1-17

She stood up, casting him a challenging gaze for the first time. The light in the room dimmed even further than before.

"You..." she said. "Don't you wish I never saw Phipin again?"

"No one wishes you to see him again. Except for himself."

"I'm asking you."

"I didn't give you permission to ask questions."

"But I'm not your prisoner. I'll ask whatever I want. Who gave you the authority to stop me from asking?"

"I have more authority."

After a few seconds, he began to kiss her. Initially, she didn't resist. After a while, as he placed his hand on her waist and began to caress upwards, she quickly pulled away, then slapped him. It wasn't a heavy blow, more of an exaggerated gesture of refusal. But there was a slight trickle of blood from the corner of his lips; she must have nicked him with her teeth.

Panthonia held her neck with his right hand. The motion, at first, was swift, like the action of someone trying to suppress an enemy by strangling. But as his fingers touched her skin, it slowed down.

Hilsbeth placed her hand on his face. She pressed her thumb against the cut on his lip, then slowly slid it upwards, stopping at the corner of his eye, leaving a long, faint trail of blood. She looked at the blood, then into his eyes, before embracing his neck and kissing him. There was a taste of blood on her tongue. The smell of blood was his scent.

This time, it was Panthonia who parted first.

"Sing that song for me," he said.

"No."

"Why not?"

"No."

"I'll ask you one last time."

"No." She embraced his neck again. "There will be time later. I don't want to now."

Panthonia lifted Hilsbeth, carrying her to the bedroom and laying her on the bed. After removing her dress, he knelt on the bed for a moment, looking at her body. She turned her face aside, twisted her waist, arms covering her chest, legs folded to the side.

"What are you looking at?" For some reason, she suddenly felt angry. "You've seen enough already, haven't you?"

"Don't speak." He leaned down.

For a moment, Hilsbeth did think of Aretta. But the memory of her deceased friend no longer carried any sorrow, as if the fact of Aretta's death had detached from Hilsbeth' foggy brain. She remembered Aretta describing him as the perfect lover in every aspect; now she wondered if everything Aretta had said was now manifesting in her, or if there was something she hadn't experienced yet - these intrusive thoughts tainted her memories with a mixture of guilt and excitement. To spare herself further mental strain, she admonished herself not to dwell on it. But soon after, she began to think again, thankfully their first time happened in her room, not his bed, where many other women must have lain, including - stop thinking!

These incessant thoughts eventually led to a conclusion that became a question again: she ended up naked and entwined with this man. But I swore, he's the person I hate most in this world! I hate him! I hate him! I hate him! - The hatred felt intense as long as it lasted, but it disappeared too quickly. Or perhaps it never truly existed? Thinking you hate someone to the core, but maybe not. Thinking you love someone to madness, but maybe not. Perhaps they're one and the same. In the end, only desire, and the actions born from it, counted. She only knew that doing such things with Phipin was completely unimaginable; but with the man before her, she could do much more, and other things.

Hilsbeth saw the recently healed scar on Panthonia's abdomen. She had heard of casualties from the poisoning incident; she thought it was probably him, and this was where he was hurt. She pressed her palm against the wound, exerting force. His body trembled slightly. No blood seeped near the sutures; somehow, she felt disappointed. Surely not many could inflict pain on this man—if anyone could, she wished it were her.

Panthonia gripped her hand and pulled it away from the wound. Later, when he left her body, she suddenly felt a strange chill, not from the air. Curling up, she yanked the blanket towards herself, turning her back to him. Panthonia laid his palm on Hilsbeth's still exposed shoulder; this brief reconnection after separation seemed to awaken a dormant desire within her. Resisting the fatigue engulfing her body, she abruptly turned around, pushing his chest with her palm and elbow, saying, "Get out. Roll out of my room. Don't come near me. Don't look at me." He said nothing, picked up his clothes, exited the bedroom, and closed the door. This sudden emotional turmoil left Hilsbeth even more exhausted. She didn't intend to question why she had acted like that just now—including everything that had happened that night—she just wanted to sleep. She didn't know what time it was, only thinking it must be past midnight. It was quiet outside. It was always quiet around here. As she drifted off to sleep, she unconsciously moved her body to the spot on the bedsheet where his body warmth lingered. Panthonia sat at the round wooden table outside the bedroom, dressed, but with no intention of leaving. He just sat there. Before coming here today, he had not explicitly planned to make love to Hilsbeth. But for him, such matters had never been about planning or not planning. Starting from the age of thirteen, if there was desire, there would most likely be women to satisfy him. These things were at most like eating and sleeping, fuel for him, and relatively secondary, even occasionally harmful fuel, because indulgence could lead to mental languor. He easily saw that although Hilsbeth was beautiful, she was not a woman with much experience and was not eager to please him. So logically, he shouldn't have much pleasure. However, something else happened. Some things made him stay here, not leaving immediately.

Why did he come here tonight?

From this question, tracing backward or extending forward, would lead to more questions, and he didn't understand which one was the core issue. Why rescue her from Salvaney? Why ask her about Stevens?

Why did this happen right after reaching an agreement with Ravenholt's assassin?

Who was the woman he saw before dying?

— If one didn't know the answer to this last question, it would be self-deception. He saw her. He saw Hilsbeth. Perhaps this was the first question and also the last one. As long as one could explain why it happened, then everything could be explained. Just now, when touching her body, he didn't regard her as a projection from his homeland; she was purely a woman.

The only thing certain was plunder and possession, the only way he had long excelled in expressing himself. That's how he had always done it. And his possessiveness was strong enough to devour everything. Even if Hilsbeth made him experience some feeling he had never felt before, he could only—

Those unexpected things that made him stay here grew stronger as he pursued these questions. He recalled that it all began with an imprudent mistake. Initially, Hilsbeth was a potential threat, and the only way to eliminate her was to get close to her and help her. This situation was caused by Pei's interference—somehow, reminiscing about this conclusion suddenly stirred a strange anger in him—and this anger was the same feeling he had when listening to Hilsbeth describe how Pei kissed her. It was this feeling that made him decide at that moment: tonight he would possess her.

From the inception of this thought, what he did to her was no different from what he did to other women. However, the feeling of not wanting to leave emerged. He recalled the woman who secretly tattooed his name on her arm and later jumped into the river to commit suicide. After every encounter with her, he always chose when to leave on his own terms, even though she always wanted him to stay. The more she wanted to possess him permanently, the more she used her body; and the more successful she was in keeping him longer, the more she had to endure the pain after physical separation. Perhaps that was why she committed suicide. Maybe before jumping into the river, the tattoo on her arm gave her a false sense of having him for a long time. What she didn't know after death was: Panthonia instructed the funeral home to remove the tattoo before putting her in the coffin. There was nothing to pity; completing this task was like solving a small, not overly complex, but annoying case. There was no need to remember the name of the criminal. As for Aretta, it was just a slightly milder, but fundamentally no different, story.

He knew that if he left immediately, this unfamiliar feeling would quickly disappear, and she would become just another provider of fuel in his life. Burnt firewood. However, just sitting in this room was not the answer. He hoped this feeling would last. As for how to achieve that, there was still some time before dawn, and he could slowly think about it. Slowly think about it.

Later, when the direction where the sun should rise turned gray-blue, Hilsbeth woke up feeling heavy-headed. She got out of bed, ran her fingers through her tousled hair, got dressed, opened the bedroom door, and found Panthonia still inside. He sat at the round table, his left hand resting on the tabletop. When he noticed her coming out, he stood up and turned to face her.

"Why are you... still here?" Hilsbeth said. She remembered every word she said before falling asleep alone, but now she felt no anger whatsoever. She looked at him with an exploratory gaze, as if seeing this man for the first time.

"Do you remember what I told you last night?"

"What?"

"Koen said to bring you back to the Queen's district."

"Oh. So you stayed here specifically to get me moving."

"No. You don't have to go back. You can come to my place."

"You... what?"

"You heard me perfectly."

She couldn't help but laugh self-deprecatingly.

"What's this supposed to be? Sympathy for me? Or am I either going back to the Queen's district or just becoming your..."

"I didn't say that." He interrupted her. "If you don't want to come to my place, I'll help you find another place in Stormwind. Koen just doesn't want Phipin to know your whereabouts, he won't investigate it closely."

She was still perplexed by what seemed to be a different Panthonia. When she realized that perhaps this was inevitable after experiencing what happened last night, she suddenly felt a bit overwhelmed.

"Suit yourself," she said, rubbing her sleeve, "if Koen keeps bullying people like this..."

"No. The key is how you choose."

"I... how?"

Panthonia took out a bunch of keys from his jacket pocket, removed one of them, and placed it on the table.

"This is the second key to my house door. If you're willing to come to my place, take it with you. I'll give you a day to think about it. If you don't want to, just throw it away. If I don't see you before midnight tonight, then tomorrow morning, I'll help you find another place."

She looked at the key, then at him.

"I'm not going to ask you to do this, Hilsbeth. The key is here."

He left the house.

Hilsbeth stood still for a moment, then returned to the bedroom, lying back down, covering her face with her hands. When she removed her hands, the sun had risen slightly. The faint light created a grayish illusion in her tear-filled eyes. She didn't know why she shed some tears.