Emily's Nest

Morning found Emily awakening in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the center of her dingy, grimy room beneath London's ashen sky. But this was different from yesterday. At her feet lay a silver suitcase so surreal it defied belief as reality, its contents shimmering with the promise of her glittering new future. She no longer prepared for her part-time shift. Instead, she sat at her rickety old desk, pen in hand, and scrawled a brief, curt ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠farewell on a single sheet of paper.

'Don't look for me anymore.'

That was all. No love, no hate, no resentment. Just a perfect severance from the past.

She stuffed the note into the greasy pocket of her father's jacket, where he snored drunkenly on the sofa. Returning to her room, she gave the loathsome space one final glance: moldy wallpaper, creaking bed, and the tattered Harry Potter poster. She stared at the poster for a moment, then tore it down without a shred of regret.

Dragging her silver suitcase, she stepped out the front door.

Click.

The door's closing echoed like a final period stamped on her past.

Her first mission was to find a nest.

Armed with her revered senior's vast fortune and Saint-Germain's useless prattle, she plunged into London's cutthroat real estate market. House prices were murderous, but money was no longer an issue for her. What mattered were two conditions: perfect isolation where her alchemy experiments would go unnoticed by anyone; and proximity to London's civilized comforts.

After days of searching, she found the ideal spot: a dilapidated Victorian brick cottage at the edge of a quiet Surrey village in London's commuter belt. Abandoned for decades, its structure was solid. And most crucially, it was ringed by acres of overgrown forest, miles from the nearest neighbor.

She snapped up the house and the surrounding woods for cash, no hesitation.

From that day, the forsaken cottage began undergoing miraculous transformations.

Every morning, enormous delivery trucks of unknown origin pulled up. Anonymous workers unloaded luxury furniture, state-of-the-art fixtures, and machines of mysterious purpose before vanishing silently.

Emily became the creator-god of her own kingdom.

The first-floor living room boasted a massive velvet sofa cradling her voluptuous form in comfort, paired with the latest home theater system. The kitchen brimmed with pro-chef ovens and utensils beyond reproach.

And the second floor. She converted one room into her perfect private alchemy workshop. Powerful ventilation lined the walls, while a fire- and acid-proof marble workbench dominated the center. Glass cabinets filled the walls, displaying premium German labware—beakers, flasks, retorts, and towering distilleries—gleaming like jewels.

In the workbench's most sacred corner, she enshrined the glass vial of her senior's gift, a fragment of divine armor, like a tiny altar.

Finally, she furnished the bedroom. She chose the bed first, above all else. Without hesitation, she commissioned a custom size even larger than a California king. The mattress was cloud-like luxury latex and memory foam; the sheets, 1200-thread-count Egyptian cotton to caress her bare skin.

Once every piece arrived and she'd piled on the massive goose-down pillows, she flung herself onto the colossal bed without thinking.

"Ah..."

Her body sank into it like sinking into clouds. She closed her eyes. And imagined.

'Here... him...'

Her hand gently stroked the empty space beside her.

Someday, if she became a true alchemist worthy of standing at his side, he might visit this place. Tour her workshop, praise her research, and... perhaps sit on this vast bed with her for tea.

And at night, he would lie here. His firm, hot body. The perfect mattress creaking pleasurably under his weight.

She buried her face in the pillow. It smelled only of newness now, but soon it would be saturated with his scent, his musk, the aroma of his magic.

She would fall asleep inhaling it, wake to it again.

Unthinkingly, Emily's hand drifted between her legs. Her lower belly burned hot.

'His... his body... right here on this...'

She pictured it: entwining with him atop these soft sheets. His rough hands gripping her ample breasts, his teeth sinking into her nape. And finally, him pouring everything deep into ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her most sacred core on this pristine bed...

"Hngut...♡"

A lewd moan escaped her lips.

His mockery turned Emily's face apple-red.

"Shut up, Germain! It's not like that!"

But she couldn't deny it. This massive bed wasn't just her sanctuary. It was the perfect, most lascivious nest to offer her new mate.

Jinwoo stood at the center of his magic workshop—that frigid forge. He closed his eyes and directed a summons only she could sense toward his sharpest blade in the distant Japanese temple.

Chiharu had just finished grueling training and sat on her bed, catching her breath. Her naked body glistened with sweat; her gaze fixed on an old trophy on the wall. Her mind boiled with seething rivalry toward that blonde British bitch Emily she'd seen at the nightmare airport. The way her Master had been unusually tender to her alone. Calling her "junior," acknowledging her potential.

'That damn alchemist slut... how dares she...'

Right then—

Whoosh—!

—the mark etched deepest in her lower abdomen ignited without warning, burning madly.

This wasn't the heat of jealousy or rage. It was... her Master's irresistible, intensely personal, intimate call. A direct signal meant only for her.

"Ah...♡!"

She doubled over with a lewd moan and bolted naked from her room to the basement.

As expected, a crimson summoning circle glowed vividly on the marble floor like a burning brand, reserved solely for her.

No official oracle relayed through Koharu—this was his private summons.

She didn't hesitate. Still slick with sweat and utterly nude, she hurled herself into the circle to answer.

Chiharu's feet hit the chill workshop floor. She instantly dropped to her knees in perfect form before her Master, head bowed.

"Answering your call, your huntress has returned, Master."

"Raise your head."

When she obeyed his low command, the sight before her stopped her breath like an arrow to the chest.

Atop the ebony workbench, on soft black velvet, lay two faces side by side.

One was a new helmet of his she had never seen: pitch-black steel shaped like a crow's beak. Its rough, rugged surface bore the scars of battle, and from the red-lensed eyeholes flickered hellfire, alive and pulsing.

It was the face of a god, the crown of a conqueror.

And beside it... her fox mask.

But no longer the humble one she knew. Same pure white porcelain exterior, no new patterns or colors. Yet...

She felt it. Inside the mask pulsed an overwhelming authority, like a miniature black hole devouring and twisting space itself.

The two faces formed a flawless pair, as if forged together since the dawn of time.

"Ah... aaa..."

Meaningless awe spilled from Chiharu's lips. Every trace of jealousy, anxiety, and rivalry toward Emily melted away like snow before this vision.

This... what did it mean?

That was the king's helm.

And this... this was the queen's tiara.

Her Master had recognized her not as mere huntress or bitch, but as the one true mate to stand at his side.

Her lower belly blazed in rapture, her thighs flooding uncontrollably hot and slick, forming a puddle on the floor.

She collapsed prostrate, sobbing in overwhelming joy.

Jinwoo gazed down at her with satisfaction and approached. He lifted the enhanced fox mask and whispered its new power into her ear.

"This mask... I've inscribed the regression attribute from the great warrior's axe haft. And amplified your resilient mana to grant space-rending force."

He tilted her chin to meet his eyes.

"Now, simply donning it lets you wield your new ability. [Fox Step]."

His voice etched the new law directly into her soul.

"...Master..."

Chiharu gazed up at the mask in his hand with trembling eyes of emotion. It was the most perfect, ideal fang she could imagine.

Jinwoo didn't wait for her reply. He fitted the cold, new mask over her tear-streaked face himself.

The instant it settled perfectly, her vision shifted. The world sharpened, crystalline and razor-edged.

And she felt it: invisible threads linking her to her bow in hand and every arrow she would loose.

Masked once more, she prostrated at his feet in deep, utter submission.

"This Chiharu... no, your she-fox..."

Her voice echoed from within, taking on a eerie, sacred timbre.

"Will become your arrow, piercing any foe your gaze touches. Your eyes, spying any secret. Your blade, slashing all that blocks your path."

She lifted her head, gazing at his new helm with eyes of awe and love intertwined.

"My... only Master."

Confirming her flawless submission and the burning loyalty within, Jinwoo smiled in satisfaction. He didn't don his new helm, leaving it on the workbench. Instead, he looked down at masked Chiharu, still prostrate beside him.

"Rise, my she-fox."

"Yes, Master."

Chiharu stood motionless, awaiting orders.

"You've been weary from back-to-back hunts."

His voice held an unexpectedly gentle tone, unlike his usual arrogant dominion.

"Rest today."

"...Yes?"

Chiharu doubted her ears.

"Let's go on a date."

He said it casually.

"...Da... date...?"

Beneath the mask, her brain rejected the word's meaning. A date? That mundane mortal frivolity had no place between Master and slave, god and hound.

"Yes. A date."

Jinwoo stepped before her. He cupped her new mask gently in both hands, then slowly—tenderly, like handling a priceless treasure—removed it from her face.

Beneath lay her bare skin, flushed red from sweat, tears, and joy. Her eyes quaked with confusion and bewilderment.

"You're my sharpest blade," he whispered, stroking her cheek softly.

"But also... my most beautiful bitch. Sometimes... it's not bad to sheath the sword and simply admire its beauty."

His words vaporized her reason like gasoline. No jealousy, no rivalry, no mere loyalty. Her heart overflowed with a sweetness, a dizzying bliss melting her body—pure happiness she'd never known.

Her seal emanated a warm, gentle glow unlike before, spreading ecstasy through her entire body. Tears she'd hidden beneath the mask finally spilled—hotter, happier than any she'd ever shed.

"I'll ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pick your clothes," he said, wiping them away with his finger.

"Today... be a normal girl, not a huntress. Please me."