The manor slept like a beast pretending to be tame. Its walls breathed heat, its chandeliers glimmered like eyes that never shut, and every corridor was too polished to trust. Somewhere, far in the west wing, Nitron's aura pulsed like a low drumbeat — heavy, constant, reminding the house who owned it.
But in Elma's chamber, there was something else. Something older. Something not his.
She sat cross-legged on the bed, bruises blooming purple under the thin silk of her slip, ribs bound so tight she could barely inhale. Her lip still split from his last "lesson." The leash coiled at her throat hummed with its usual weight, the quiet reminder that no matter how many men she killed, no matter how many women she seduced, she was never free.
Except tonight, her attention wasn't on the leash.
It was on the shard.
A jagged sliver of metal no longer than her palm, etched in sigils that curved like frost and burned like embers. She had taken it from Frostspawn's Archivist without permission, tucked it away before the Master's eyes could notice. It pulsed faintly now, a rhythm just off her heartbeat. Every throb sent a cold ache up her arm — but also a whisper. Not words, but possibility.
When she closed her eyes, she could feel it speaking to her bones. Not yet. Not his.
For the first time since Nitron had locked her leash, Elma laughed quietly.
The door opened.
She didn't flinch. There was only one person reckless enough to walk into her chamber without knocking.
Calista slipped inside, cloaked in shadow instead of jewels. The robe she wore was midnight-dark, not the crimson silks she favored in public. Her hair was loose for once, spilling down her shoulders. She shut the door with careful precision, as if the wood itself might betray her.
"You're bleeding again," Calista said softly. Her eyes landed on Elma's jaw, then her ribs, then the scorched skin at her palms.
Elma smirked, holding the shard between two fingers like a coin. "Occupational hazard."
Calista crossed the room, each step slow but steady. She reached the edge of the bed and stopped, gaze falling to the shard. Its pale glow brushed across her face, lighting her cheekbones, turning her irises into glass.
"That's not his," she said.
"No." Elma's grin sharpened. "It's better."
Calista's eyes flicked up, wary. "Explain."
Elma rolled the shard across her knuckles, feeling its cold seep into her skin. "It doesn't answer to him. Not yet. Which means it can answer to me. To us."
The leash hissed at the word us, as if punishing even the idea. Pain pricked across her collarbone, sharp as needles. She winced but didn't drop the shard.
Calista's hand twitched, like she wanted to touch her but didn't dare. "You're saying it could cut it. The leash."
"I'm saying," Elma murmured, "I'd rather gamble on this than choke one more night."
For one fragile breath, Calista's composure cracked. Hope flickered, raw and dangerous. Then it was gone, buried under her queen's mask.
"You speak as though you're sure."
"I'm not." Elma leaned back on her palms, forcing a laugh. "But certainty's for cowards. I've lived my whole life on wagers. Why stop now?"
Silence stretched between them, heavy with everything unspoken. Then Calista moved.
She dropped her mask completely and sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that the shard's glow spilled across her throat. Her fingers brushed Elma's arm — and the leash struck instantly.
Agony tore through Elma's chest. She hissed, doubled forward. Calista gasped as if burned, but instead of pulling away, she clutched tighter.
"Elma," she breathed, "I can't—"
"Don't stop," Elma rasped through clenched teeth. Pain blistered her nerves, but the touch was worth it. "Don't you dare stop."
The leash screamed. Their bones trembled. Their breaths tangled. And still, they held on until the ache dulled to a manageable roar.
When it faded, Calista's forehead was pressed to hers. Sweat beaded her temples. Her eyes glistened with fury.
"One week, I said," she whispered. "But I can't wait that long."
Elma's grin was bloody. "Then say it. Say you'll burn him with me."
Calista's lips curved, bitter and sharp. "Not just burn. Replace."
The shard pulsed as if in approval.
Elma's laugh came out low and broken. "So the porcelain queen finally cracks."
"No," Calista said, voice steady as steel. "The porcelain queen shatters — and cuts."
She kissed her then, sudden, brutal, desperate. The leash howled, pain tearing through them, but neither broke away. Elma's hand tangled in Calista's hair, yanking her closer. Calista's nails dug into Elma's thigh through silk. The shard glowed brighter, cold spilling over their heat like frost over fire.
When they tore apart, both panting, Calista's lips were swollen, her mask gone entirely.
"He will never see it coming," she whispered.
Elma smirked, even as blood streaked her mouth. "That's what makes it fun."
The system stirred, uneasy.
[New Flag: The Coup]
Allies: Calista Vale
Risk: Total annihilation
Reward: Freedom
Calista slid the shard from Elma's hand, holding it carefully between her fingers. Her eyes burned with something dangerous. "We'll need allies. Quiet ones. If we move too fast, he'll crush us both."
Elma leaned back, head hitting the wall. "I'll find them. Rivals who want him gone. Clients who whisper too much. Everyone he thinks I'm seducing for him, I'll seduce for us instead."
"And me?" Calista asked softly.
"You?" Elma's grin softened. "You're the crown. The one he doesn't expect to move. The one who can slit his throat in plain sight — and smile while doing it."
For once, Calista didn't argue. She simply looked at her, eyes dark, and nodded.
The shard pulsed between them, cold and alive. The leash hissed, warning. But Elma felt it — for the first time, the leash didn't feel like a noose. It felt like something that could be broken.
And maybe, just maybe, something that would choke him instead.
Outside the window, the manor loomed quiet. In the west wing, Nitron slept in his grand bed, unknowing, aura dimmed to a steady ember. His wife and his weapon sat in the dark, plotting his end.
Elma curled her fingers around Calista's hand, squeezing until the shard dug into both their palms.
The system shivered.
[Quest Accepted: Shatter the Leash]
Primary Objective: End the Master
Optional Reward: Throne
Elma laughed quietly, bloody and alive. "Guess the story changes now."