He was the one who had pulled her from the sea—the man who had seized her from the jaws of death and forcibly stitched her life back together before it could slip away completely.

His voice was oddly familiar, as if pulled from some half-forgotten memory. But Tilda was too weak, too disoriented, to grasp why.

“Are you blind?”

Tilda panted, her breath shallow and broken. She couldn’t summon the strength to speak, let alone answer properly.

Suddenly, the man’s hand gripped her chin, tilting her face upward with surprising firmness.

“You have to answer me properly, I can’t help you if you don’t.”

In the suffocating dark—through the fog of pain—Tilda focused on his voice, willing herself to respond.
Finally, with great effort, she gave a faint nod.

The man released her chin and, as if rewarding her, gently ran his hand through her tangled, damp hair.

“Can’t you see anything?”

Tilda gave another small nod—barely perceptible.

“…Damn it. This is the worst.”

“I can save you, even your sight—I can restore it.”

Tilda’s mind reeled.
‘What is he saying?’
He spoke as if he had the power of a god. How could she believe him?

“But—”
His tone shifted slightly, a hint of warning curling beneath the words.

“It’s going to hurt a little.”

‘More pain?’
Tilda shook her head suddenly, a frantic, desperate motion.
‘No more.’
She couldn’t take any more—she was already at her breaking point.

If even a sliver of pain was added to what she was already enduring, she was sure she’d fall into shock—
and never come back.

Sensing her fear, the man gently cradled her head in his hands.
His voice came low, steady, and warm—a whisper laced with quiet certainty.

“No… you can endure this.”

‘Who are you to say that? How can you speak to me like you know me… like you care?’

That gentleness—so unexpected, so unearned—sparked something cold inside her.
Suspicion.Fear. It felt too kind. Too familiar.
As if her mind, clinging to the edge of life, was conjuring comfort out of sheer desperation.

“…Who… are you…?”
Her voice cracked, the words barely scraping through her dry, burning throat.

“That’s not something you need to know right now. Maybe… it’s better if you don’t.”

But there was no time to press him, no time to demand answers.

Before Tilda could even process what he meant, another wave of pain surged through her body—violent, overwhelming.

She curled inward with a gasp.

The man’s voice sharpened with urgency.

“We need to begin. Now.”

Tilda couldn’t fight back—she didn’t even have the strength to resist whatever the man was about to do.
Her grip on consciousness was slipping fast; even the faintest lapse threatened to pull her under again.

Then she felt it—the weight of the man climbing over her body.

By the time she realized what was happening, it was too late. Panic surged like fire through her limbs, and she thrashed instinctively. The man let out a sharp, frustrated sigh.
“…If you’re already this hysterical, this is going to be rough.”

‘What is he trying to do?’
Tilda’s thoughts raced in terror.

Fear sank its claws deep into her chest.

‘Is he going to r*pe me? Now that I’m blind and helpless?’

Of course. There had to be a reason he’d saved her from the sea. No one is that kind without wanting something in return.

Why else would someone rescue her—only to treat her so gently?

‘Fool, you let your guard down. You let yourself believe it.’

Her jaw clenched. She opened her mouth wide—ready to bite down, to end it on her own terms.

If it had come to this—!

But before she could do it, the man shoved his hand into her mouth, stopping her.

“Damn it!”

“Do you know you’re harder to handle than a wild animal?”

“You… disgusting bastard…I’m not trying to r*pe you. I’m trying to save you.”

Even without her sight, Tilda could feel the truth in his voice.
It wasn’t cruel.
It wasn’t mocking.
It was raw—with urgency, with conviction.

In her darkness, she could almost see his face—not twisted by lust or lies, but sharpened by resolve.

And for the first time since this nightmare began…the thorns wrapped tight around her heart loosened—
just a little.

As Tilda finally loosened her jaw, the man pulled his hand from her mouth.

She was certain she’d bitten down hard—so hard there were likely deep, angry marks left behind.
She had been ready to sever her own tongue.

But the man said nothing. Not a sound of pain, not a single complaint.

A heavy silence settled between them, thick and suffocating. Just as she began to wonder what he was doing. Something warm and soft brushed against her lips.

“Mmph…!”

Her body jolted with shock.

‘His mouth. It’s his mouth—on mine.’

By the time realization dawned, it was already too late. His lips were pressed to hers.

Startled, Tilda instinctively tried to resist—but with him still straddling her, she had nowhere to go. No room to flee.

‘He lied to me… He tricked me!’

Even through the haze of pain, the sensation was too vivid to ignore. Too real. Her fists clenched tightly in reaction—ready to fight, to lash out.

But then—she felt it.

He wasn’t just kissing her.

His breath… his energy…it was entering her—pouring into her in a flood of heat and force.

It wasn’t sensual. It was elemental. Raw. Primordial.

It was like lightning had struck every nerve in her body.

Something foreign and powerful was coursing through her—something unknown.

And then the pain came. A blinding, stabbing pain that shot through her skull like a bolt of fire.

“Ah—!”

Her eyes—still blind—flew open wide.

This wasn’t pain of the flesh. This was deeper.

Pain that didn’t belong to the body……but to the soul itself.

Though Tilda writhed in agony, the man didn’t move—not even a little. He was like a slab of iron pressing her down, unshakable.
Instead of retreating, his lips moved more deliberately, pushing that strange energy into her faster and harder.

‘At this rate… I’m going to die!’

The thought tore through her in a silent scream, just as the man finally pulled away.

The foreign power stopped flowing into her—but the pain didn’t. It clung to her like fire under her skin.

Tilda clenched her teeth, enduring it with all the strength she had left. It still felt like her body was being ripped apart—but now…she began to sense something different.
As if the pain wasn’t just destruction. As if something was being purged from her—driven out by that unknown force. Then, the man released her bound hands and muttered dryly.
“Your teeth are going to get ruined.”

Before she could react, he forced her mouth open. And the moment her clenched jaw gave way, the agony exploded into a scream.

“Aaagh!”

Her hands flailed wildly, desperate to cling to something—anything. Her fingers found warm skin.

Then another wave of searing pain hit. Without thinking, she clawed at the flesh she was gripping, nails digging in.

The man didn’t pull away.

“That’s it, better to scratch or bite me instead.”

Urged on by his words, Tilda wrapped her arms tightly around the man’s neck—not with affection, but with desperate instinct. Like a sailor clinging to the mast of a small boat being tossed in a violent storm.

Just as he had said, she bit and scratched him in an attempt to cope with the pain—anything to ground herself against the agony ripping through her.

Even without sight, she could imagine the state of him—his back and neck torn and bloodied, like fabric shredded by claws.

But she felt no guilt. Not for a second.

It was because of him that she was like this. Because of him that her body and soul were being torn apart.

Tears welled in her sightless eyes. The pain wouldn’t stop. She had no choice but to hold him tighter, as if it were the only thing keeping her tethered to the world.

“Hoo…”

The man let out a low sigh, as if holding something back.

“…Th-this pain…when… does it end…?”

He was silent for a beat, then answered—slowly, honestly.
“That… I don’t know. It’s different for everyone.”

His bleak reply shattered the last of her composure. The tears she had barely held back spilled down her cheeks.

It felt like every tear she would ever cry in this lifetime… was falling now. All at once.

As her quiet sobs filled the room, the man muttered under his breath, frustrated but not unkind:

“Tch… crying again.”

“…This is nothing short of torture.”

Tilda instinctively blinked her blind eyes and turned toward the sound of his voice. She couldn’t see his expression, but she felt it—the subtle flinch in his body.

A moment later, she felt the gentle brush of his fingers wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“Listen carefully.”

“…”

“There’s a way to lessen the pain.”

Tilda’s breath caught.

‘There’s a way?’

Her chest burned—not just from the lingering agony, but from a sudden surge of betrayal. Without thinking, she struck him—her fist hitting his broad chest with a loud thud.

“…Don’t blame me, I had to prepare myself before I could even bring it up.”

His grip was firm, but not cruel.

“You might regret this later, even so… do you still want me to ease your pain?”

Tilda didn’t ask what he meant. She didn’t care.

There was nothing left in her to protect. He had already seen every vulnerable, broken part of her.
There was nothing left to shatter.

If there was even a chance to stop this torment—even for a moment—that was enough.

She gave a small nod.

And as she did, she felt it—his chest, firm as steel beneath her touch, tightening with resolve.

“…Alright, just remember—this was your choice.”

With those final words, the man once again pressed his lips to Tilda’s.

A slick mass of flesh slipped into her delicate mouth, stirring it up. His tongue sucked on hers, glided along her even teeth, relentlessly stimulating her.

‘I knew I shouldn’t have trusted him…!’
Tilda pushed at his shoulders and pounded against his broad chest, but the blasphemous tongue invading her mouth didn’t stop.

Yet, despite the revulsion, there was something undeniably different. Whether it was from the shock or the lewd movements of his tongue, the pain had eased—just slightly.

Maybe this was the man’s plan all along. He must’ve kissed her with the intent to intensify the pain first, only to pretend to relieve it later.

She tried to resist—pushing his tongue away, biting down on his lips—but that only seemed to provoke him. His breathing grew heavier.

Soon, the man’s large hand slipped under her damp clothes and lazily caressed the hollow of her stomach.

Tilda twisted her body to escape his touch, but he didn’t allow it. He stubbornly stroked her belly and waist, his fingers gliding along her spine, caressing her smooth skin.

In contrast to his hurried, rough kisses, his touch was gentle and tender—so much so that Tilda found herself thinking how strange he was.

‘If his goal had been to violate me… there would’ve been no need to go to such lengths.’

When his hand brushed over her shoulder blades, she briefly felt a callus. The shape of his hand against her skin seemed long and graceful—but his palm was rough and worn.