tattered gowns against the bloodstained floor as they breathed unnecessarily from habit.
Finally, Lyra collapsed forward, burying her face in her hands, curling up tightly. Her shoulders shook not with sobs but with silent surrender, her ash-blonde hair falling around her like a protective curtain.
But out of nowhere, the towering vampire, Lucien, broke the silence.
"You can actually use your magic," he said, speaking up after witnessing the sisters' raw conflict.
And at that moment, Lyra flinched. The posture that had been slumped and downcast snapped up as she raised her head, fury blazing in her eyes—not at Elara, but at the monster she now blamed for everything: Lucien.
The movement was unnaturally swift, ash-blonde hair whipping around her face like pale lightning. Her crimson-tinged pupils contracted to pinpoints of rage, the icy blue of her irises seeming to glow with an internal fire that matched the stained glass fragments of ruby light falling across her transformed features.
Just like Elara, how could they not blame this vampire monster? His presence alone dredged up the memories—maybe, just maybe, he'd swayed her little sister.
Maybe Elara had been forced! Now he'd turned her, too—condemned her to become a monster like him. How blasphemous!
"You DEMON!" Lyra screamed. She knew she had no real power against him, but as she remembered her mana, she felt bluish energy swirling at her fingertips—she began to gather it, preparing to cast a spell, but…
"Sister… your magic…" Elara's voice broke through, hesitant and heavy with dread. Her words fell between them like stones in still water, creating ripples of tension that spread outward.
"Ah!" Only then did Lyra's memory snap into focus: why had she fainted before? Her eyes widened in horrified recognition, pupils dilating then contracting rapidly as the realization crashed through her consciousness.