Terrifying Implications

Drip. Drip.

In the dim, oppressive space, the sound of liquid dripping from an unknown source echoed with an unnerving rhythm, creating a chilling sense of being in a haunted, ghostly domain.

With his hands still bound by the heavy iron shackles, Ewan was forced to maintain his posture of a suffering martyr, unable to move. Even the most vital, most vulnerable parts of his body were completely exposed, creating a profound sense of unease… and a strange, perverse, and deeply unwelcome thrill. It made him think of a helpless little rabbit on a sacrificial altar, or perhaps… a very specific kind of roleplay between a man and a woman.

His current situation, he realized with a jolt of pure terror, was a horrifying combination of both.

Anne, having completely shed her usual prim and proper decorum, had transformed into a bewitching, terrifying serpent, her soft, pliant body coiling around him, greedily, possessively devouring his very essence.

“Um… Anne, could you please get up for a moment? I think we can talk this out like rational adults.”

Ewan swallowed hard. The exquisite, maddening sensation where their bodies met was making his head spin with an uncontrollable heat. He silently chanted a calming mantra in his mind, desperately trying to keep his voice from trembling.

Anne pushed herself up, her pink tongue darting out to lick her glossy, cherry-red lips.

“What would the Young Master like to talk about?”

Her cheeks were still flushed with an unnatural, feverish crimson, her eyes hazy and unfocused. Deep within them, he could see a lingering, unsated hunger, and a flicker of raw annoyance at being interrupted.

“Well…” Ewan paused, frantically trying to assemble a coherent argument in his head. “You… you’re in love with me, right?”

“That’s right,” Anne replied with a sweet, beatific smile that did not reach her eyes. “I have always, always, always, always loved you, my dear Young Master. I love you to the very point of madness.”

“R-right. You don’t have to say ‘always’ quite so many times.” Ewan wanted to wipe the cold sweat that was beading on his forehead, but his hands were bound.

Just then, Anne leaned forward, her soft, warm tongue darting out to lick the beads of sweat from his brow, savoring them with a soft sigh.

“Mmm… the taste of my Young Master…” she murmured, a look of blissful, almost orgasmic ecstasy on her face, as if she were tasting the most exquisite delicacy in the world.

“…” Ewan froze, his mind rebooting. Before he could even begin to process the strange, terrifyingly intimate sensation, he felt his teeth begin to chatter uncontrollably.

This was bad. This was very, very, very bad. Anne’s yandere level was far more terrifying than he could have ever possibly imagined.

But it was too late to back out now. He had to press on. “Actually, Anne, you don’t have to do any of this.”

“Hm?” she asked, a look of genuine, innocent confusion on her face.

“You love me, so we can just… date. Normally. Like a normal couple,” Ewan said, his voice urgent and desperate. “You might not know this, Anne, but when my father left, he told me he doesn’t care about social status at all. So even though I’m a duke’s son and you’re a maid, there would be no obstacles to our relationship. There’s no need…” He glanced meaningfully at the heavy iron shackles. “…there’s no need to go this far. This is literally a crime.”

“I see. So that is what the Young Master is thinking?” Anne cupped her cheeks with her hands, a look of pure, unadulterated bliss washing over her face, as if she were imagining some beautiful, wonderful future. “To be truly, properly united with my Young Master… just the thought of it makes me so very happy.”

“Yes! That’s right! So please, untie me first.” Seeing a glimmer of hope, Ewan pressed his advantage. “We can start as a couple, get to know each other, and then…”

“Ah, no. I’m afraid that simply will not do.”

Anne suddenly cut him off.

“Eh?”

Ewan looked up in shock and saw that the last traces of warmth in her eyes had vanished, replaced by a chilling, terrifying coldness that seemed to suck all the air from the room.

“Being your lover would be wonderful, of course. But it is not nearly enough to satisfy my needs.”

“Needs?”

“Did I not tell you before?” she whispered, her voice a soft, silken caress. “What I want… is all of you, my dear Young Master. If we were to become lovers, would you truly give me everything? Every part of yourself?”

“No, that’s asking too much!” Ewan growled, a flicker of anger cutting through his all-consuming fear. “I’m a living, breathing person, not an object to be owned!”

“But is that not the very purpose for which I have worked so tirelessly for these past ten years?”

Ignoring his anger, she continued to gently stroke his cheek, her touch a strange, terrifying mix of tenderness and obsession. “It is a pity that my plan still failed in the end. I was forced to resort to this final, most regrettable, drastic measure.”

“Ten years… what are you talking about?”

Ewan suddenly didn’t understand. He only felt the chill in his heart deepen, as if some terrible, monstrous, and long-buried truth were about to surface and drag him down into an abyss of pure, suffocating fear.

“What do I mean? Why, I am talking about everything I have done for you, of course,” she replied softly, her voice filled with a strange, twisted pride. “Guiding you, protecting you, spoiling you. Carefully, meticulously, making you arrogant and ignorant. Turning you into a true, useless, profligate son, so that you would be despised and rejected by everyone. Especially those promiscuous, preening noble sows. So that no one but me would ever dare to get close to you. So that without me, you would be able to do nothing at all.”

“For the past ten years,” she whispered, her eyes glowing with a feverish light, “I have worked tirelessly, every single moment of every single day, to ensure that you would belong only, and entirely, to me.”

“Wh… what?”

Ewan’s brain buzzed, the shocking, world-shattering revelation hitting him with the force of a physical blow, leaving him reeling and disoriented. He stared at her, and in her feverish, possessive eyes, he saw his own terrified, uncomprehending reflection.

Wait a minute. What is she saying?

According to her, the reason the original Ewan Campbell was such a useless, irredeemable waste of space… was because of her? Because his own personal maid had deliberately, systematically, molded him that way?

How is that possible? How could anyone devise such an insane, monstrous, ten-year-long plan just to possess someone?

…

No. It was possible.

Because everything, from the descriptions in the original novel to his own fragmented, chaotic memories, pointed to one single, undeniable fact—

Ewan Campbell had trusted his personal maid, Anne, completely and implicitly. He had trusted her so much that, in the original novel, he hadn’t even hidden his plan to drug the princess from her.

No, wait. The plan to drug Celicia… it was Anne who had instigated it!

A flash of insight, cold and sharp as a shard of ice, shot through Ewan’s mind. He remembered a line from the novel. Ewan Campbell had been furious that Celicia was growing closer to the protagonist. And at that moment, Anne had “casually” remarked:

【In that case, Young Master, why not make the princess completely and truly yours?】

That’s right. It was that one, single, seemingly innocent sentence that had pushed the original Ewan over the edge.

“But why would she do that? Wasn’t she just sentencing herself to death? In the novel, she was executed as an accomplice!”

Ewan stared at Anne, a new, terrifying thought beginning to claw its way into his mind.

In the original novel… did Anne really die?

If she were just an ordinary maid, she would have been executed without a second thought. But from the terrifying strength she had just displayed, the strength to knock him out in an instant… could she really have been killed so easily? Her death was only mentioned in a single, passing line in the book. What if she had faked her death? What if she had found a way to make everyone think she had died?

And thinking further, the protagonist stumbling upon Ewan’s crime… was it really “fate”? From his own recent, painful experiences, “fate” didn’t seem to be a very reliable thing.

And one horrifying step further… the original Ewan Campbell, who had lost an arm and a leg and become a pathetic beggar… was it really because of loan sharks, as he had so logically guessed?

Or was it because he had lost an arm and a leg, and had been forced to become a beggar, in a desperate, last-ditch attempt to escape from a certain someone?

The more he thought about it, the more terrifying the implications became.