Vichy didn't stop until she reached the living room on the ground floor. Her breath grew shallow and rapid, her cheeks flushed, and her heart pounded wildly in her chest.
With Yaxiu's parting words still echoing in her mind, Vichy spat disdainfully. "Want to drag me, the Spectre Prophet, into the grave with you? Keep dreaming!"
Drawing a deep breath, she slowly calmed her racing pulse and purged every lingering trace of romantic nonsense from her head, returning to the composure of an ordinary demon maid.
Glancing aside, she noticed the canned coffee milk on the cabinet. She picked it up intending to toss it into the trash, but gave it a light shake and felt that about a tenth of it remained.
Right then, Vichy recalled a seemingly trivial detail.
Earlier in the basement, Yaxiu had touched the faint blue trace directly with his finger, yet it hadn't triggered Parting of Loved Ones. That meant affection resided in his heart. But back then, Vichy hadn't told him it was a necromantic trace, nor had Yaxiu suspected it belonged to Harvey. Therefore, the affection in his heart hadn't come from his vanished friend, but from...
A few seconds later, Vichy tossed the completely emptied can into the trash, then squatted beside the bin with her head in her hands, an expression of sheer existential panic across her face.
*What was I doing just now... I am the Spectre Prophet... How could I ever do that...*
After agonizing in front of the trash bin for a long while, Vichy wiped her lips with the back of her hand and trudged dejectedly into the bathroom.
Outside the shower was a dry laundry and changing area where discarded clothes could be tossed straight into the washing machine.
Vichy slipped off her ankle boots, stepped onto the bath mat, and dismissed her maid outfit into fading wisps of flame, leaving only her undergarments.
Hooking her thumbs into the sides of her panties, she bent over to slide them down. But when her eyes fell upon the suspicious damp spot on the soft fabric, she could only lean against the wall and heave a helpless sigh.
Turning her head, she saw in the mirror her pointed elf ears and her flawless demigod soul body.
Now she couldn't even fall back on the excuse of "an uncontrollable mortal female vessel"—
*Click.*
The bathroom door pushed open, and Vichy suddenly remembered she hadn't locked it.
She looked up, meeting the gaze of the Sword Princess. Sonia seemed to have just finished bathing and had not yet dried her hair. Steam drifted from her shoulder-length red tresses, a dry towel hung loosely around her neck, and clad in a short-sleeved shirt and shorts with slippers on her feet, she exuded the effortless charm of a girl at home.
This was the first time Vichy had ever slipped up so thoroughly. Perhaps out of shock or something else entirely, she hesitated for two whole seconds before whisking the panties behind her back. But that was already plenty of time for a demigod sword sorcerer to catch every detail, suspicious damp spot included.
Sonia shut the door, stepping steadily toward the nearly bare Vichy.
Her slippers made not a whisper of sound against the soft carpet, but in Vichy's heart, each step weighed a thousand jin. Shaking off her unease at once, she snapped back into the battle readiness of the Spectre Prophet and stared fixedly at Sonia.
Sonia walked right up to Vichy and reached out. Opening the dryer beside her, she gathered the warm, fresh clothes into her arms and, paying the maid no heed, turned to head back out.
Yet at that moment, Vichy's soul intuition sounded a piercing alarm—
Though she didn't know the Sword Princess as well as the Witch or Silver Lantern did, she knew beyond doubt that she could not let Sonia leave like this. If she did, consequences far beyond what she could endure would surely follow!
Vichy caught Sonia by the arm. The Sword Princess glanced back at her, a look in her eyes that reminded Vichy of a gravedigger casting one final glance before sealing a coffin shut.
Vichy's mind raced, weaving countless excuses and explanations in a split second. Yet after three seconds, she lowered her head and whispered softly, "I'm sorry."
In that fleeting instant, astonishment nearly parted the gloom hovering over Sonia's heart.
She couldn't help a wry smile. "In my impression, the Spectre Prophet was supposed to be the eloquent sort... Hearing those words really changes my opinion of you."
"I could give you a thousand reasons to please you," Vichy said. "But this is the only one you want to hear."
Yet Sonia shook her head. "You don't need to apologize, and certainly not to me. Being moved isn't a crime. Who can stop themselves from being swept off their feet? Even a thousand-year-old demigod has fallen into the mortal dust. Sometimes I don't know whether to complain that my taste is too good or too bad."
Vichy shook her head. "I don't intend to compete with you—"
"I don't care," Sonia said quietly. "Whatever you want to do, I don't care." Pushing Vichy's hand aside, she walked straight toward the bathroom door.
Vichy stepped back against the wall, silently tightening her grip on the fabric in her hand, her thoughts a tangled mess, completely at a loss.
*Crack!*
A sudden sonic boom blasted through the bathroom, a surging shockwave ruffling the hair at Vichy's temples.
The undressed maid stared blankly at the Sword Princess, who had lunged right before her, gazing at the palm that had stopped mere inches from slapping her head clean off her shoulders.
"I'm sorry." Vichy's second apology carried a hint more bitterness, and a great deal more sincerity.
Sonia shook her head, pulled back her hand, and left the bathroom with her clothes.
Vichy sank down, sitting cross-legged on the floor, and muttered to herself, "Yaxiu, you're in big trouble this time..."
***
On the third-floor terrace of the villa.
Because an automated canopy had been installed on the terrace that could extend and retract at will, it kept out the wind and snow.
The terrace was furnished with lounge chairs and soft ambient lighting, making it an ideal spot to recline and admire the starry sky in fine weather—a touch of refined leisure. Yet though the snow had dwindled, it hadn't stopped entirely, and the night sky remained murky and devoid of stars.
Wrapped in a coral fleece bathrobe, Sonia stepped out onto the terrace and leaned against the edge railing. Amidst the drifting flakes, the lights of Jialesi appeared all the warmer.
This was the city Sonia had once yearned for above all else. In the movies and dramas, the people here led dazzling lives—commanding empires in sleek office towers by day, revelling in vibrant, neon-lit bars by night. To a little girl from a remote, backwater town, it had seemed the very embodiment of every wonderful thing in the world.
Only after living here did Sonia learn that the people here had their own miseries, could fail to find happiness, could see everything go wrong, and had to swallow their grievances just the same.
Everyone lived in an ocean of desire. The thirstier they grew, the more they drank; the more they drank, the thirstier they became. Never satisfied, always craving more.
She was no different. Sonia drew an elegant cigarette case from her robe. She had picked it up on a whim at a convenience store, not even knowing why she had bought it...
Yet she felt she needed it.
Drawing one out, her fingers held it clumsily as she placed it between her lips.
She had no lighter, but she had no need for one. *Snap.* A slender wisp of flame flickered at her fingertip, illuminating Sonia's ruby eyes.
As the flame danced, her ruby eyes flickered between brightness and shadow. The biting cold and the falling snow seemed to vanish in an instant, leaving her standing at the center of a pitch-black world. Though empty space surrounded her, her soul felt warm.
Embraced by the flame, the tobacco curled shyly inward, sending up a proud, lonely wisp of white smoke.
Sonia closed her eyes, seeking to taste the miracle ordinary mortals used to escape their sorrow—
*Sizzle.*
The tip of the cigarette hissed as it seared into flesh.
Sonia opened her eyes to find Yaxiu gazing at her from her side, snuffing out the cigarette she had just lit against the palm of his hand.
Chapter 1054