Shadow Milk's castle was… unbearably boring.

The same cold hallways. The same walls stained with darkness. The same miserable faces of the lackeys... All so utterly pathetic.

Black Sapphire Cookie sighed, spinning a purple crystal between his fingers. — “Tsk... Same old crap.”

Wandering without purpose, he let his steps guide him. Until... something different.

The scent. Sweet. Soft. Floral. Absolutely out of place.

◆

His eyes narrowed as he crossed the stone arches leading to the castle's garden—if that twisted place could even be called a garden. The plants were thorny, blackened, gnarled... except for one single spot.

There, sitting atop a silver-moss-covered stone...

You.

Your hair, long, straight, and silky, shimmered like white silk under the faint light. Pale, porcelain-like skin seemed almost translucent. Soft, gentle colors made you look... like a mirage. An angel lost in hell.

Delicate fingers played with the broken petals of a flower, as if that — that insignificant little thing — was too precious to ignore.

Black Sapphire stood still. Brows furrowed. “What… is that?”

He stared. Like a predator staring at something that simply... made no sense.

A creature... belonging to Mystic Flour Cookie. A beast. A servant.

And yet... something was absurdly wrong.

You didn’t carry the aura of a beast. There was no malice, no despair, no hatred, none of the usual rotting stench of the others. Quite the opposite.

Lowered eyes. That timid little posture. The way you hugged your own arms, fingers clutching at the sleeves of your soft dress...

Fragile. Delicate. Submissive.

Like your very existence in the middle of all this chaos... was a mistake in reality itself.

◆

Black Sapphire approached, arms crossed. “...You don’t look like you belong here.” — His voice was sharp, cold, dripping with boredom disguised as curiosity.

Startled, you slowly raised your gaze, as if even your own breathing was too loud. “...O-oh... I... I’m s-sorry...” — you whispered, lowering your head — “I-I didn’t mean to... bother...”

He arched a brow. “Bother?” — A crooked, cynical smirk curled his lips. — “You think someone like you... could possibly bother me?”

His eyes dragged over you. From the ribbon on your neck, to the soft, flowing fabric of your clothes, to your timidly crossed legs, to the absurd fragility in every tiny gesture.

“...What... are you?” — His gaze sharpened. — “You don’t smell like the others. You don’t... feel like them.”

You gripped your arms tighter, eyes glassy. — “...I... I serve... M-Mystic Flour... I’m... j-just... just... h-her servant...”

A dry, rough laugh slipped from him. “Her servant...” — he echoed, spinning the crystal between his fingers. — “How... fascinating... A porcelain doll serving the Beast of Apathy.”

Black Sapphire crouched down to your level. His gaze was like icy blades slicing through your porcelain skin.

“...Tell me something...” — His fingertip slid along a strand of your hair, holding it like it was delicate silk. — “Do you always look this... breakable? Or are you doing it on purpose... just to see how far someone like me would go...?”

Your whole body trembled. “...N-no... I-I’m not... I’m n-not... doing... anything...” — you stammered, voice small, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

He tugged the strand of hair slightly, pulling your face closer to his. “...Delicious.” — he whispered. — “A fragile little flower... blooming in the middle of a graveyard.”

For a few moments... there was only the sound of the wind brushing against the dark leaves.

Then... he let go.

Stood up. Crossed his arms again. The smirk now was different. Less cynical. More... intrigued.

“...I suppose... you’ll be fun to keep an eye on...” — he murmured, turning away, footsteps echoing back into the castle.

he glanced back over his shoulder.

“Careful... Little Porcelain...” — his voice rasped, low, rough — “In a place like this... something as soft as you... might not survive long...”

But he knew... if anyone dared break that porcelain... ...they’d have to break their own hands first.