The Ice Lotus’s Embrace

Presently, what lay before Daphne was a delicate, exquisitely charming, fair and tender foot, like an unopened flower bud. White silk stockings tightly encased the evenly slender sole and calf, so close that she could even discern the tiny gaps in the weave, and the dainty, pearl-like toes nestled together.

Pristine as a confection of ice, the silk stockings on the sole were slightly damp from frost or perspiration. Due to the extremely low temperature, tiny ice crystals had formed, and a sweet snow orchid fragrance wafted from the slightly curved, crescent-moon-like arch.

Confronted by the Saintess’s fragrant, delectable white-silk-clad foot, Daphne couldn’t help but swallow awkwardly.

‘It looked so tempting, yet it was a foot, not food. She couldn’t actually use her mouth on it.’

Though not blood-related, the sisters’ eccentricities remarkably mirrored each other: one desired to lick feet, while the other wished for her own feet to be licked.

‘But this was an organ meant for walking and standing. How could one possibly lick it with a tongue?’

“Do you find it dirty?”

Gwynevere’s patience was thin. Her cold question pierced Daphne’s trembling, fearful heart like a blade of frosted ice.

The fragile half-blood maiden shuddered as if shocked. With a faint shimmer of tears in her eyes, she frantically shook her head, her dark red hair, dusted with hoarfrost, swaying gently like a blooming, vibrant red lotus.

“The Saintess’s foot isn’t dirty at all! It’s incredibly clean, practically food-grade!” Driven by an overwhelming survival instinct, Daphne began to flatter Gwynevere without restraint.

She wore a fawning smile, tilting her head back to gaze at Gwynevere.

“Lick,” the Iceheart Saintess commanded, utterly unconcerned by the fawning in Daphne’s voice. She simply repeated the verb, her tone chilling.

Gwynevere gently brushed aside the cloak and skirt covering her thigh, then lifted her leg another inch. The ice lotus snow foot, emitting a faint, sweet fragrance, also advanced another inch.

Now, the maiden’s entire slender, exquisite white-silk-clad leg was exposed to the cool air. Though seemingly an avant-garde display of her own flesh, the Saintess’s movements were so sacred and elegant that no impure desire could possibly arise. A hint of divinity even emanated from her calm, downward-gazing ice-blue eyes.

‘Of course, Daphne might have been a little more grateful if Gwynevere weren’t attempting to forcibly shove her foot into her mouth.’

The flawless, pure white, ice-cream-like tip of the jade foot now rested against Daphne’s nose. Beneath the stocking, her neatly trimmed, rounded toenails were covered in a faint layer of sparkling ice crystals, and the snow orchid fragrance wafting from between her toes was utterly captivating.

‘She couldn’t think anymore. Since resistance was futile, she might as well learn to enjoy it.’

‘If she hadn’t saved this girl back then, where would such exquisite jade feet be now? And wasn’t it precisely because of her pampering that Gwynevere’s skin was so fragrant and tender?’

With that thought, Daphne suddenly felt it was no longer a big deal.

‘She had painstakingly cultivated this, so what was wrong with tasting it herself? Wasn’t barbecued meat always most delicious when one had grilled it personally?’

Despite her frantic attempts to rationalize, Daphne still found it utterly outrageous. She truly wanted to know who had taught Gwynevere this ‘play.’ How could the pure and sacred Saintess possibly entertain such perverse thoughts?

“You… you have to keep your word, you know…” With no room for maneuver, the half-blood maiden resigned herself to fate. Her gaze lifted slightly, seeking Gwynevere’s affirmative response.

“Of course, as long as you’re obedient.” Gwynevere subtly adjusted the skirt and cloak draped over her thighs, the faint rustle of fabric against silk stirring a strange tingle in Daphne’s heart. “You know quite a bit about that ruin, don’t you? I have many, many questions for you, so you won’t be dying anytime soon.”

‘So, she wants to capture and interrogate me? Is this her way of giving a captive a taste of what’s to come, then?’

Realizing this, Daphne actually breathed a sigh of relief. She had genuinely feared Gwynevere intended something truly shameful.

‘Licking a jade foot was a small matter; raising a pervert, now that would be a big problem.’

After all, Daphne had immense confidence in her cultivation plan. Every individual was meticulously chosen and nurtured, with the ultimate goal of becoming a leader capable of independently commanding a region and contributing to the resistance against the Twilight Apocalypse.

‘If a pervert who preyed on other girls emerged from her ranks, wouldn’t that suggest a fundamental flaw in Daphne’s educational methods?’

‘Just imagine how terrifying it would be if all the future hopes of the Order faction turned out to be perverts.’

‘Such a world would be better off destroyed…’

Suppressing her wild thoughts, Daphne slightly tilted her head under Gwynevere’s unwavering gaze, extending her pink, tender tongue from between her rose-red lips.

“Hiss, it’s so cold!” Daphne yelped, retracting her tongue immediately after a light touch. Her scream was laced with a whimper.

“It’s winter in the Northern Realm, after all. Frost and dew condense into ice.” Gwynevere’s explanation was cold and heartless. She maintained her posture, clearly intending for Daphne to continue. “That mere touch just now doesn’t count. You can only stop when I say so.”

‘A girl so sensitive to cold, her feet frozen like popsicles—that must be truly uncomfortable, right?’ Daphne’s resentment lessened slightly, and she began to feel a pang of pity for Gwynevere.

‘Consider it helping her warm up.’

Now it was Gwynevere’s turn to be overwhelmed. She hadn’t anticipated the sensation would be so incredibly potent.

Tickled to her core, Gwynevere instinctively tried to retract her foot, only for Daphne to forcibly grab it and pull it back, as if refusing to let go.

The Saintess had never been treated in such a manner. For a moment, she even forgot that she was the one in control.

Clever Daphne, of course, discerned Gwynevere’s weakness, and thus, with a hint of retaliation, focused her attention on those critical areas.

Just as Daphne was smugly preparing to use her teeth, Gwynevere finally lost her patience, stomping her foot onto Daphne’s face and pinning her to the ground.

Daphne’s hands were clasped together, her wrists tightly locked above her head. A white-silk-clad knee pressed firmly against her soft, flat abdomen. In an instant, Gwynevere had completely immobilized the half-blood maiden.

Before Daphne could even cry out in pain, she opened her eyes to find the Saintess’s deep blue, icy gaze directly before her.

Her platinum-blonde hair, only now, fell like a light gauze curtain along both sides of her face. The snow orchid fragrance, a refreshing scent unique to the Iceheart Saintess, diffused softly around them.

Within those perpetually cold and ruthless icy eyes, a shallow layer of mist had surprisingly gathered.

Anger, shame, urgency… these emotions, which should have been lost and never belonged to her, were now unreservedly ablaze beneath the thin layer of ice, a truly dazzling sight.

After twelve years, Gwynevere finally rediscovered the urge to cry.

The sorrows and joys she had experienced, everything she had once regarded with indifference, now became startlingly clear and vivid in her hazy memories. She had finally reclaimed the sensation of being human.

Color had returned to her world.

Though only for an instant.

Indeed, she was right. It had to be this half-blood, only this half-blood.

Gwynevere resolved to possess her. Only this half-blood could help her reclaim those lost emotions.

“I… I clearly licked it…” Daphne, unable to comprehend Gwynevere’s fervent, longing gaze, merely trembled as she defended herself. “You said I could only stop when you…”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Gwynevere stated calmly. “What we didn’t finish last time, I intend to finish now.”

“Last time?” Daphne was stunned.

But as she watched Gwynevere’s delicate, frost-kissed lips part slightly and descend, and felt a slender finger hook her chin, making escape impossible, Daphne finally understood what “what we didn’t finish last time” truly meant.

‘Again!?’