The Night the Full Moon Sets
The night soaked in the full moon's glow finally passed, and a brilliant dawn chased away the lingering darkness, heralding the arrival of morning.
“Hng... Uu...”
Laura, lost in a frenzy of utmost awakening, felt her submerged consciousness gradually bubbling back to the surface, like flotsam rising from the depths.
“Charles.”
Charles?
Who was that? She couldn't tell. All she vaguely sensed was that the voice she'd just heard was terribly familiar.
Still lacking the leisure for coherent thought, Laura focused first on regaining control of her unresponsive body.
It was a desperate struggle, like twitching her fingers in a frantic bid to break free from sleep paralysis...
“Ah...”
When her body finally obeyed her will again, a faint joy washed over her, and she hurriedly tried to grasp the situation.
“...”
What she roughly remembered was sensing the gazes of the men trailing her as she entered an alley on the outskirts of the capital.
Why, then, was...
“P-Pro... fessor...?”
Ferzen standing before her?
Drool.
“Hup!”
Vulgar saliva trickled from the corner of her mouth. She tried to stop it, but the cloth gag muffled her, letting the drool stretch down onto her clothes.
“...”
Before she could even panic, Laura's face drained of color as she took in the myriad wounds etched into Ferzen's arms... and her own hands clenched around his throat.
Ah...
Her albino pallor made it worse; the bluish veins stood out starkly against her skin as the blood fled her face.
“Laura.”
“Y-Yes, h-he...”
“Are you compos mentis now?”
“...”
She nodded. Lacking the shame to speak, Laura dipped her head and released her grip on his windpipe.
This is bad... really bad...
With no memory of the interim, it was nothing but a headache for her. No—a headache that felt like it might split her skull.
The Full Moon's Curse had flared despite her body not carrying the Genova count's blood through reincarnation.
And during that outbreak, she'd encountered Ferzen, leading to this situation.
All of it tightened like a noose around her neck.
Grip.
Moreover, the Full Moon's Curse brought extreme pleasure during its frenzied impulses...
Sitting on his lap now, the thick feminine scent mingling with his body odor was utterly mortifying.
Not feminine scent, really—just the reek of a bitch in heat.
Anyone entering the room would think a man and woman had rutted here shamelessly.
“Lift your head.”
Shake, shake.
Laura shook her head. Ferzen leaned forward, untied the cloth gag from her mouth, seized her chin, and forced her gaze up.
“Laura.”
“Y-Yes... yes...”
“I never imagined Rosenberg carried the blood of the exterminated Genova count's line.”
“Wh-what... ah...”
At Ferzen's utterly unforeseen words, Laura's crimson eyes widened, her lips trembling.
Normally, wouldn't people think she had some mental illness, or a psychopathic hobby for killing?
“Your reaction confirms it's true. Though you seem unaware of the Full Moon's Curse itself.”
Purse, purse.
Like a goldfish, she worked her lips and clutched her pounding heart fiercely.
Even setting aside how he'd linked it to Genova... the Full Moon's Curse was a secret only she knew.
How did he...
Even if he had her past life's corpse—Isabel's—the Curse's truth couldn't be gleaned that way.
To get feedback on it, one needed prior knowledge of the Curse.
From a blank slate...
It wasn't something guesswork could touch.
“Wh-what... are y-you... s-saying...”
“The Full Moon's Curse is the malediction etched into the Genova count's bloodline. You likely never heard it from your mother, whom your father imprisoned to sire you.”
“...”
“Proof is simple: have other black mages servant her corpse and receive feedback. And if you suffer the Curse again at the next full moon, it proves Rosenberg inherits Genova...”
Unable to hear more, Laura reached out and clamped her hand over his mouth.
Already driven mad by the Curse's outbreak after years of despair... now this veiled threat to expose it and doom her parents and house...
Her head spun. The world whirled in vertigo.
No, it truly did.
Her frail constitution, pushed beyond limits in hyper-awakened insensibility to pain and fatigue, now reaped its backlash.
“Hng... ugh...”
Her stomach churned. She felt like vomiting.
Cold sweat beaded on her brow amid chills and shivers. Forgetting she was in Ferzen's arms, she clutched his collar tightly...
“Hic... ah...”
Whimpering like a sickly pup.
“Laura.”
Ferzen stroked her back soothingly and whispered in her ear.
“Out of concern: I have no intent to publicize this. Rest easy.”
“L-Liar...”
No one doubted Brutein's loyalty to the imperial family—a truth etched in history.
Though his blood held no Genova taint, and his guess had flaws, the circumstances made denial impossible.
Genova had assassinated imperial kin; Brutein's heir wouldn't let this slide.
“I mean it. I'll cradle your periodic Full Moon's Curse outbreaks myself, ensuring no harm comes.”
“Hng...”
“I shan't spout hypocritical words or strike from behind. 'Tis beneath me.”
“Wh-what... do y-you... w-want...”
Laura wasn't foolish. Silence meant he wanted something from Rosenberg.
“That requires parley with Rosenberg's head. You needn't sit at the table.”
“N-No... please...”
Her family was innocent. She didn't want them burdened.
But she knew she lacked the power to shoulder it alone.
“Dost thou not grasp this transcends childish tantrums?”
“I-I... kn-know... I d-do...”
She didn't. Rationally, logically, she couldn't sway him. So she squirmed in his arms, throwing a fit.
“I-I'll... d-do... a-anything...!”
“...”
“R-Really... a-anything... i-it's f-fine...!”
She yanked down her dress strap, baring her deathly pale shoulder.
But Ferzen impassively readjusted it neatly.
“If thou canst do naught, claiming 'anything' is contradiction. I'm not so lust-starved as to crave thy frail form. Overstep not; it displeases me.”
“...”
He lifted her, carried her to the bed, and laid her down gently. From his sub-space, he drew a comb and tidied her disheveled white hair as he continued.
“Yet I comprehend thy sentiment. How about this?”
“Wh-what...”
“When Rosenberg needs aid, I'll inform thee first. Persuade thy father to assist me. He's quite the doting fool for thee, after all... earnest pleading might sway him.”
“I-if... I f-fail...”
“Art thou not past the age of such naive queries?”
“...”
As if done, he set the comb aside and took his suit jacket from where it'd been slung.
Seeing his wound-laced arms again, Laura murmured softly.
“S-Sorry... I'm s-sorry...”
“The order's amiss. Apologize before bargaining.”
He smirked, tracing the deep bite marks and vivid bruises.
“W-Wait... j-just a m-moment...”
She reached for ointment from her rosario's sub-space around her neck.
Bruises bloomed at the slightest bump, wounds healed slowly—so her sub-space held precious herbal salves...
“...?”
Gone. Empty.
She patted herself down, wondering where her altar—her rosario—had gone, when Ferzen before her uttered “Ah...” and pulled the silver rosario from his pocket, handing it back.
“I held it briefly.”
“Th-thank... you...”
Bowing deeply, she retrieved ointment, sat him on the bed, and said,
“H-Hand... p-please...”
She applied it tenderly to the wounds surely inflicted by her Curse-ridden self.
How badly had she bitten... By the time she'd coated them all, the tube was spent.
Grip.
She bandaged meticulously...
“D-Done...”
She peeked at his face cautiously.
“...Laura.”
Ferzen eyed the bandages, confirmed no asymmetry, then extended a finger.
“This bears wounds too.”
“Ah, th-that... n-no m-more o-ointment...”
His middle finger, crusted thickly—perhaps worse than his forearm—made her shrink.
“Is that so. Very well.”
Indifferent, he straightened his rolled sleeve and rose.
“W-Wait...!”
She clutched his hem desperately, head bowed.
“P-Personally... I-I'll d-do... wh-what I c-can...”
“No need.”
“...”
His firm refusal didn't loosen her grip.
Even granting he'd waive the Curse's secret for conditions... he'd made no demands for the wounds on Brutein's heir. She yearned to atone somehow.
...She didn't want the debt weighing on her.
“Laura... The crust makes it look grave, but the wound itself would heal with saliva alone.”
“St-still...”
She flinched at his words but held firm. Ferzen sighed.
“...Fine. If it burdens thee so, I'll let thee purge it thus.”
He turned, faced her, proffered his wounded middle finger, and tapped her ruby lips.
“...?”
Blink, blink.
Perplexed, she lifted her crimson eyes to him.
“Did I not say? It would heal with saliva alone.”
“...”
“I desire naught personally from thee. Punishment suits best.”
Understanding dawned. She'd be lying if she claimed no fluster, but if this atoned for scarring him, it was a fair trade.
She squeezed her eyes shut, grasped his large hand, parted her lips slightly...
...Lick.
Her tongue clumsily lapped it.
“...”
Punishment—yes, surely punishment. Her face burned redder than ever, shame and humiliation overwhelming.
...Suck.
She drew his wounded finger inside, cradling it gently with her warm tongue, suckling as if in devoted service.
The wound...
The metallic blood-tang melted into her saliva; the gouged flesh felt deeper than expected. She squinted up at his face.
But it remained impassive, devoid of emotion.
These raw crevices... how could saliva alone suffice?
Even pinching a finger in a door hurt like hell. Let alone human teeth...
“Something on my face?”
Flinch!
Caught staring, she shook her head vigorously, shut her eyes tight again...
...Slurp.
She focused on the act—disinfection, rationalized.
“Pfu... ha...”
Deeming it enough, she released it and wiped his glistening finger with a handkerchief.
“...”
But Ferzen extended his other middle finger.
“Uh...”
She glanced between it and his face, hesitating...
...Suck.
No choice to refuse. She parted her small lips and repeated the disinfection.
At what she thought sufficient, she spat it out to wipe...
“Laura.”
“Y-Yes...?”
“Three minutes remain.”
Dead serious, he prodded her lips again.
Her face soured in dismay.
From his view, she'd held the left for seven minutes, so the right deserved equal. But unknowing, she suspected he just wanted to torment her more.
...Squelch.
...Suck.
To silence protests, she lavished it with excessive zeal, sucking and licking almost frivolously...
“Enough.”
Checking his watch, he withdrew. She fanned herself, wiped the saliva sheen with her handkerchief.
“Thou mayst miss lectures today. Illness excuses absence. The second week's content... visit the Magic Research Society around 2 p.m. tomorrow for supplements.”
Donning his jacket, he left her in the inn room.
Alone, Laura showered in the attached bath, then returned to her academy dorm.
Exhausted, heavy-limbed, craving sleep...
But the letter for her father in Rosenberg needed rewriting.
Originally just his original score transcribed and brief greetings...
To avoid her later plea for aid seeming abrupt, she needed groundwork.
Thus, she filled fresh pages with Ferzen tales.
“...”
Final review: it read like a lovestruck girl's shy confession. She folded it neatly into an envelope.
What face would her father make? As a married man, might he see it as her craving concubinage?
Better that way. Fold these feelings sweetly; help him in return? Simple persuasion.
Still...
Her feeble strength, mere Keter-rank black mage— with higher aid like tonight, the Curse passed harmlessly.
A mercy, perhaps. But temporary.
Reincarnated or not, she was doomed to solve this unsolvable riddle.
Sighing at the despair, a sudden doubt arose.
The Curse manifested differently this life.
Perhaps her destined prodigious talent lurked altered too.
Unbloomed after nineteen years—what was it?
Mulling on her bed, Laura drifted naturally into sleep.