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Inside the Leonandra Estate, a single room lay suffocated in shadow, haunted by the whispering phantoms of unraveling minds. The thick gloom pulsed with the cries of unseen torments—shrieks and weeping woven into the very air, a symphony of madness without end or mercy. But beyond its threshold, only the soft rustle of fabric and a little girl's muffled sobs echoed—fragile, alone, unheard.

"El—Eli," Marisia whispered gently, stepping closer with hesitant steps. "You haven't eaten anything… have you?"

Before Marisia sat someone she could only describe as a shadow. The brilliant girl she admired—the genius once poised to become a guiding sun in a world stained by blood and sorrow—now trembled in soiled pajamas, a faint ammonia scent rising from the bed. Her eyes, ringed with dark, sleepless shadows, told the story of countless nights lost to despair. The lean muscle and warm caramel hue that once marked her vitality were gone, replaced by pallid, sickly skin stretched too tightly over trembling bones.

"I brought some chicken soup," Marisia said, forcing a smile she hoped might carry some comfort. She stepped forward, but the creak of the floorboards echoed louder than it should have. Elisabeth flinched violently, her gaze snapping to Marisia—eyes clouded with a misty scarlet, pupils quivering. The vibrant green, once as warm and alive as the western forests, had all but vanished. "Eli—"

Tears streamed silently down Elisabeth's cheeks, her lips parting in a voiceless tremble—no words were needed. Marisia carefully set the tray aside, her hands shaking with nerves, her breath shallow with worry. Step by step, she approached, the despair in Elisabeth's eyes dragging at her soul. "I'm here for you," she whispered, wrapping her trembling arms around her sister and curling her tail around her protectively, as if to shield her from a world too cruel. "I always will be."

Seconds slipped into minutes, then blurred into hours—the sisters stayed locked in silence, holding on to the one certainty they had left—each other. To Marisia, Elisabeth looked like a broken blade—once brilliant, now cracked. But Marisia's pain echoed her sister's; her stomach churned, and tears kept falling, muted and endless. She didn't want to believe this was happening. Couldn't accept that her sister was becoming another tragic tale, one of those whispered names passed like curses through the halls of power and history. Perhaps she was egotistical. But how could she not be? This was Elisabeth S. Leonandra—a genius born once every thousands of years.

"I can't do this anymore." Elisabeth curled in tighter, her knees hugged to her chest, nails digging into porcelain skin already etched with countless scars. She shook, her [Aura] flaring in jagged pulses as if her very soul were splintering. "Mari," she whispered, her voice cracking with desperation. "Please," a plea for relief.

The demonic baptism—a brutal rite used to forge the foundations of the most formidable knights—had twisted Elisabeth beyond recognition. No records spoke of what became of those who endured its torment, only silence and rumor. But Marisia could see the truth now, sitting before her in trembling flesh and hollow eyes. She couldn't leave her sister alone any longer, not when it felt like Elisabeth stood on the edge of something irreversible, reaching for a silence that might never let her go.

Marisia hugged her tighter, gently peeling Elisabeth's hands from the wounds on her arms, desperate to anchor her to the present—to pull her back from that dangerous brink. "We'll talk to Mom. She'll understand," she whispered, though a heavy knot of doubt twisted in her chest. Even she didn't quite believe it—but hope was all she had left to offer.

A heavy silence settled between them, one so unbearable it demanded Marisia speak—but what could sunshine and cheer offer in a room drowning in despair? Any attempt at levity would feel like cruelty, a mockery of pain too deep to ignore. She searched frantically for something—anything—that might reach her sister. A way to rewind time, to return to sunlit afternoons filled with laughter and careless smiles. Desperation clung to her like a second skin. She just wanted her sister back.

Elisabeth let out a tearful sob, burying her face in her knees. "The voices…" Her tone was ragged, raw. "They won't stop… They mock me, laugh at me, make me think of terrible things… things I don't want to do… I swear—"

Marisia hesitated, a spark of concern mingling with curiosity. "What do they say?"

Elisabeth's gaze locked onto Marisia's, her irises deepening into a blood-red hue, veined with ominous black. A tremor rippled through her face as she gave a jagged, unhinged grin—equal parts anguish and madness—while tears traced silent paths down her cheeks. "I… can't—"

Before she could finish, Marisia gently placed a finger on her lips, her heart pounding as recognition dawned. The black veins weren't random—they echoed a tale from childhood, a fairy story whispered in hushed warnings. But the tale was no myth. It was genuine—and forbidden. A cursed truth so dangerous it didn't just consume its bearer—it devoured everyone around them.

"Remember what Mom said about controlling your [Aura]?" Marisia lied, forcing a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, her heart knotting, and mouth parched. "I think… I think I can help," she said, swallowing hard against the rising fear.

Elisabeth stared, dazed and uncomprehending, unable to understand, but there was also no need to—Marisia leaned in, her lips parting to reveal fangs that shimmered within her radiant [Aura]—not of rage or dominance, but of joy, hope, and unwavering love. She gently pressed her mouth to her sister's neck, lips brushing dry skin before her fangs pierced the pheromone gland with delicate precision. Elisabeth let out a soft, startled moan, her body reacting instinctively to the sudden connection.

Countless Guard Households had watched their young spiral into madness after enduring such baptisms. In time, they wrapped those tragedies in cloaks of fairy tales, dramas, and bittersweet romances—stories crafted to mask the forbidden truths and perilous methods born of desperation. Familial love became both a weapon and a balm—a force capable of driving one to sacrifice everything, or to hold steady in the storm. Sharing those hard-won lessons, those cycles of failure and fleeting success, became more than tradition—it became necessary for survival.

"M-Mari," Elisabeth gasped, her voice catching as the piercing blend of pain and [Aura] sent shivers through her entire body. Her eyes fluttered, disoriented and overwhelmed. "P-Please… stop…"

Marisia possessed one simple gift beyond her bookish intellect—she was a natural-born social butterfly. Joyful, radiant, and effortlessly disarming, her smile had a way of warming even the coldest rooms. A subtle tilt of her head, a flick of her tail—unconscious gestures, never rehearsed—were often enough to draw people in, prompting them to share their secrets without even realizing why.

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"Please…" Marisia squeezed her eyes shut, tears slipping down her face as she held Elisabeth tighter, feeling the subtle shift in her sister's body—muscles loosening, eyes fluttering closed, breath growing steadier. She channeled her own [Aura]—radiant with joy and quiet hope—into Elisabeth's pheromone gland, even as the toxic miasma flowed back into her in return. Pain, madness, despair—it clawed at her thoughts, ripping at the edges of her sanity. But she bore it all. For Elisabeth.

Elisabeth now hovered on the same harrowing brink as so many tragic souls before her, her body absorbing the poisonous miasma like a sponge lost in a boundless sea—taking in the madness, breath after breath, yet lacking the vital [Skill] that could've anchored her. It was a baptism gone wrong, a sacred rite turned silent curse.

This was "her" responsibility. Their mother had insisted on forging Elisabeth into the perfect knight, refusing to ease the miasma's grip, even though it could have been softened before their legacies were fully etched. Marisia, dismissed as a "non-fighter," had foolishly believed her brilliant sister would weather it easily, just as they'd expected of their brother—who had nearly shattered under the same trial, still recovering under the vigilant eyes of their father. How naïve she'd been. A decision crystallized as her teeth pressed in deeper. One day, if she ever held true power, this cruel practice would end—and those who allowed it, who broke puppies under the guise of tradition, would suffer. They would pay in pain, in blood, and in the most harrowing way possible.

Time passed, and Elisabeth slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep in Marisia's arms. Slowly, the torment etched across her face faded, replaced by an expression of fragile peace. 'Sleep, my little sun,' Marisia whispered, tightening her embrace. She gently leaned to the side, seeking stability lying on the floor, her fangs still embedded in Elisabeth's neck, refusing to release her for even a moment. All the while, she endured the storm of madness coursing through her—the corrosive cocktail seeping into her mind, unraveling her thoughts, her sense of self. Visions bled into her reality, hallucinations dancing at the edge of her vision as the outer circle of insanity wrapped around her consciousness. Her mind cracked and buckled, yet she bore it in solemn silence. Solemn madness—a paradox she could only resist by locking it away, forcing it down, building mental barricades brick by agonizing brick, determined to protect what remained of herself for the sister she refused to lose.

Suddenly, as Marisia slipped into a trance-like state, Elisabeth flinched—her body jerking as if stung. She scrambled backward, panic in her wide eyes as she looked around frantically. "I was… what happened?!" Her hand flew to her neck, fingers brushing over faint fang marks and smudges of blood. She stared at Marisia, taking in the blood-slicked lips and the strangely serene aura lingering in the air. "Mari… did you…?" she whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief.

"Eli," Marisia rose slowly, her limbs aching, every motion dragging against the weight of pain coursing through her. Her voice trembled, but she managed a soft, genuine smile. "You know I love you, right?"

As Marisia pushed herself upright, leaning weakly against the wall, Elisabeth was already upon her—her hand flying in a sharp arc, a loud slap ringing through the room. "Idiot! Why would you do this?" she cried, her voice hoarse and ragged. Then, without pause, she threw her arms around Marisia in a trembling hug. "I would've made it… I could've done it!"

Marisia's head throbbed, her vision swimming in and out of focus, but she mustered a gentle smile. "I'm fine… Just a little headache." She swayed on her feet, half her vision already lost to darkness. "Let's keep this between us, okay? A little rest, some cake—and I'll be back to normal. No need to worry Mom, right?"

A thick silence hung between them until Elisabeth broke, sobbing uncontrollably as she clung to her sister like a lifeline. Marisia held her close, unflinching, even as voices screamed inside her mind. The agony coursing through her was insignificant compared to the nightmare of losing Elisabeth—a horror her heart refused to entertain.

"Let me see," Marisia murmured as she gently pulled back, peering into Elisabeth's eyes. A small, relieved smile formed on her face. "There it is—the beautiful green I know and love. Alive, steady… like the forests out west, always standing, always breathing."

"But…" Elisabeth's eyes widened, her thumb trembling as it gently brushed beneath Marisia's eye. "Your golden hue… it's gone." Panic flickered across her face as she scrambled toward the cosmetic table, rifling through its drawers in a frenzy. Meanwhile, Marisia drifted toward the bed with slow, deliberate steps, every movement a symphony of pain. Her body ached, and her mind offered no respite—just an unending storm of whispers and fractured thoughts.

Falling into the embrace of the bed, Marisia closed her eyes and centered herself on each breath—steady, mechanical, necessary. No thoughts, no allowances. She couldn't afford even a single excuse to surface. To keep Elisabeth safe, she had to silence the storm inside, to become a fortress against it.

Like sirens from forgotten myths, they circled her mind, their voices laced with poisonous empathy. «Little girl,» they cooed, phantom hands trailing gently through her hair. «Stop now, or you won't survive. No one ever made it back—you know that, don't you?»

'I can,' she thought, defiance etched into every tightening layer of her mental walls. 'Eli can too—I believe in her.'

Like phantoms of futures never lived, they circled her mind, their voices quivering with accusation. «Selfish,» they whispered, a wave of anxiety pressing inward. «Aren't you just torturing her? Isn't it fear that drives you—the fear of becoming the next Lady yourself?»

'Lies,' Marisia thought, unashamed of her desire for a peaceful life free from burden. She didn't deny her anxiety, nor did she make excuses for it. 'I am ready.' Her resolve, forged for her sister's sake, burned brighter than any fear of a future that might not include her, scorching anyone or anything that stood in her way.

Like ghosts of the present, they dug their claws into her chest—daggers laced with venomous doubt. «Aren't you tired of being overlooked? Just a footnote in someone else's grand tale?» Visions flashed: Marisia at the edge of every room, pamphlets clutched in her arms, a feather tucked behind her ear, ink smudging her pockets. «You'll be forgotten. But not if you stop now. Not if you take your chance.»

'I am happy,' Marisia told herself, her heart resisting the sting as a small smile surfaced while she imagined her siblings—Brutus and Elisabeth, radiant with promise, destined for greatness. 'I'm truly happy for them,' she mused, calmly withdrawing the spectral claws that had dared to settle in her chest.

Every emotion clawed at her like a thousand sharpened thorns—helplessness, anxiety, envy—all gnawing at her composure, whispering cruel half-truths steeped in guilt and fear. But none reached her core. Only one thing mattered: Elisabeth's survival. Everything else—grief, pride, even her sense of self—was noise masquerading as meaning. She loved her family, her sister. That love was her foundation, her unshakable truth. And she held to it with the grim, unyielding will of someone willing to break herself, to retreat behind fortress walls of isolation and emptiness if that's what it took to endure.

"Mari!" Elisabeth's voice snapped her back to the present. Marisia's smile faded into stillness as she opened her eyes and found her reflection staring back at her from the pocket mirror Elisabeth held out. "Your sheen… it's gone," Elisabeth whispered, her voice laced with trembling fear.

Marisia's eyes, once radiant with warmth and joy—golden like sunlight brushed across a puppy's watercolor—had deepened to a dark, guarded amber. They no longer held the playful spark of innocence or the uncomplicated love for the world. Instead, something fierce glinted within them now—a predator's resolve. All softness burned away and replaced with a relentless, protective fire.

"I like it."

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