The maid's quarters were dim and cramped, a stark contrast to the grandeur of the upper floors. He found her seated on a small stool, a damp cloth pressed to her reddened cheek. She looked up when he entered, eyes widening before she lowered them quickly.
"I… didn't expect you, Sir Elric."
Without a word, he set down a small jar of salve on the table beside her. "For the burn. It will ease the heat."
She hesitated before taking it. "…Thank you." Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Elric's jaw tightened. "I'm… sorry. For what happened earlier."
Her eyes flicked to him, startled. "You don't need to apologize. It wasn't your fault, my lord."
"It was my presence that provoked it," he said quietly. "If I had"
She shook her head quickly, cutting him off. "Please, don't say that. You've always been… kinder than most here. Even if you had tried to stop it, it would have been worse for me."
The words hit harder than he expected.
He studied her for a moment. The burn on her cheek. The tiredness in her eyes. The way her hands trembled slightly not from the injury, but from the weight of a life she could not change.
"You could leave," he said finally. "Find another household."
The maid gave a faint, humorless laugh. "Leave? And go where?" She shook her head. "My father is dying. My younger brothers can barely walk, and my mother's too weak to work. I'm the only one who can earn coin. If I lose this position… there's nothing left but the streets."
She looked at the floor, voice tightening. "And for a woman without status, the streets lead only one way to the brothels. I've seen it happen. I would rather stay here and bear the humiliation than… than lose myself entirely."
Elric didn't speak for a long moment. The silence between them was heavy, not awkward, but filled with an unspoken truth neither could soften.
When he finally said, "I understand," his voice was low, and something in his expression had hardened not against her, but against the world that left her with no other choice.
He turned to leave, but she called softly after him. "…Thank you. For coming."
He didn't answer, only lifted a hand slightly in acknowledgment before disappearing into the dim hallway.
And though his steps were as measured as ever, the guilt stayed with him the knowledge that tomorrow, she would still be here, and Seraphine would still be Seraphine.
The morning light slipped through the velvet curtains, tracing golden lines across the marble floor. The air in Seraphine's chamber was still, save for the soft sound of fabric shifting as she stirred awake.
She was still in the black dress from the day before, the folds wrinkled from sleep, her hair tousled yet still somehow perfect. Elric stood at her side, as if he had been there the entire night.
"Good morning, my lady," he said evenly.
Seraphine's lips curved faintly. "Good morning, Elric. Pick a dress for me."
Moments later, she was seated before the mirror in a deep crimson gown the color made her pale skin glow, her red eyes seem even sharper, her blonde hair almost blinding in its brightness. Elric moved with his usual precision, combing her hair in smooth strokes, the brush catching the morning light.
They dined together in the grand hall, the table stretching endlessly between towering windows. A silver teapot steamed gently, the clink of cutlery the only sound until Seraphine spoke.
"How is the maid's burn?" she asked suddenly, her tone calm, almost conversational. "You visited her last night, didn't you?"
Elric's hand froze midway to his cup. His gaze flicked to her unreadable but the pause was enough.
Her eyes changed. Not cold, but sharp with something darker. The knife in her hand stilled over her plate, her fingers curling tighter around its hilt until the metal groaned faintly under the pressure.
"I…" Elric began, his voice steady. "It was merely pity. I pitied the girl."
The tension bled from her grip, her lips softening into something almost sweet. "Pity…" She set the knife down gently. "I see. Then I am in the mood for some fun today. Bring me there."
"Yes, my lady."
---
The undercroft beneath Evandale Castle was another world entirely. No polished marble, no gilded trim only damp stone, the scent of rust and rot. Their footsteps echoed down the narrow corridor, torches casting wavering shadows along the walls.
At the end of the tunnel, the air was thick with the smell of blood.
The chamber opened into a wide, dim-lit space. Against one wall, a man knelt, his wrists shackled above his head. His clothes were torn, his flesh mottled with bruises and cuts that oozed sluggishly. Around him lay the remnants of others bodies slumped, lifeless, as if discarded when they ceased to be useful.
Elric's expression didn't shift. He had seen this before. Too many times.
The man looked up, his swollen eyes widening in terror at the sight of her. "P-Please… kill me… I beg you… please…"
Seraphine's smile was devastating beautiful, bright, and utterly wrong in this place. She stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the stone.
"My, my… you're in such a hurry to end the fun," she murmured, tilting her head. "And here I thought you would be stronger."
The man sobbed, the sound raw and broken.
She looked over her shoulder at Elric. "Do you remember him?"
Elric's eyes narrowed. "The steward who sold the kitchen girls to the priest."
"Mm," Seraphine hummed, her smile sharpening.
Her gaze returned to the man, and she crouched down just enough for her red eyes to lock onto his. "The last time we met, you didn't beg. You laughed. You thought no one would touch you because you served in this castle." Her fingers brushed his bruised cheek, a mockery of tenderness. "How does it feel now, I wonder, to be the one chained?"
He whimpered, turning his head away.
Seraphine's voice was soft almost gentle. "Oh, don't look away. The fun hasn't even begun."
Elric stood silently, watching, the shadows flickering across his face. His heart did not race. His breathing did not change.