Adrian stared at her…
then smiled.
A sly smile—cold, deep—
the kind that appears only when everything is over.
That look…
was not human.
In his mind, the verdict had already been passed and sealed:
Finally.
It’s over.
A bug crushed beneath his heel.
And the best part—
she fell by herself.
No blood on his hands.
No witnesses.
No doubt.
A tragic accident.
A weak maid.
An accidental fall.
The story…
perfect.
But—
She twitched.
A small twitch.
Illogical.
Forbidden.
His body stiffened.
No.
Corpses don’t twitch.
Then—
She moved.
Very slowly…
as if time itself had stepped back to watch.
Elizabeth turned on the cold stone,
her body sprawled in its pool of blood,
her black hair soaked in it, stuck to her cheeks and neck like broken wings.
She coughed.
The sound was hollow…
wrong.
Blood spilled from her mouth—
thick, dark, viscous—
staining her lips, her chin, sliding down her throat.
Then—
She smiled.
Not the smile of a survivor.
Not the smile of the dead.
It was the smile of something that returned after leaving.
Adrian stepped back.
No.
This is impossible.
She should be dead.
He knew that.
He could see it.
His hand began to shake.
He clenched his wrist tightly—
the familiar method of control,
of grounding himself,
of returning to himself.
But the trembling…
didn’t stop.
Slowly, he raised his hand.
To his left eye—
and closed it.
Leaving the right.
The eye no one ever saw.
The eye used only when necessary.
The eye that sees the filthy truth.
The eye of Soul Status Script
The ability he was born with—
more curse than blessing.
When he looked with only his right eye,
he didn’t see the body…
he saw the soul.
Its true state,
written as pale gray words,
neither ink nor light,
but embodied truth.
Hovering above the body…
or surrounding it…
or sometimes bleeding from it.
Words no human could see.
Never wrong.
Never late.
[ALIVE]
[SICK]
[DYING]
[BROKEN]
[EMPTY]
He had always seen them.
And they were… always right.
His eyes widened.
The word above Elizabeth
was not changing.
Not fading.
Not cracking.
It was screaming.
Solid.
Clearer than ever.
Dead.
Not “dying.”
Not “close.”
Not “almost finished.”
But—
[DEAD]
He swallowed.
How…?
How could she be dead…
and still move?
How could a dead soul
open its eyes?
Her eyes—
They weren’t empty.
They were aware.
Sharp.
Focused on him alone.
The servants were gathered around her.
Their voices blurred—
screams, sobs, footsteps.
But she…
didn’t look at them.
She looked only at him.
She whispered, her voice cracked, hoarse,
as if her throat itself were fractured:
“Strange… isn’t it?”
She coughed again.
Blood splattered the stone.
Then she continued—
her smile widening, harsher, deeper:
“Even after you killed me…
you are still here… you didn’t run.”
Something collapsed inside Adrian.
Not fear.
Not guilt.
But—
a malfunction.
As if an ancient law of this world
had shattered before his eyes.
He stared at the word above her again.
[DEAD]
Dead.
Yet she looked.
Spoke.
Smiled.
And in that moment—
the question exploded in his mind,
sharp, savage, impossible to delay:
Did my ability fail?
Impossible.
It never had.
Or is her soul… not human?
A lethal chill ran through his veins.
An ancient name…
forbidden…
unspoken for centuries.
Astria Noctiva.
The lineage of fallen gods.
Whose bodies die…
but whose souls do not obey the rules.
Adrian stared at her…
and for the first time in his life, he wished he were blind.
Slowly—
painfully slowly,
as if time were forced to watch itself—
Elizabeth’s head tilted slightly…
then more.
Blood spilled from her mouth again,
heavy and dark,
staining her lips, chin, neck.
Then—
She laughed.
A short, hoarse laugh,
escaping like broken breath
from a chest that should not work.
“Ah… damn it…”
She muttered,
her voice like stone dragged across wet ground.
“My head hurts so much…”
She began to move to rise.
A sound.
Bones crackle
Crack.
Her neck broke further.
Her head lolled back at an impossible angle.
Lucy screamed—a sharp scream that stole her voice afterward.
Nellmin covered her mouth with trembling hands and collapsed, unconscious.
One of the servants vomited onto the ground.
But Elizabeth—
Lazily raised her hand,
grabbed her head,
and put it back in place.
Crack.
It drooped again.
“Damn it…”
Crack.
She fixed it once more,
blood streaming from her black hair,
dripping to the ground with every movement.
She finally stood.
Not standing—
but insisting.
Her spine was broken at the nape,
her body leaning,
her head drooping, then lifted,
then drooping again.
And yet—
She was laughing.
Loud, hysterical laughter,
blood spilling with every cackle,
and her eyes…
Not empty.
Aware.
Sharp.
Mocking.
She looked at the servants first.
“Why all this panic?”
she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand,
leaving a bloody smear on her cheek.
“Have you never seen a dead person before?”
Then—
She turned to him.
To Adrian.
Her laughter stopped abruptly.
She stepped closer.
One step—
and he found himself retreating without realizing.
“You…”
she said slowly,
then burst into laughter again.
“You absolute idiot.”
She mocked him savagely,
as if tearing something inside him apart with her tongue.
“You thought you were smarter than this?”
Her head tilted—drooped—she fixed it again.
“Disguising yourself as an innocent among your subjects…
looking at me like a fish dragged out of its bowl for the irst time.”
She stepped closer.
Adrian was staring at the word above her
[DEAD]
Still there.
Unchanged.
His hands trembled.
“I won’t die that easily, you bastard.”
She said it with an inhuman smile—
the smile of something that returned from where nothing should return.
And in his mind—
What stood before him
was not bound by status laws at all.
Then a black thought crossed his mind,
and the question slammed into him like a stab
as he stared into her eyes:
Elizabeth… why won’t you die?
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