Having stated her reason, Isis braced her palms against the ground, attempting to stand. However, just as she straightened her upper body, Beacai reached out, pushing her shoulder and sending her back into the sea of flowers.
Her hair fanned out once more, and the floral scent grew even more intense. She was about to ask Beacai what she intended to do when her abdomen suddenly felt a heavy weight; the very fiend who had been standing moments before now straddled her body.
“Is that true? Is it because I am a fiend that no one will ever love me, is that it?”
She leaned down, her pale hand gently caressing Isis’s cheek. It was as if she were admiring the most perfect gem in the world, her voice softening considerably.
Several strands of silver hair cascaded onto Isis’s slender, swan-like neck, creating a faint tickle. Yet, pinned beneath Beacai, Isis dared not even twitch, terrified that the slightest movement might provoke her.
“Even you, you don’t love me.”
The caress against her cheek ceased, and Beacai seemed profoundly disappointed, her tone dropping to a much lower register.
“You said you loved me before, but it was merely out of fear that I would kill that follower, wasn’t it? To protect someone you’d only met once, you chose to deceive me, to offer me a false love, right?”
In truth, Beacai had known everything then. Isis didn’t love her at all; her words had been solely to save the follower.
Yet, Beacai had been willing to be deceived by that false love. She had yearned to hold Isis close while the deception lasted, to experience the sensation of never being rejected, and to briefly become the daughter Isis acknowledged.
These feelings felt more genuine, and brought her greater joy, than when she had controlled Isis with thorny blood.
Even if it was still a lie.
However, Isis’s words had shattered Beacai’s immersion in that falsity. She realized that in Isis’s eyes, her own importance paled in comparison to a follower she had only met once.
‘Why?’ ‘She was her mother, and she had even saved her life…’
‘Was it simply because she was a fiend?’
‘Shouldn’t maternal love transcend such things?’
Resentment, grievance, fury… countless emotions surged within her heart. She gazed at the woman beneath her, whose divinity had yet to fully fade, and licked her lips, a sudden, inexplicable thirst for blood rising within her.
Before Isis could even sense the approaching danger, she averted her gaze from Beacai’s direct stare. She then spoke softly, “Your followers, they love you.”
“They love me?”
As if she had heard the most preposterous joke, Beacai covered her mouth and let out a delicate laugh.
“They are greedy, wicked, and selfish,” she scoffed. “Their faith in me is merely a desire to gain power from my being, to satisfy their own wishes. Should I ever lose these powers, the Blood Church would vanish overnight.”
“Unlike you, even after disappearing for so many years, a fervent group of followers still worships you. They firmly believe you are not dead, and that a day of return will come.”
“I envy you so much, truly I do,” Beacai murmured. “If I were like you, I would surely be very happy, wouldn’t I? With so many people loving me, I wouldn’t feel so alone…”
As she spoke, Beacai leaned down, and under Isis’s disbelieving gaze, opened her mouth and bit into her neck.
Sharp fangs effortlessly pierced her skin, drawing forth the blood within her. The raw, un-numbed pain made Isis frown deeply, biting down on her own lip.
Feeling her blood ebb away drop by drop, she extended her hands, attempting to push Beacai off her body. However, in the next instant, Beacai seized both her wrists, pinning them to the ground.
Her resistance and struggles were utterly futile before the fiend.
Having seemingly savored the sweetness of Isis’s blood, Beacai released her. The sharp fangs withdrew from her flesh, bringing with them a few drops of crimson.
The pain abruptly ceased, granting Isis a moment to breathe. Yet, her neck felt strangely numb, preventing her from turning her head to evade Beacai’s gaze.
Still pinning the woman’s hands beneath her, Beacai parted her lips slightly, revealing a tongue tip stained crimson with blood. Her eyes, too, were the same color, though now they brimmed with a profound sense of grievance.
“Your blood is so warm, so much sweeter than theirs,” she whispered. “Why won’t you share even a little of your love with me? I am also a child you saved…”
Perhaps it was Yggdrasil’s innate maternal instinct, but Isis silently watched Beacai, a soft spot in her heart stirred, giving rise to a flicker of compassion.
Beacai’s current demeanor was akin to a child in a biased family, unable to comprehend why they were disliked by their parents, why they received no attention.
Witnessing other children doted on by their parents, they felt not only confusion but also resentment and envy. They resented their parents’ favoritism, yet were utterly powerless to change it.
After all, even if they cried and pleaded before their parents, they would still remain unvalued.
“If only you would relinquish your identity as a fiend, I would love you.”
These were Isis’s true feelings.
Though it seemed almost impossible, if Beacai could cease being a fiend, Isis knew she could care for her, look after her, and give her the love she craved.
Alas, Beacai would not agree.
“Give up my identity as a fiend? This is the only thing I have left, Mother. I won’t trust you again; you only deceive me.”
Having uttered these words, she bent down once more, biting into Isis’s neck. This time, her attack was far more aggressive than before, inflicting a pain that made Isis clench her lips, nearly crying out.
Time ticked by, second by agonizing second. As her blood was drained, Isis’s face grew progressively paler, yet Beacai showed no sign of stopping, as if intent on siphoning every drop of blood from the woman beneath her, leaving her for dead.
Her consciousness began to blur from the loss of blood, and the pain in her neck turned into a dull throb, no longer assaulting her soul. Her eyelids felt incredibly heavy, and without realizing it, she closed her eyes.
Her limbs grew numb, and her lips could no longer clench tightly. Isis, weakened by severe blood loss, struggled to maintain her consciousness, her only clear thought being that she was dying.
It was then that she heard a voice, as if from the farthest reaches of the sky, or perhaps from the deepest part of her soul. It echoed incessantly within the sea of her consciousness, seemingly altering her perception.
‘Beacai, she is your daughter…’
‘Beacai? Daughter?’
Plagued by profound confusion, she succumbed to the overwhelming blood loss and fainted.
****
Drip—drip—
Raindrops cascaded from the eaves, falling into a small puddle on the ground with crisp, melodious sounds. Isis abruptly opened her eyes, finding herself in a backyard.
Behind her stood her residence in Anhel Town, a small but cozy cottage.
‘How had she returned here?’ ‘And what had she been doing before this?’
‘Was it a dream?’
Rubbing her temples, she realized she couldn’t recall a single thing.
“Mama, look! My new magic!”
At that moment, a childish voice drifted from ahead. A little girl excitedly ran towards her, carefully opening her palm to reveal a cluster of dancing flames within.
Gazing at the silver-haired girl, Isis felt a wave of familiarity wash over her. Simultaneously, memories suddenly surged forth from the depths of her mind.
The little girl’s name was Beacai, and she was a child Isis had adopted.