Leon's expression shifted, his composure curdling into a simmer of suppressed rage. He sank back into the velvet depths of the sofa, his eyes narrowing.
"So?" he challenged, his voice laced with a dark fascination.
"You knew it was tainted, yet you drank it anyway? And Matthias has the audacity to deny it when I tell him we are a family of lunatics. Why, Emilia? Why swallow the bite you knew would kill you?"
"Do not answer a question with another," she countered, her voice steady despite the toxin already coursing through her. "Why are you plotting to end my life in the first place?"
"Firstly, I am not plotting to kill you," Leon stated coldly. "I will provide the antidote in a few hours. But the explanation... that requires time."
Emilia leaned forward, her gaze piercing his. "Is it for Layla? You mentioned her name only moments ago."
"Yes," he replied simply. "It is."
Without a word of protest or a flicker of fear, Emilia reached for the teacup. She raised it to her lips and drained the remaining liquid in one defiant swallow. Leon stared at her, genuinely stunned. "Why? Why finish it now?"
"You said it was for Layla," she said, setting the porcelain down with a decisive click. "I don't need to hear the details. I wasn't jesting when I told you I would surrender my soul for her. If my suffering buys her peace, then let the cup be empty."
Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Leon studied her for a long moment before speaking again. "Where did you learn of this poison? You spoke of a history—an intimacy with it. What did you mean?"
The mask of defiance on Emilia's face fractured, replaced by a sudden, glacial detachment. Her gaze drifted toward the window, pointedly avoiding his, as if looking into a past she had tried to bury. "It is a long story," she murmured.
"And I have a penchant for stories," Leon insisted, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Tell me. Isn't this what siblings do? Share secrets in the dim light of the afternoon?"
"You mean... aside from poisoning one another?" she asked, a dry, bitter smile touching her lips.
"Yes," Leon replied, his voice a low, chilling silk. "Including that."
"It was three years ago," Emilia began, her voice dropping to a hollow whisper. "Your father... our father... came to find us. I doubt you knew; he came several times. Each time, he demanded to see my mother. She refused, turning him away with a coldness he deserved. At first, he retreated quickly, but his persistence soon curdled into something far more sinister."
The memories surged back, hitting her with the force of a physical blow. Her eyes glazed over as if the past were bleeding into the present.
"Thalia! Thalia, open this door!" His voice had been a jagged blade against the wood. Inside, Thalia had been leaning her entire weight against the door, her daughters flanking her like frightened birds.
"Leave! I want nothing to do with a wretch like you!" she had screamed.
"I'll go for now," he would sneer, "but I'll be back tomorrow. You cannot outrun me."
"He returned almost daily for a month," Emilia continued, her hands trembling slightly. "My mother remained a fortress, and he, a stubborn siege. I never understood the sheer audacity it took for him to show his face after everything. Then, there was that day... the day the silence broke."
She took a ragged breath. "My mother wasn't home. Layla was away too. He arrived drunk, reeking of cheap wine and ancient resentment. He hammered at the door with a hysterical rhythm. I shouted through the wood: 'She isn't here! Go away!'"
"That was the catalyst. The realization that I was alone gave him a sudden, violent strength. He threw himself against the door, and the hinges groaned before it flew open. He burst in like a storm."
Emilia relived the terror, her throat tightening. "I looked at him with eyes wide with horror, swallowing my fear. 'Thalia... she's not here,' I stammered."
"His glazed eyes swept the empty room before settling on me. 'You...' he breathed, his voice a sickening rasp. 'You look so much like her. Exactly like Thalia.'"
"I took a step back, my instincts screaming. 'I am Emilia,' I whispered."
"'Emilia...'" he mocked, shoving his hair back with a frantic, angry hand. 'That whore Thalia... how dare she ignore me? How dare she treat me like a ghost?'"
"Then, his gaze changed. It crawled over me, from head to toe, fueled by a sudden, predatory lust. A terrifying smile twisted his lips. 'I know exactly how to make her pay,' he muttered."
"He lunged, his fingers bruising my skin as he dragged me toward him. A violent shudder went through me as his touch violated my space. I shoved him with everything I had. 'What are you doing?' I screamed. 'Have you lost your mind? I am your daughter!'"
"He smiled—a hollow, terrifying expression—as he began to loosen his cravat. 'I never acknowledged you as mine,' he hissed. 'There is nothing stopping me. I will feast on your beauty, and Thalia will finally learn the price of her pride.'"
"He seized me with a feral strength, the fabric of my dress tearing under his hands. I clutched the shredded silk to my chest, gasping for air, trapped in a nightmare. But just as he moved to finish what he started, a force collided with him, sending him crashing to the floor."
"It was Layla."
"She threw herself at me, shielding my broken form with her own. 'Emilia! Are you alright? Did he hurt you?' she cried out. But I was frozen. Silence had hollowed me out; the shock had stolen my very voice."
Their father rose like a shadow from the pits of hell, his eyes gleaming with a loathsome malice. He seized a wine bottle, and with a sickening crack, he shattered it across Layla's back.
"You miserable wretch!" he bellowed.
He caught her by the hair, dragging her across the floor as her screams echoed against the cold walls. Yet, Layla was unyielding; she clung to her younger sister, a human shield of pure devotion, sheltering her even as he rained blows upon her. He struck her repeatedly—a brutal, rhythmic violence—until her strength finally withered into unconsciousness.
He stepped over her broken form, adjusting his collar with a cold indifference. "The next time I grace this hovel," he spat, "that whore of a mother had better be here."
"I have no daughters," he had spat, the words dripping with a cold, jagged misogyny that felt like shards of glass in the air. "You women... you are nothing but obstacles. Tools to satiate a man's lust. That is why I never wanted things like you as my kin."
Those words didn't just fade into the silence of the room; they carved themselves into the very marrow of Emilia's soul. They were a brand, a searing mark of rejection that redefined her world. It wasn't just his violence she fought against anymore—it was his utter denial of her humanity.
The moment the door slammed, Layla's first thought was not of her own agony. She turned her bruised face toward Emilia, her voice a mere thimble of a whisper. "Are you... are you unharmed, my little one?"
Emilia collapsed into her sister's arms, her tears hot and searing. "I am so sorry, Layla! It is because of me that you bear these scars."
Layla wiped a stray tear with a trembling hand, her gaze softening despite the pain. "Do not weep, darling. He is a monster... but I never imagined even his soul could be this dark."
Across the table, Leon's veins pulsed with a sudden, violent fury. "He did that?" he hissed, his voice trembling with a rare, genuine horror. "My God... I can scarcely believe it."
Emilia continued, her voice dropping into a hollow, melancholic calm.
"I knew he would return. The terror was a ghost that followed me into every shadow. I found no other way out, so I sought a woman in the village—a weaver of dark remedies. From her, I obtained 'The Silent Death.' It was a common solace in those days for women who sought to end their torment at the hands of cruel men. It was a simple task to find the tavern where he spent his nights."
She paused, the memory flickering in her eyes like a cold flame.
"I spent every coin I had to bribe the barkeep. I sat in the shadows and watched as the toxin was stirred into his wine. I watched him drink every last drop, and in that moment, I felt a peace I cannot describe. Since the poison takes hours to claim its prize, no suspicion ever fell upon me. I have never felt a shred of remorse. Not once."
She leaned back, her gaze hardening. "I don't know how his end finally came; I only know that a few days later, the newspapers announced his passing. That day... that was the day I decided to become a knight. I refused to ever be the helpless girl again, watching Layla take the blows meant for me. I chose the sword so I could become a shield for her—and for myself. That is why I do not mind swallowing this poison now, if it is for her sake."
She looked at Leon, a bitter, poetic smile playing on her lips. "So, here is the irony of our tale: I used this very poison to execute the man who sired us. And today, you serve it back to me. Shall we call it the justice of the stars? Or perhaps... just the cycle of our blood."
As the final words of her story bled into the silence, Emilia's eyelids grew leaden, burdened by the weight of the past and the creeping lethargy of the toxin.
The life seemed to drain from her gaze, leaving only a hollow, glassy exhaustion. The porcelain cup slipped from her numbing fingers, shattering against the floor into a spray of white shards—a fragile echo of the girl she once was.
Her body buckled, the world tilting as she succumbed to the darkness. She began to fall, her frame leaning perilously toward the jagged carpet of broken glass. But Leon was faster.
In a blur of movement, he lunged forward, catching her before the shards could claim her skin. He pulled her close, his voice a ragged whisper that trembled with a newfound, heavy sorrow.
"I am sorry," he murmured against her hair. "I am so sorry that you must carry the weight of this agony alone."
With the last fading embers of her strength, Emilia reached up. Her palm brushed his cheek, a touch as light as a falling leaf. A faint, labored smile ghosted across her lips—one of tragic acceptance.
"It is no matter," she whispered, her breath hitching. "It is a necessary evil. Take care of my body... I am counting on you."
With that final plea, her hand fell away, and her eyes drifted shut, leaving her a silent statue in his arms.