What I Can Do For The One I Love (2)

Whenever moonlight seeped into the room, I would wake. At those times, I’d simply sit on the bed, staring into the dark.

Darkness carries many things. The faded outline of furniture, the smooth texture of the sheets beneath my fingers, the night’s biting chill, the sound of the wind at the window, leaves clashing against each other, the distant hoot of an owl… and somewhere within it all, the low, haunting howl of something else.

Listening to those sounds, I often wondered if I’d already gone mad. And it wasn’t a baseless thought. How else could I still be breathing here, still waking to face another day in this insane mansion?

I hated the night.

Because the night meant hearing someone scream.

There was once a child… the only daughter of a family that flaunted its wealth and reveled in its power. She was a lovely thing: fair skin, the family’s signature crimson eyes, delicate features, and a petite frame that carried its own beauty. Cherished by all, she grew polite and refined, just as a noble’s daughter should.

But she was often ill. Unlike her two brothers, she had been born frail, her days marked by sudden fevers and collapse. She spent more time indoors than out, yet her gentle nature made her even more precious in the eyes of those who loved her.

Then, in the year she turned seven, her health began to decline rapidly. High fevers plagued her for days. Even when she awoke, she lacked the strength to sit up. Soon, she could no longer eat. Even a single grain in her mouth was instantly rejected, vomited out as if her body itself refused it.

It was strange… unnatural. The strawberry cake she had once adored now reeked like a sewer. Sugar’s sweetness turned rancid in her mouth, like mold festering in forgotten storage. The fragrant steam of tea was as unbearable as the stench of dirty rags.

Deprived of nourishment, her small body withered day by day, until finally, she could no longer leave her bed.

“My lady, are you all right?”

“…Nanny.”

“Yes, my lady. I’m here.”

The nanny, who had cared for her since infancy, silently let tears roll down her cheeks. She couldn’t bear the thought of her beloved young lady slipping away. The girl smiled faintly, as if to assure her she was fine.

The nanny read her favorite fairy tales, patting her gently, staying by her side. As the girl’s gaze drifted, she noticed a hairpin tucked into the nanny’s hair. The nanny caught her glance, smiled, and removed it, sliding it into the girl’s hair.

“This is an heirloom from my mother. It’s precious to me. See these tiny yellow blossoms? They suit you well, my lady.”

“When you get better, I’ll give it to you as a gift.”

The girl’s tired eyes sparkled faintly, and the nanny smiled at her sweetness.

Later, when the girl complained of a dry mouth, the nanny reached for an apple and sliced it… but the knife slipped.

“Ouch.”

A sweet scent pricked the girl’s nose.

She froze. It was the first time she had ever smelled something so sweet. It was like sugar-preserved strawberries melting on the tongue, dipped in chocolate… no, even richer, more intoxicating. The sweetness tingled at the tip of her tongue, making her dizzy, melting her thoughts.

She waved her hand weakly in refusal, some instinct whispering to resist… perhaps the last fragile barrier before what was to come. Her body swayed. Through blurred vision, she saw the nanny reaching toward her… and then she blacked out.

When she awoke, she was lying not on her bed, but on the carpet.

The first thing she noticed was the stickiness in her mouth, like something dried and clinging to it. She swallowed. There was a faint sweetness lingering on her tongue. She remembered the nanny slicing an apple. Had she eaten it?

She licked her lips, sat up… and froze.

The once-soft white carpet was soaked in crimson. Her hands, when she touched it, were also red. Not just her hands… her forearms, and even her white nightgown, were drenched in it.

She stared at her palms. What was this? Her mind, still innocent, couldn’t quite process it. But curiosity turned quickly to fear.

And then she saw the nanny.

Crawling forward on all fours, she called out, “Nanny. Nanny.”

But the closer she got, the stranger the nanny seemed. Her warm, sun-kissed skin was pale. The face that had always smiled softly was stiff, her eyes open and lifeless.

“Nanny…”

The girl reached out with trembling hands, touching the woman’s shoulder… only to see the skin from her neck to shoulder drenched in that same red.

She shook her harder. No response. The nanny’s eyes were glassy, vacant.

She couldn’t understand. Why her mouth was wet. Why her hands were red. Why the nanny’s neck was soaked in crimson. Why she lay so still.

Then… creak.

The door opened.

Her father entered, followed by her elder twin brother, Jayden, and the younger, Jacob.

Her father’s eyes flicked between the girl and the nanny… not shocked, but smiling, as though this was something he had expected. He spread his arms toward her.

“You’ve finally become one of the Paculas.”

She didn’t understand.

Even as the father who had always been cold to her approached warmly for the first time, even as he wrapped his arms around her, she couldn’t make sense of his words.

In the corner of her vision, Jacob whispered something to Jayden and laughed.

Her father gave a few calm instructions to a servant, who bowed and left. Jacob tugged on his father’s pant leg.

“Father, can I eat that?”

His small finger pointed toward the still nanny.

“Huh? Can I? Can I eat it?”

“Do as you like.”

“Yay!”

The boy grinned and scampered toward the nanny, burying his face in her neck where a thick crimson stream had dried. Slurping, gulping sounds filled the room. His throat moved as he drank.

The girl whispered, “Monster…”

And then she saw herself in the mirror.

Her hair was a tangled mess. Her face was blank. Beneath her eyes, red dripped down her cheeks. The ribboned nightgown the nanny had dressed her in was soaked in stains from her neck to her knees. She looked down at her hands… at first they seemed smeared with red paint. But it wasn’t paint.

It was blood.

Human blood. Her nanny’s blood.

Her stomach churned violently and she vomited, though there was nothing but watery fluid to bring up. Every day, as she had wasted away, her nanny had made thin porridge for her, never missing a day.

And then she understood.

She belonged in a family that could live only by stealing the lives of others.

A being that never should have been born.

Razella Pacula.

That monster was her.

The moment I accepted the truth, the world shifted. It was as if I had finally cracked the shell I’d been trapped in and could now see reality clearly.

My life had been wrong from the very start.

I had not been loved. Looking back now, the warmth I thought I had received had never been genuine.

The averted eyes, the careful tones, the restless movements, the faces etched with a subtle fear. In the eyes of the servants who saw me every day, there had been no affection… only submission and dread. Dread of the monster who could destroy them at any time.

That was my reality.

That night, Father told me the Pacula family’s secret.

The bloodline manifests at a certain age. He called it the “manifestation,” a sacred process that reveals our true nature. Usually, it happened around the age of five. I was late, he explained. Only then did I understand the meaning in his gaze all those years… the look of someone burdened by my delay.

After manifestation, one must feed to survive. No ordinary food could quench the thirst. That thirst could only be sated by consuming people, by drinking their blood while they were still alive, taking in the vitality within it.

“After manifestation, you must feed regularly. Otherwise, you’ll suffer agony beyond imagining, and slowly wither away.”

He described it as a fire lit deep in the belly, burning through the entire body. Death would not come quickly; it was like falling endlessly from a cliff, writhing in pain until your mind dissolved.

And Father was right.

After devouring the nanny, my strength returned. I could run without losing my breath. My appetite for food came back, my skin regained its luster, my body filled out with healthy flesh. People said they were glad I was well again… but I knew what they truly saw.

And what I saw in myself… was terrifying.