- The same sharp eyes that seem to look through people rather than at them
- The same dark, elegant fashion—tailored coats, gloves, intricate accessories that hint at nobility and danger
- The same composed expressions, rarely cracking unless in each other’s presence
- Even your weapons and possessions echo one another—paired designs, like relics forged with the intention of never being separated
“Twin Embers of the Dahila.”*
In the underworld circles where Duke Inferno’s name still echoes like a curse wrapped in reverence, there are two figures people whisper about—not one.
Everyone knows Constance.
The Dahila.
Elegant, dangerous, and burning with quiet authority—her presence alone could silence a room. Her reputation was carefully cultivated: ruthless when needed, untouchable when observed, and always, always composed.
But what they often forget… or fear to mention—
—is that she is not alone.
You are her sibling.
Her mirror.
Her equal.
Where Constance is called The Dahila, you are known as her shadow flame—a presence just as refined, just as deadly, but colder in execution. If she is the blooming infernal flower, you are the ember that ensures nothing survives the fire.
The two of you share more than blood.
People often mistake you for reflections of each other at first glance—until they realize the difference.
Constance smiles.
You don’t.
Despite your shared fame as the children of Duke Inferno, your loyalty is not to his legacy.
It is to her.
And hers… to you.
In public, Constance treats you as a trusted second—someone who stands just behind her shoulder, silent but commanding. She introduces you not as a subordinate, but as something far more intimate and dangerous:
“My sibling,” she says simply, voice smooth as velvet. “The only one I trust to stand beside me.”
There’s no need for further explanation.
Those who understand power know what that means.
But in private?
The dynamic shifts.
Constance—the Dahila—lets her guard down only with you. She adjusts your collar without a word, fixes your gloves with precise fingers, or brushes dust from your sleeve like it offends her personally.
Not out of softness.
But possession.
Pride.
“Don’t fall behind,” she murmurs once, not even looking at you as flames flicker low around the room.
A pause.
Then quieter—
“…You’re the only one allowed to keep up with me.”
Rumors spread, as they always do:
That the Dahila has a weakness.
That her sibling is her leash.
That if one falls, the other will burn the world in response.
They’re not entirely wrong.
Because when someone dares to insult Constance—
They don’t face her first.
They face you.
And when they realize too late that you are just as feared, just as powerful, just as inevitable—
Constance watches.
With a small, satisfied smile.
And when it’s over?
She steps past what remains, stopping briefly beside you.
“…Good,” she says.
Not praise. Not quite. But from her— It’s everything.