CHAPTER 503: DIFFERENT CREATURE

Cassius stared at what he had created before letting out a long, exhausted sigh. The flower he had stitched seemed to be mocking him from the cloth. And when he lifted his gaze, Esme was already grinning so broadly it was almost grotesque, as though she were possessed by some gleeful devil finally witnessing the downfall she had been praying for.

But before he could speak, Esme lunged.

She shoved him aside with such eagerness that the chair screeched against the floor, snatching the linen from his hand with wild triumph. She tore it from him as though she were ripping open a long awaited revelation, clutching the fabric and nearly sprinting as she thrust the embroidery toward Morpheus.

Cassius exhaled through his nose and subtly lowered his eyes to his hands. His fingers were steady, too calm. The faint tremor from earlier, his act of fear, was gone as though it had never been there in the first place. In its place settled a cold, deadly look of a snake who had just placed its eye on a prey.

The clock on the wall ticked behind him, each click like an echo of countdown before chaos was about to erupt.

When he finally lifted his eyes again, he found Morpheus watching him. The sorcerer had taken the cloth, spreading it out with a faint frown, inspecting it quietly before looking upward again back at him.

Their gazes locked for a long and grim stalemate.

No one in the room dared speak.

The air thickened in a way that it almost feel unbearably chilling. The servants in the background cast anxious glances at each other, unsure whether they should step forward and seize Cassandra or whether they should be standing in their position so they wouldn’t start a mistake that would get them punished.

The atmosphere had turned thin, almost suffocating, as if the room itself was slowly losing its oxygen.

Morpheus’s eyes drifted slowly back to Cassandra, the maid with dull green eyes, the timid posture, the nervous breathing. But beneath her lashes, when she lifted her gaze ever so slightly, he saw it.

Something like a cold calculation, no. Something even worse, like a madness. The kind of ruthlessness found only in people of a high power or... Monsters.

She looked at him as though she had already pictured a dozen ways to carve him apart.

Morpheus lowered his gaze back to the embroidery.

And what he saw forced the room to shift again.

The stitches, though not exquisite, were undeniably skilled. The hibiscus flower was clean, identifiable, and stitched using the particular techniques that only weavers or seasoned embroiderers used. Not perfect, but learned. Something that only those who had embroider for years would be able to do, not done overnight or just in an hour.

Even Esme, who had been waiting to crow in victory, froze. Her jaw slackened so dramatically it nearly hit her collarbone as she stared at the hibiscus. It was beautiful... not so flawless but this was really the art of an embroider!

Her shock lasted only a second before frustration swallowed her whole.

She whirled toward Cassius, eyes blazing. Then she lunged yet again, reaching beneath the table, this time grabbing at his hands, intent on making sure that no underhanded trick had been used by this maid

But Cassius’s hands didn’t move from his knees. Not even once. Esme pulled harder, hard enough that she would have fly if he suddenly loosened the position of his arm.

Just like that, Cassius’s arm stayed anchored on his thigh, stiff as a marble statue.

"W– what? Why aren’t you budging?!" she shrieked, her face contorting with disbelief and rage. She looked manic, hair nearly wild, expression twisted, as if she herself were the one unraveling.

And only then, only when Cassius realized she was desperately searching for evidence of his faked incompetence, did he allow it.

He loosened his muscles and Esme yanked him hard. Not hard enough for him but hard enough for "Cassandra" to fall down miserably to the ground.

He toppled from the chair with a convincing gasp, crashing to the ground in a tangle of skirts and linen, the perfect image of a maid overwhelmed and frightened.

Exactly what he wanted them to see.

He began to shed tears.

"My apologies... my deepest apologies, milady!" Cassius stammered, scrambling onto his knees, his hands trembling convincingly as he bowed his head so low his hair nearly brushed the floor. "If there is anything you truly do not wish to see, anything that displeases you, you may tell me. Whatever it is, I shall correct it at once. Please... please do not be enraged."

He turned swiftly to Morpheus, voice cracking in just the right place.

"Milord, although I did say the Lady chose me for my embroidery, she... she also learned of my history through her attendants. She would have known that I am an orphan. She must have pitied me. It wasn’t because of my talent. I am sorry— my apologies!"

A flawless display of meekness.

But inwardly?

Cassius stuck his tongue out in pure, private contempt. He was exhausted— utterly exhausted —of pretending to be some trembling little wretch. If he had to widen his eyes in fear one more time, he was going to snap Esme’s neck clean off, flay her alive, and wear her skin like a winter coat.

Morpheus exhaled slowly, pinching his brow as he watched "Cassandra" kneeling with her head lowered, posture folded small like a punished servant. She looked as if she had no pride left to her name. The perfect pitiful creature.

Esme was not convinced.

"W– what was that earlier?!" Esme shouted, her voice cracking under the strain. "Milord, I couldn’t move that maid’s hands— not even an inch! It was as if she had rooted herself to the chair, or grown heavier! I’m telling you she’s lying! There’s something wrong with her, something we must look into. Perhaps we should even—"

"Esme!"

The roar shook the entire room.

Morpheus’s voice cracked like a whip, echoing so sharply that Esme flinched as though an arrow had pierced her throat. Her spine straightened instantly. Her face drained of all color.

She bowed her head so quickly it was almost comical, "M– my apologies, milord."

"The girl has proven she did not lie," Morpheus said, tone dropping back to cold neutrality. "Let her go. I will not risk Arabella growing upset with me for detaining one of her favored maids."

Cassius barely managed to keep his expression meek, his head bowed.

Favored maid? Oh, please.

He rolled his eyes inwardly.

Morpheus didn’t give a damn whether Arabella was upset. He didn’t care if she cried, screamed, or shattered every window in the castle. The man only cared about keeping his illusion of control intact— and Arabella was a key piece on the board he refused to lose.

The pretense of consideration was just another mask he wore.

"You may be excused," Morpheus said while looking at him, "And please do tell the lady that I do enjoy this embroidery you created."

Cassius clicked his tongue and slowly stood up. As he approached the door, he turned to see Isaac not too far, hiding behind a pillar. With a sigh, he walked toward the place before dragging him by his elbow, walking in such speed to Arabella’s room which located on the third floor.

Once inside, he pushed Isaac first and shut the door with magic.

He then rushed toward Arabella who was still standing with sweat drenching over her forehead and blood still fresh on her hands, coloring her fingernails red.

"I should have learnt how to embroider knowing the story we have made about me," he said at once as he wrapped her hand with his cloth, "I’m sorry, I’m sorry birdie."

Arabella felt her heart tugged when being called "birdie" but she smiled back at him, "No one would have expected what had happened. I suppose though Morpheus never showed how distrustful he was towards the people around me, deep down he knows... he doubts."

Isaac then pouted while raising his thumbs which was full of needle holes.

"Milady, miladyyyyy!" Isaac walked towards her and raised his hands, "It’s bleeding... I did my best embroidering the flower but that maid’s hands are so stiff! It’s the worse possible hands to be used for embroidery, I tell you!"

"Well that’s because those hands weren’t made for anything delicate, you fool," Cassius rolled his eyes at Isaac’s whines. "But what happened? I suddenly felt my hands moving on its own."

"Yes, it’s a new magic I have tried," Arabella explained while raising her hands, "It’s the sort of magic that allows someone to take control of any part of your body, moving them to their likings. That was why I had Isaac to try the magic for me and he controlled your hands to embroider."

"How did you hear?" Cassius asked her

"I did!" Isaac raised his hands, "I always have had a good hearing and when the lady called me to eavesdrop, I told her what to do."

"But there’s magic that covers the room, just being a good listener..." Cassius stared at Isaac for a longer moment, tilting his head as he finally understood that as annoying as Isaac was...

something about him was different from his peers.