How Far Will I Fall?
"Ah... that was incredible! This bitch is completely my style! Especially that tightness at the very end—hehe, it was absolutely the best! It was as if her hole was custom-made just for my body!"
The Young Elf Lord, drunk on satisfaction, lightly hopped off the bed and began arranging his disheveled clothes with clumsy hands. Despite his short stature, his movements dripped with an even more blatant arrogance than before, like a conquering general returning from a great triumph. Wearing a victorious smirk, he looked down at Luciel with mock affection.
"I'll definitely be back next time, so make sure you keep your body in good shape until then! Since you made my first experience so satisfying, I'll give you a special reward! Who knows, I might even take you as my concubine!"
He arrogantly tossed a heavy silver pouch to Madame Tana, who had materialized like a shadow in the corner of the room, and strolled out while humming a tune. The lingering glance he shot Luciel on his way out was filled with blatant possessiveness and a cruel curiosity, as if he were already wondering what kind of games they could play next time. Luciel felt a shiver run down her spine under that gaze.
A moment later, Madame Tana stepped further into the room with her signature silent stride. As she watched with an air of deep satisfaction, Luciel glared back at her with icy eyes.
"You did wonderful, Luciel. That spoiled young elf lord left completely satisfied. It seems he took quite a liking to you. He was so pleased that he left a tip twice as large as anyone else's. Thanks to you, today's business was highly profitable. Perhaps you truly are a lucky charm."
The corners of Madame Tana's red lips curled up subtly. Luciel couldn't tell if it was a genuine smile or merely a calculated gesture. Her expressions were always as elusive as mist.
"..." Luciel said nothing, merely lowering her head in silence. Her gaze remained fixed on a crack in the cold stone floor, refusing to budge. She silently clenched her fists, her fingers rigid. Perhaps she simply did not want to accept reality.
Madame Tana patted Luciel's shoulder lightly, yet meaningfully. Her touch was cold, but the weight behind it was by no means light. Her gaze felt as though it were piercing straight through Luciel's soul.
"Just keep doing exactly that. In the future, just stay quiet, do as you're told, and perform well. You certainly have a talent for this work. Perhaps even more than you realize."
Leaving those words behind, Madame Tana exited the room. The word talent rang in Luciel's ears like a poisoned dagger, piercing her heart. She covered her ears with trembling hands. As the door clicked shut, Luciel was once again left alone in this dreadful room, enveloped in a suffocating silence.
The room was still thick with the elf's sickening cologne. Slowly, she sat on the edge of the bed, resting her limp hands on her knees. Her fingertips trembled slightly. She clenched her hands tightly and took a deep, shuddering breath. It felt as though the cold, filthy air was seeping into the deepest recesses of her lungs, corrupting the very last remnants of her purity.
'I am... I am gradually changing.' It was a stark realization. An undeniable, horrifying reality. The burning rage and unbearable humiliation that had consumed Luciel when she first set foot in this room at The Feast were now warping into something far deeper and darker. Like a thick fog or a suffocating swamp, a sense of numbness was spreading over her, choking out everything else.
Before she knew it, Luciel was slowly, ever so slowly, growing accustomed to this dreadful pleasure. The sensations she had initially fought against with every fiber of her being were now etched into her body as clearly as an indelible brand. Her fingers traced the invisible marks of pleasure engraved upon her flesh. The agonizing humiliation was gradually dulling, giving way to a helpless resignation. Perhaps even that resignation was just another form of adaptation. She despaired at her own surrender.
It was like drinking a small dose of poison every day until one eventually built up an immunity—or worse, became unable to survive without it. 'In the end... what will become of me? If this life, if these sensations, truly become completely natural to me... who will I be then?'
The great Emperor Luciel, who had once ruled over the world, was already as good as dead. Her pride and dignity had been shattered into dust. If so, what was this empty shell of a body that remained? Was she merely a puppet toyed with by the curse of the Constellations, drowning in pleasure, or... a completely new entity that had begun to accept all of this? She felt a profound confusion regarding her own identity.
Suddenly, Luciel felt one corner of her mouth twitch upward. She quickly covered her lips with her hand. Was this... anticipation? Or excitement? Could it be that in this very moment, amidst this hopeless and horrific situation, she was actually looking forward to the next unknown pleasure, anticipating the moment she would be defiled by someone else? Terrified by this chilling realization, Luciel shook her head violently. Cold goosebumps broke out across her skin, and her heart hammered anxiously.
"No. No! Pull yourself together, Luciel! I... I haven't given up yet! I was the Emperor! I must have my revenge! I will make everyone who did this to me pay tenfold!" She muttered weakly, as if trying to convince herself. Her voice was cracked and trembling. Her hands shook. Yet, her words only echoed hollowly in the room, failing to reach the depths of her heart. It felt as though she were speaking of someone else entirely.
Just then, with a sharp creak, the door swung open and Miren stepped inside. Entering without knocking was a habit of hers. As usual, she had a long cigarette clamped between her lips, her reddish-brown hair swept up in a messy bun. A few loose strands cast shadows over her weary face. Her worn, simple, yet well-fitting dress subtly accentuated her mature curves, and she carried her usual scent of cheap perfume.
She casually plonked herself down on the edge of the bed next to Luciel. The mattress creaked slightly under her weight. The acrid smoke of her cheap cigarette stung Luciel's nose, but strangely, it no longer felt repulsive. Perhaps she had grown accustomed to this smell as well. Luciel didn't look away this time, instead staring blankly at her with hollow eyes. Though Miren's face was deeply etched with fatigue and boredom, her eyes still held a spark of life.
"Miren," Luciel said, her voice so low and flat that it sounded foreign even to her own ears.
"Hmm? What's wrong, newbie? Did something happen again? You look like death warmed over. Was today's client that rough?" Miren replied, blowing a long stream of smoke with practiced ease. The smoke drifted past Luciel's face and dispersed. Her gaze seemed lazy as always, but beneath it lay an unreadable depth and a faint trace of pity.
"Have you... been living like this for a very long time?" The question slipped out of Luciel's mouth before she could stop it. Perhaps she simply wanted to hear someone else's story—the story of someone who had survived this hell, this despair. Or perhaps... she harbored a foolish hope of finding some small sliver of light within it.
Miren took a deep drag of her cigarette, exhaled slowly, and stared blankly into space for a moment—though in this windowless room, there wasn't much space to speak of. "Well, I don't know what you consider 'long,' but it's been a while. It doesn't feel like an eternity, but it's certainly not a recent development either. I guess it's been long enough that I can barely remember what I was like before I ended up here."
Her voice was remarkably calm, as if she were telling someone else's story. "At first, yeah... I was around your age, maybe even younger. Back then, I was the favored concubine of some wealthy noble. Every night, I wore shimmering silks, decked my hair out in jewels, and foolishly swallowed his sweet lies. I was stupid enough to believe that damn thing called love would last forever. But nothing lasts forever. Especially not a man's heart. The moment his eyes wandered to a younger, fresher piece of meat, I was tossed out onto the streets overnight like a pair of old shoes. No place to go, no possessions, not even my own name. That's how I drifted down to this gutter. This was the next stop in my life. Maybe the final one."
Miren let out a short, dry chuckle. The sound was exceptionally hollow. "For the first few months, all I wanted to do was die every single night. I wanted to end it all—this filthy world, this filthy body. I actually tried a few times, too. But isn't it funny? Humans are terrifyingly adaptable creatures. At some point, I just wanted to live. Even like this. I wanted to survive, even if it meant clawing and struggling. So I took whatever work came my way, grit my teeth, and endured. And now? Well, I have the luxury of sitting here with you, sharing old stories over a smoke, so I guess I'm doing alright, aren't I? It's proof that I survived this gutter."
She shrugged and looked at Luciel. Her eyes held a mixture of self-deprecation and a strange sort of pride. Luciel couldn't find any words, merely nodding slowly in silence. She resonated deeply with Miren's words. Strangely, Miren's story gently stirred something in a corner of Luciel's cold, frozen heart. Could I end up like Miren too?
Miren watched Luciel for a moment, then chuckled and gave her head a playful, gentle flick. It was a lighthearted gesture, but it carried a sense of comfort and encouragement. Perhaps even a feeling of kinship. And then, she did something entirely unexpected.
Miren quietly slid closer and wrapped her arms around Luciel in an awkward but sincere embrace. Her hug was light yet firm. Along with the smell of cheap tobacco, a faint, strangely comforting scent unique to her drifted from her body. It was the first time since arriving here that Luciel had felt someone else's warmth so closely, so directly.
Luciel froze in stiffness for a moment, but soon, without realizing it, she gently leaned against Miren's back. It was like a child who had been shivering in the cold for a long time finally finding a warm hearth. She felt a burning sensation behind her eyes, but no tears fell. In Miren's embrace, for the first time in a very long while, Luciel let out a faint, genuine smile. It was neither self-deprecating nor cynical, but a truly tiny, delicate smile. Like a small petal blooming at the end of winter. Luciel felt a spark of the human emotion she had long forgotten.
Sensing Luciel's reaction, Miren chuckled and let her go. Yet, the warmth of the embrace lingered. "Look at you, newbie, you actually know how to smile. You're tougher than you look, aren't you? Or have you already developed a taste for this life?"
She looked straight into Luciel's eyes. Her gaze was far softer and more serious than before. "From now on, call me Eonni. You're my little sister starting today. Having another sister in this filthy gutter isn't a bad thing. You've got some real spine, and for some reason, I've felt drawn to you since the moment I saw you. Strange, isn't it?"
At those words, for the very first time in this strange, cold place, a tiny, warm emotion carefully sprouted within Luciel's dry, frozen heart. "Yes, Miren Eonni!" It was perhaps too weak and insignificant to be called hope, but it was certainly not despair. It was a tiny, faint light suggesting that she might find at least one reason to keep living, even in this hell. A single ray of warmth seemed to seep into Luciel's cold heart.