That day, before heading to visit Lisir in the infirmary, Pien returned to her quarters.

She stood before "that item," which she had kept in the corner of her room.

It was the handkerchief she had used to wipe the blood-soaked Lisir during his overload episode.@@novelbin@@

Pien felt an intense wave of self-loathing.

The fact that she had neither washed nor discarded a handkerchief stained with someone else’s blood, and instead kept it, struck her as the behavior of the pests who constantly tried to woo her.

With an expression laced with disgust, Pien brought the handkerchief close to her nose.

Her small nose twitched repeatedly.

“...”

She felt an overwhelming sense of revulsion as she lowered her head.

The scent of Lisir’s blood on the handkerchief was not significantly different from the metallic tang she had smelled before. If anything, it was even more pungent and unpleasant—a scent unique to old, dried blood.

And yet, for some inexplicable reason, that smell brought her unparalleled joy.

Simply because it was his blood.

From that day on, smelling the handkerchief became a coping mechanism for her stress.

It was quite effective.

The problem was that it didn’t just relieve her stress.

“Haa… Haa…”

As the days passed, the time she spent smelling the handkerchief grew longer.

Her efforts to suppress her desires grew more strenuous, and the backlash from her repressed hunger became even stronger.

What started as a way to alleviate stress turned into a cycle of stress creation.

No.

I can’t keep doing this.

If he saw me like this, he’d surely despise me.

Like balancing on a tightrope, Pien was holding on to the last shreds of her sanity.

Until the pest brought up his name.

“You’ve been visiting the Mage Tower often these days, haven’t you? Do you have an acquaintance there?”

You didn't buy this chapter

Buy Now (3 coupons)