"No wonder… why you women are the very symbols of betrayal…"
His voice had dropped, so low it almost scraped against her skin like a blade hidden beneath silk. Xuānluò's tone was neither raised nor shouted, but that quietness was far more frightening than anger. Each word seemed to crawl into Shěnhuī's ear and nest inside her chest.
She trembled, unable to respond. His hand rose—long fingers threading through strands of her hair, playing with it absently, like one might stroke the strings of a broken instrument. His head tilted unnaturally to the side, gaze locked upon her with a strange emptiness.
The warmth she once knew from him had vanished, as though it had been drowned beneath something darker—something creeping from within.
Her body shook so violently that she thought her bones might splinter under the weight of her fear. She forced her lips shut, though her thoughts were screaming loud enough to echo in her ears.
Then, with an unfeeling half-smile twisting his lips, Xuānluò whispered, "Don't you think… something is changing around us, besides me?"
The words were mocking, almost playful, yet they dropped into her stomach like ice.
At first, she didn't understand. But then—her heart stopped.
The windows that had always let the light of the outside forest in… vanished. One by one, they sealed as though they had never existed. The natural holes of the wooden palace's walls closed seamlessly, no trace left behind. Even the faint air that used to seep in through tiny cracks was gone.
It was as if the world itself had disappeared, leaving her trapped in this suffocating, shrinking room—alone with the man she could no longer recognize as her husband.
Her breath hitched. Horror widened her eyes. No escape. Not even the faintest hope.
"…No. No, Xuān! Please—please don't scare me like this!" Her voice cracked into a scream, desperate, raw. "H-how could you do this to me?!"
She stumbled backward, but her broken wings throbbed with unbearable pain, dragging her down before she could rise. The agony was so sharp that it nearly pulled her into unconsciousness, but the sight before her kept her awake.
It was a nightmare made flesh.
Xuānluò's hand snapped into her hair, merciless and rough. He circled her head slowly, twisting strands around his bloodied fingers. The crimson smeared through her golden locks until they looked soaked with fresh wounds.
Her cry was weak, muffled by her own terror, as his grip tugged so tightly she thought he would tear every strand from her scalp.
A sound broke from his throat—something like a chuckle, yet stripped of all humor. Hollow. Empty. The sound echoed inside the sealed chamber, as if the darkness itself were laughing at her.
Her sobs shook her shoulders, fingers clutching helplessly at his wrist to ease the pain, but his grip was unyielding.
And then—his jade-green eyes shifted.
At first, it was faint, a crimson hue creeping into the irises. But it spread swiftly, consuming the gentle luster they once held, until only the red glare of madness remained. His long, reddish hair—once warm like autumn fire—bled into a lifeless white, draining as though every ounce of warmth abandoned him.
He looked like death itself was peeling his humanity away, leaving behind only a pale shadow of something monstrous.
Shěnhuī's chest heaved, air refusing to enter her lungs.
Was he possessed? Was this his true form, hidden all along? Or… had her words—those sharp, careless knives—cut too deep into the one who had been her protector?
She couldn't tell. And that uncertainty was worse than knowing.
The silence grew so heavy that even her heartbeat seemed like a crime. She dared not move, dared not even breathe too loud.
Then he stopped twisting her hair. His jaw clenched, a muscle twitching beneath skin gone ashen pale. His breaths dragged in ragged, unnatural rhythm.
Finally, in a voice low and syrupy-dark, he whispered:
"Let's see how you fool me now. No softness is left to play your little games. And now… no windows are left to escape. Only you. Only me. My… Shěnhuī."
The sound of her name—drawled out, mockingly sweet—broke something inside her. Her pride, her practiced confidence, her countless masks—piece by piece, they crumbled under his gaze.
She was left with nothing but the raw, primal desire to survive.
If she wanted to live, she would have to gamble again. Even if it meant wearing another mask, even if it meant deception.
With trembling hands, she forced herself to reach upward, cupping his face. Her palm pressed against his cold cheek.
He did not flinch. He did not push her away. He simply tilted his head, eyes unblinking, and murmured emotionlessly:
"Go on… Shěn. I'm listening. As always."
That tone—it was both cold and mockingly tender, like the breath of wind before a coming storm.
Her lips trembled, voice barely scraping out.
"Xuān… you've… mistaken. I-I didn't mean what you've understood…"
Tears rolled down her face, her words quivering with false fragility.
His gaze never wavered. He lifted her hand from his cheek, holding it in his palm as if it were nothing more than a fragile bird. His thumb stroked across her knuckles—mock-gentle, yet empty.
"Oh? Really? So… I was wrong?" he asked, tone hollow, unreadable. "I… hope so."
Her throat burned as she swallowed hard. His voice carried no anger, no softness—only something she could not decipher.
But if he was pretending to believe her, she had to push forward. She had to act.
"How… how could I just let my children die like that—for something as foolish as power?" she whispered, her words cracking into pitiful sobs. "I carried them inside me… for five long months. How could I ever forget that?"
For mortals, ten months was long. For fairies, five was the same eternity. Long enough to bind a mother's heart forever.
Her tears streamed down, crocodile or not.
Xuānluò's eyes, hollow pits darkening further with every second, stared at her without blinking. Slowly, he nodded.
"Yes… my dear. You did. I did. We both waited for Yèn and Hào together. Yes… how could you forget?"
For the briefest moment, her eyes softened. Perhaps—just perhaps—her act was working.
But then.
The sharp crack of skin meeting skin split the silence.
His left hand struck her cheek with such force that her head whipped to the side. The sound rang through the sealed chamber, loud, merciless.
Her lips parted in a shocked whimper. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, staining her hair as it fell in messy tangles over her face.
Xuānluò's voice thundered—not cold, not tender, but raw, heartbroken, and furious:
"HOW COULD YOU FORGET IT?!"