Silence reigned as the woman walked ahead, her footsteps echoing rhythmically through the dark corridors of what appeared to be an ancient mansion of unreal dimensions.
Damon followed her.
His bare feet ached, the marks of the chains still stung, but he didn’t dare stop. Elizabeth’s figure, so imposing even from behind, pulled him like a gravitational force. Her Victorian dress billowed as if dancing with the darkness itself, and no sound escaped her other than the steady click of her heels echoing on the marble.
He didn’t know why he followed her.
Or... maybe he did.
Something about her broke the emptiness he carried in his chest.
As he walked, his mind raced with questions.
Where am I? What was that screen with words on it? That thing appearing... what does it mean?
And why does all this seem... familiar?
It was then, as if memories were held together by a broken thread, an image emerged.
A cramped room. An uncomfortable chair. An old laptop, its screen cracked in one corner.
The pixelated image of an anime game moved before him—colorful characters, high-pitched voices, forced smiles. A generic eroge, like so many others he played in the wee hours.
A game of no importance.
He couldn’t even remember the name.
He only remembered being tired. Very tired. His eyes closed right there, with the headphones still in his ears, a silly electronic song playing on a loop.
And then... he woke up in this place.
’Did... I die?’
The question came naturally. No panic. No emotion. Just a raw, direct thought.
He frowned. Thinking about his old life... was like looking through a foggy window.
A dark, musty room. An empty refrigerator. Silence.
Silence all the time.
No friends. No family. Only the echoes of voices that no longer existed. He remembered his father—a violent figure who left too soon. His mother—the only figure of light, who faded too quickly.
Since then... he had nothing.
No hope. No will.
He lived off the survivor’s pension she left him. He spent his days in front of screens, escaping everything. Forgotten by the world. Forgotten even by himself.
’Maybe...’ he thought, with a strange calm, ’it’s not so bad to be here.’
A strange place. Dangerous, perhaps. But... someone looked at him. Someone saw him.
Even if that person was a mad woman with eyes that beat like hearts and hands that snapped necks.
Even so... she chose him.
And for someone like him... that was already more than the world had ever offered him.
He looked at his hands as he walked through the corridors. Still fragile. Still trembling. But... for the first time in a long time, he didn’t just feel emptiness.
He felt something more.
Something new.
Maybe hope. Maybe terror.
Or maybe... a desire to continue.
"You seem thoughtful." Elizabeth’s voice broke the silence with a softness as sharp as polished glass.
Damon looked up, taken aback. There was something strange about the way she spoke... as if each word were chosen carefully, but spoken with the carelessness of someone always waiting to be heard.
He only nodded slowly, still unable to answer. His throat remained empty, a silent prison that made him uneasy.
Elizabeth noticed—as she always noticed everything—and smiled at the corner of her mouth.
"I’ll sort it out soon," she said, not looking at him, her eyes fixed on the corridor ahead. "Your voice. Your body. Your name. Everything. Just wait until we reach my house."
The sound of her footsteps was like a grandfather clock, measuring the time between promises and consequences.
"You know..." she began, in a light tone, as if discussing the weather, "I am a viscountess. Elizabeth Wykes, Viscount of the Crimson District of Pandora."
There was a touch of pride in her voice, but not ostentation. As if the title were just a detail she had long since overcome.
"I do not like disloyalty, Damon." She spoke his name for the first time, even though he hadn’t chosen it. It sounded natural. Irrefutable. As if it had always been that.
She finally turned to him, her eyes—with those beating hearts—facing him piercingly.
"I have a few employees. All useful, all loyal. Some love me. Some fear me. Most, both." She smiled in a way that made Damon’s stomach churn.
The woman resumed walking, the crimson mist around her body billowing like a living cape.
"For now, I won’t ask much of you," she continued, as if laying down a gentle rule before the storm. "You will work as my employee. Something simple. Observe. Learn. Grow."
She turned once more, this time walking backward, her expression almost... amused.
"And if you prove yourself worthy of what I’ve invested... who knows, I might call you to greater things."
Her eyes sparkled, and she moved closer in a blink, her fingers touching Damon’s chin with frightening gentleness.
"But remember, my dear. I chose you. That means you belong to me. And I don’t like losing what’s mine."
The touch disappeared as quickly as it came.
And she resumed walking.
Silence again.
But now... Damon’s every step sounded different. Firmer. As if he were slowly being molded.
To something greater.
Or darker.
Or both.