Without breaking eye contact, McClart tore the papers in his hands in half. The stack split with a sharp rip, and Vienny felt as if the tear had hit her own body. Instinctively, she winced and stepped back.

“Yes,” he said firmly, his tone steady and unyielding.

He tossed the torn pages into the fireplace, where they quickly shriveled and blackened in the flames.

“That should be the only answer.”

McClart lowered his legs from the stool and stood. Even from a distance, his tall frame exuded a menacing presence, and Vienny quickly looked away. Stay here? In this room?

“I have no way of knowing when I’ll connect.”

“Then stay until you do.”

“Why…?”

Frustration twisted her expression as she bit her lip, anxiously glancing around the room. Judging by the furniture and layout, this was clearly not an office, yet she couldn’t help but ask.

“Is this… an office?”

“Does this look like an office to you? I knew your eyes were just for show.”

Clucking his tongue in disdain, he stepped closer to her. He took the chain she was holding and fastened it to a metal ring anchored in the ground – a ring she hadn’t noticed until now.

As she stared blankly at the heavy padlock being secured, the metallic clang finally jolted her back to her senses. She realized she was being imprisoned.

“I’m the only one who can unlock this,” McClart said casually, tucking the key away. “Without my permission, you’re not leaving this room.”

With those final words, he disappeared into his private room.

* * *

Strictly speaking, she had already been imprisoned for half a year.

The only thing that had changed was the place. From an underground cell to a regular room and now to a luxury suite. Ironically, she had felt most comfortable in the underground cell. But even being confined to this lavish room had its advantages.

Firstly, she no longer had to worry about injuries—or, more precisely, it seemed they were careful not to harm her, likely to monitor her responses, though for reasons she couldn’t fathom. Secondly, she was spared from the contemptuous stares of those who despised her.

Judging by her surroundings, this room was McClart’s private quarters and bedroom, meaning he was the only one permitted inside. Occasionally, Pepin would come in to tend to Vienny’s wounds, but only if McClart was present and had personally unlocked the door.

Recalling the first time Pepin entered, his speechless reaction at seeing her chained like a pet made it clear just how twisted this situation was.

The fact that the maid called in to assist with her basic needs was both deaf and dumb underlined the strict security measures around this room. McClart’s decision must have caused shock and whispers outside, and even Vienny, the one directly involved, couldn’t understand his actions, so one can only imagine the reaction of others.

She barely slept for the first three days, unsettled by McClart’s presence in the next room. After three nights of insomnia, Vienny finally dozed off fitfully, but never for more than a few hours.

The carpet was too soft, almost stifling. At this point, it felt like another form of torture, as if depriving her of any real peace was part of his plan. In the end, it seemed easier to accept it as such, given the toll it took on her.

Now, dazed from lack of sleep, Vienny leaned against the wall. Unlike in his office, McClart didn’t seem to mind her crouching there. In fact, it was as if he had forgotten her altogether, leaving her chained and ignored. And that suited her just fine – being ignored was far preferable to enduring his confusing questions.

As she sat there with her eyes closed, she almost felt as if she were alone in the room. McClart was seated before the fireplace, absorbed in his work and paying her no mind whatsoever. Was it his indifference? Or perhaps she was gradually becoming accustomed to the softness of the carpet? Vienny’s head slowly tilted to the side, her forehead gently bumping against the corner of the wall. Unable to withstand the days of accumulated exhaustion, she finally surrendered, slipping into an almost faint-like sleep.

Her consciousness sank into a deep, dark abyss.

* * *

The first sensation was hunger.

The hunger was familiar, an unrelenting pain pulsing through her with every bite. In the distance, the cawing of a crow mingled with the faint buzzing of insects. The sound of a midnight bell drifted in from afar, hinting at a nearby village.

Her mouth opened slightly, a cloud of white breath escaping, and pooled saliva trickled down. She panted softly into the empty air, scanning her surroundings.

Dark thickets and an eerie chill filled the night. As she took a few tentative steps, something rustled nearby, scurrying into the undergrowth. She paused, listening intently, then dismissed it and turned away as the hunger gnawed at her with even greater intensity.

How long had she wandered? She didn’t know. Finally, she lifted her head and let out a long, echoing howl. But the silent woods offered no reply.

Her stomach ached with hunger. Once again, she wandered aimlessly until her keen sense of smell caught something enticing. Entranced, she followed the scent and soon spotted a faint, flickering campfire in the distance.

At the sight of the fire, she instinctively lowered her body and slowed her steps. Eyes gleaming in the darkness, she peered ahead and saw a few animal bones scattered nearby – leftovers discarded by those in the camp. Her mouth filled with saliva; the scent that had drawn her was probably from those bones.

In the past, she would have been grateful for even a scrap of bone to nibble on. But now she saw something far more tempting. By the faintly flickering fire sat a dozing human, his head nodding in drowsiness.

Long ago, she had once tasted flesh from one of their kind. It had been rotten meat back then, but now, the human before her was very much alive and fresh. She exhaled a hot breath, a low growl slipping between her slightly parted teeth.

It seemed they hadn’t noticed her yet. Fixing her gaze on the exposed neck of the unsuspecting human, she took a slow, deliberate step forward, moving silently. But then she froze, realising that there were more of them than she had expected.

Despite how appetising they looked, there were simply too many. She might be able to kill one if she attacked, but the others would take their revenge quickly. She hesitated, torn between the fierce hunger that urged her forward and the instinct that warned her she might not survive.

She wanted to give in. No, she did not want to give in.

She crouched lower, getting close enough to make her move. Just as she reached the perfect distance, a sudden, searing pain tore through her waist. A piercing scream escaped her muzzle.

“…!”

The dozing human’s eyes snapped open to meet hers. They were a deep, piercing black – the last thing she saw.

* * *

“…Ah!”

Gasping for air, Vienny jolted awake, her breaths ragged. Curled tightly into a ball, she found herself drenched in cold sweat.

She bolted upright, pressing a hand over her mouth as a wave of nausea surged, making her gag. With a grimace, she leaned forward onto the floor, trying to suppress the lingering nausea. Taking deep, steady breaths, she reminded herself that it hadn’t been her senses, that the impulse hadn’t been her own.

The thought of feeling hunger at the sight of a human filled her with disgust.

She stayed there, trembling, until the cold sweat on her forehead dried and her nerves finally steadied. Lifting her head, she looked up at the figure before her. She’d assumed McClart would be seated by the fireplace, watching her from a distance. Instead, he was standing surprisingly close, looking down at her.

Had she been in a clearer state of mind, McClart’s ominous gaze might have frightened her. But Vienny was too drained to care.

As she tried to catch her breath, the sharp smell of blood filled her senses. Her eyes fell to her arm, where the bandages had come undone, nearly torn to shreds, and lay discarded to the side. Blood seeped freely from the wound, vivid and unrestrained. McClart was probably responsible.

The injury, which had been slowly healing under Pepin’s care, now bled as if freshly inflicted. She was too accustomed to such injuries to feel any real shock; her only concern was the amount of blood, enough to soak into the carpet beneath her, leaving a troublesome stain.

She had just begun to get used to the softness of the carpet, but McClart would probably insist that it be torn up and burned.

“A dream?”

“…Yes.”

Her voice was still hoarse from sleep, slightly cracked and rough, which made McClart’s expression tighten in displeasure. Yet he said nothing, his gaze fixed solely on her bleeding wound.

“It’s always been like this, hasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t know what she looked like while attuned to the beast, but she could imagine it must have been a pitiful sight if even McClart, who usually showed her nothing but contempt, reacted that way. Then again, she wasn’t sure he was capable of pity at all.

“And the dream?”

“It was nothing special. I was wandering through the woods…”

McClart suddenly raised a hand, cutting her off mid-sentence. His eyebrows knitted in irritation as he clicked his tongue quietly, then turned away, heading for the main room without waiting for her reply. Vienny watched him go, confused, but quickly dismissed it – her throat hurt too much to dwell on it.

She wanted to rub her aching neck, but she didn’t have the strength to lift her wrist, weighed down by the heavy cuffs. Her bleeding arm throbbed painfully, making even the slightest movement difficult. She swallowed dryly several times before McClart strode back from the main room.

In his hand was a glass. Vienny stared at it as he held it out to her, then looked up at McClart, searching for an explanation. When their eyes met, he gave her a brief nod, gesturing for her to take it.