“Where… am I?” I whispered, my voice lost amid the silence that wrapped around me like dust-covered velvet.

  Bookshelves stretched into the dark like ribs of a long-dead god, forming the warped skeleton of a cathedral of thought. The air was thick with candle smoke and the scent of old paper, parchment crumbling under time's indifferent weight. The dim flicker of a single candle lit the worn spines of strange volumes.

  A whole shelf bore nothing but cooking recipes. Another detailed combat techniques. One, inexplicably, was dedicated entirely to knitting. I stared at that last one for a moment longer than I should have, as if my subconscious was mocking me.

  “We are in the library of your memories,” a voice said from behind me—calm, mischievous, and painfully familiar. “Or however your subconscious visualises it. How did the others call it again… ah yes, mind space.”

  I turned.

  There he stood.

  “Aska!” I cried out, tears springing into my eyes before I could even try to stop them.

  I ran, arms outstretched, desperate to feel him again—to know he was real.

  But, of course, Aska dodged my embrace with infuriating grace, sidestepping me like I was a toddler charging into battle. “Aye, the one and only!” he chirped with that infuriating grin that made me want to punch him and sob into his chest at the same time.

  I glared at him, pouting. But the elation of seeing him—alive or something like it—overwhelmed every other feeling. Even my frustration.

  “I’m sure you have a million questions,” he said, flipping through a worn leather-bound book with one hand while gesturing with the other, “but time’s short, and I’ve got a meeting with the CEO of a very successful fruit company. Deadlines, you know?”

  He turned the book around.

  On its pages, painted in flowing ink, was me—or something wearing my face—tearing through beavers like a demon set loose from the pits of hell. Blood soaked every page. Some of it smeared beyond the margins. The figure on the page wore my eyes, but they were hollow. Hungry. A creature, not a person.

  “Before you go full ‘what is this?’ on me like a complete idiot,” Aska said, smirking, “let me save us time. These books? They’re your memories. All of them. Everything you've ever lived, everything you are… recorded, stacked, and catalogued. This one here—” he tapped the grotesque illustration, “—is being written right now.”

  My heart sank.

  “If I’m here,” I said, dread clawing up my throat, “who’s writing these memories now?”

  Aska’s smile dimmed. He hesitated, which he never did.

  “The good news,” he said finally, “is that you’re not schizophrenic. Yet.”

  “…And the bad news?” I asked, already bracing for impact.

  “Well,” he sighed, looking off toward a cracked stained-glass window that hadn’t been there before, “your soul… wasn’t meant to be in the body of a vampire.”

  “What?” I stepped forward, the cold stone floor biting at my feet. “Aska, what the hell does that mean?”

  “It means you’re kind of… cosmically fucked.” He winced. “Your soul and the vampire essence aren’t exactly compatible. That whole ‘I lose control and turn into a blood-hungry beast’ thing? Not normal. Not for real vampires. That’s… unique to you. Because something went wrong. Or, well. I did something wrong.”

  “…Aska,” I said slowly, narrowing my eyes.

  “Yes, it’s my fault,” he admitted, raising his hands. “I’m sorry, okay? I tried to help you in purgatory, but I might’ve… underfed you. Slightly. You didn’t drink enough blood. So the transformation didn’t complete yet. You’re half-lit. Have been. Now you … well, your instincts took over.”

  I stared at him. My hands trembled.

  “And what’s your brilliant solution, Aska?” I asked, voice sharp. “What’s your grand plan now?”

  He shrugged. “Live with it.”

  I wanted to scream. I wanted to hit him. But most of all—I wanted not to wake up and be her again.

  Her, the thing I’d become. Her, who strolled around with no fucking self-control whatsoever.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Live with this?” I roared, my voice echoing through the cathedral-like library of memories. I threw my arms wide, gesturing to the madness all around us—the books bleeding ink, the shelves whispering, the cursed pages still being written. “Aska, I lost control of myself!”

  He didn't even flinch. “And you will regain it. The current predicament is mostly due to stress,” he said casually, as if I’d merely misplaced my keys instead of bathing in blood like a rabid beast.

  “Mostly?” My eyes narrowed, venom seeping into my tone. I didn’t trust his wording—never had.

  He scratched the back of his head, clearly trying to play it off. “Stress was… about fifty percent the cause. It had to happen eventually anyway, so really… it’s not the worst timing.”

  Not the worst timing. Not the worst—was he serious?

  I clenched my fists and bit down a scream. If I pressed further, I knew what would happen: he’d smirk, dodge, make a joke, and I'd walk away with nothing but frustration.

  Fine. Practicality first.

  “Alright. Then how do I regain control of myself?” My voice was low now, brimming with restrained fury.

  He blinked. “Lucinda, I’m not your psychotherapist. How should I know?”

  Of course. Of course he had no answers. Or he had them, but didn’t want to hand them over. That was Aska. Always elusive, always just out of reach.

  “Thanks for the amazing help,” I spat. “Then at least tell me what you meant earlier—what did you mean by live with it?”

  He straightened, suddenly looking far too interested in the dusty shelves to his right. “Uhm… oh, I just got a message from my co-founder. I’ve really got to go—important fruit business.”

  He was evading again.

  “How did the Devourer escape Purgatory?” I asked sharply, letting all kindness drain from my voice.

  Nothing. No reaction.

  “Aska!” I shouted, stepping forward.

  But he was already gone.

  He vanished before I could grab him, before I could drag the answers from his wretched, cryptic soul. Panic crept up my throat—not because he had abandoned me again, but because I’d forgotten to ask the only thing that mattered.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  “You owe me, Aska!” I screamed, voice cracking. “You ruined my soul—you did this! You better bring her back to me! I want to see Luna again! Do you hear me?! I won’t forgive you if you leave me hanging on this!”

  My cries fell into the silence like stones into a well. The library unraveled around me, shelves disintegrating into smoke and ash, books blinking out of existence like stars dying in a black sky—until only one book remained.

  The one still being written.

  Driven by fury, I hurled the accursed thing across the floor. It hit the ground and flopped open, bleeding red ink. The pages twisted in the air, like a hand reaching back toward me, taunting me with the truth of who I’d become.

  I couldn’t bear to look at it anymore.

  So I closed my eyes.

  I didn’t want to return. Not yet. Not like this. The thought of water still froze my bones. But I couldn’t allow the instincts to steer me into oblivion. I had to tether myself—somehow. I had to impose order on the chaos. Even if I couldn’t expel the monster, I could chain it. I could integrate it into myself.

  So I focused. I carved a single phrase into the heart of my thoughts, repeating it like an incantation.

  Mana generator. Fire. Mana generator. Fire.

  The mantra consumed me. Became me. A flame in the dark, stoking reason inside instinct. Somewhere in the deep, the beast—myself—paused. The body I no longer commanded tilted its head, hand resting against the stone wall.

  It felt something.

  The wall… vibrated.

  Eyes still closed, I listened. A soft hum beneath the chaos. A faint pulse of energy. The body turned and ran, sprinting through the blood-slick corridors I barely remembered painting red. Water surged through the passageways, rising like a second threat, but I didn’t look back.

  The hum grew louder.

  Then—a door.

  Steel gears churned and hissed behind the wood. I knew this place. I remembered it. The machines. The blood. The whirring of metal lungs. The heart of the dam, its engine.

  And this time—I wasn’t being led by madness.

  This time, I was chasing the only thing I could hold on to.

  Fire. Control. Sanity.

  And somewhere, buried under blood and instinct, Lucinda took a breath.

  Growling low in my throat, I stalked forward, the weight of water clinging to my legs as I approached the monstrous glass sphere. Inside, a swirling blue liquid pulsed faintly, linked to two ancient wooden machines creaking ominously. Rage boiled beneath my skin, a wildfire stoked by desperation and fury. I balled my fist and drove it hard against the glass’s lower edge.

  A sharp crack echoed, but agony shot through my knuckles as bone met unforgiving glass. Blood welled instantly, warm and sticky, dripping onto the cold floor. The taste of copper filled my mouth as I snarled, punching again—this time with unrelenting fury. Each blow sent shards flying, crimson droplets splattering everywhere like a grotesque rain. Pain was nothing now, only fuel.

  “Mana generator…” I spat the words, voice ragged, teeth clenched tight. The glass cracked deeper, spiderwebbing across the surface until, with a final, brutal smash, it shattered. The corrosive blue fluid hissed violently as it poured free, steaming as it burned through the flesh on my hand. I jerked back, teeth bared, pain blazing hot but overshadowed by the sick thrill of destruction.

  Bits of clarity clawed their way back through the fog of bloodlust. My senses sharpened just in time to catch the growing tide of glowing liquid creeping along the floor, eating wood and stone alike. Panic and logic wrestled within me—I had to get out before this hellish poison swallowed me whole.

  I stumbled away, water lapping at my hips, the cold seeping into my bones even as the blue poison ate at my flesh. The hum of the machines—once a constant drone in this place—faded into silence. The heart of the dam was dying, and so was the system that had fueled whatever sick nightmare I’d just destroyed.

  A sharp stab of pain pierced my skull, forcing a strangled scream from my throat, but clarity surged stronger. My thoughts snapped back, my will settling like iron in my chest. The bloodlust clawed at the edges of my mind, gnawing and howling, but I pushed it down. Not yet. Not now.

  Biting into my hand hard enough to taste copper, I focused solely on the searing pain. The water around me was madness itself, whispering threats and promises, but my gaze locked onto the simple locking mechanism embedded in the wall. My fingers moved mechanically, flipping the latch with trembling urgency.

  The heavy wooden board creaked, groaned, then gave way, swinging outward on rusted hinges—held precariously by ropes above and near my feet. Time stretched. Fifteen seconds. Fifteen seconds of drowning in cold water and suffocating dread, until I could bear no more.

  With a desperate lunge, I launched myself through the opening—only to be caught mid-fall by the strong arms of a harpy, wings beating against the heavy air.

  “Fire…” I rasped, voice raw as sandpaper.

  “It’s already burning like wildfire! You did it!” The harpy’s eyes glittered with fierce pride. Behind us, the dam’s wooden bones groaned and snapped, flames licking hungrily at the structure’s heart.

  I barely spared the sight a glance before pointing toward a distant hill crowned with dark smoke curling upward like a funeral shroud. “No… fire,” I croaked, voice heavy with grim purpose. “There.”

  The harpy angled toward the smoke, but his gaze lingered on the crumbling dam. A rare smile flickered across her features—an echo of wonder and savage delight. I shared it silently. The dam buckled and groaned under the relentless water pressure, splinters and boards flying as it finally gave way.

  The explosion was cataclysmic. An enormous wooden slab was flung outward, a cruel joke against nature’s fury. Water surged like a vengeful beast, roaring as it tore free, swallowing everything in its path. The river, once tamed and obedient, broke its bounds, spilling over banks with brutal violence.

  Forests were shredded; ancient trees uprooted and swept away like twigs. Creatures caught in the flood screamed and drowned beneath the unstoppable tide. Far downstream, an unsuspecting human and elven army—camped peacefully along the riverbank—would soon learn the true cost of tampering with nature’s wrath.

  I grinned—dark, savage, triumphant—as the floodwaters claimed all in their path. Revenge was finally flooding back.

  Drowning them all—that had been the plan from the start. The only way to ensure no infected survived. I had confirmed the worms couldn’t survive long in water, not even within their hosts; But without any way to separate the infected from the healthy, everyone had to go. The weight of that truth pressed down on me, sharper than any blade. Arthur. The children. Faces I had hoped to save. Yet mercy was a luxury I couldn’t afford. Not here. Not now. We were lucky the option even existed.

  As the harpy cut through the heavy air, wings beating against the scent of damp earth and smoke, I struggled to restrain the monster clawing inside me. The vampiric hunger clawed deep, an insistent, burning gnaw beneath my ribs that no willpower could fully smother. Yet, there was a twisted grace in this awakening. My senses sharpened beyond anything I had ever encountered before—a brutal gift and curse. I could smell the harpy’s sweat mingling with the cold forest air, pick out the faintest rustle of a squirrel scrambling up a distant tree, detect the ragged caws of other harpies circling the broken dam, and even the acrid smoke curling from a fire a kilometer away.

  “Land there,” I ordered, voice low and urgent.

  The harpy obeyed, settling me into a small clearing where the trees parted like silent witnesses. It turned its head to look at me, eyes wide with fear or disbelief. My lips parted slightly, tongue flicking wetly over them as a hunger surged past my reason.

  Without hesitation, I lunged forward, seizing the creature’s bird-like feet and flinging it onto a rock. Its body crumpled against the unforgiving stone with a sickening crack—neck broken too cleanly to be called accidental.

  Feathers erupted like bloodied snow as I tore into the carcass, drinking deeply. The taste was familiar yet savage, like raw chicken yet electrifying. Each drop of blood sent a shiver coursing through my veins, a dark euphoria unlike anything my old meals could offer. It was primal, intoxicating. The floodwaters lapping at my feet reminded me of the destruction looming—rivers rising to drown this place and all within it.

  That’s when I felt it—the monster never truly gone. It lurked beneath the surface, every heartbeat fanning its flames, every thought shaded by an insatiable thirst. It had awakened that day, and it would not be caged again.

  Anger surged through me—anger at myself for letting this darkness consume so much of me. I stripped off the tattered remains of my dress, its fabric sticky with blood and gore, and dipped it into the muddy water. I avoided full immersion, touching as little as possible, but even that was enough to wash away the worst of the carnage clinging to me. Still coated in blood, but free from the sickly remnants of organs and death, I pulled the dress back on.

  The scent of iron and decay clung to my skin like a shroud, but I was ready. Ready to face whatever came next.

  I moved towards the campfire, shadows flickering over my bruised and stained form—an unholy queen amidst the ruin.