Hee Unselfishness and His Selfishness

A sharp slap echoed through the kitchen, stinging Leonariz's cheek. It was day two of the maids' 'housework lessons' and day two of their escalating cruelty.

Leonariz hung her head, the sting of Shelly's hand still burning. She'd broken an egg, a minor infraction that had unleashed a torrent of fury.

"Argh, you're seriously getting on my nerves, you half-deaf, mute lowlife." Shelly's voice dripped with venom, her gaze burning into Leonariz.

It wasn't about the egg; it was about the simmering resentment these women felt, a resentment they were all too eager to unleash on Leonariz.

"You're having fun without me," Anastasia's voice cut through the air, cool and sharp. She entered, carrying a bucket of muddy water.

Leonariz looked up, her eyes meeting Anastasia's. There was a chilling stillness in Leonariz's gaze, a quiet intensity that momentarily unnerved Anastasia. She saw a dangerous calm in the Amazonian's eyes, the stillness of a predator. But the fear was fleeting; Leonariz was trapped, helpless.

Anastasia dumped the bucket, then kicked Leonariz hard in the stomach, sending her sprawling against the sink.

"Y-you, bitch! How dare you look at me like that? What? You gonna fight us, huh?" Anastasia's voice was a vicious hiss, her fingers tightening in Leonariz's hair.

Leonariz's expression didn't change, despite the pain. She ached to fight back, but the thought of endangering her tribe held her captive. She couldn't risk their safety for her own satisfaction. She was raised to be composed, to think before she acted.

And she hadn't failed. If she hadn't valued her tribe, if she hadn't listened to her sister, she wouldn't be here. She and the young Amazonians would be dead. She had chosen survival, surrender.

Their eyes met—Leonariz's and Shelly's—Anastasia still holding her captive. Shelly's lips curled into a cruel smile before she approached the bucket near the kitchen entrance.

"Learn your lesson, you bitch. You should just die, fuck!" Shelly spat, releasing Leonariz's hair, sending her crashing against the sink again.

Leonariz winced, the pain sharp and immediate. Bruises would bloom on her ribs, her cheek throbbed, but she held it in. She had to.

"Look here, lowlife." Leonariz flinched as mud splattered her face. She wiped it away, her gaze fixed on Anastasia.

Anastasia held the bucket, the mud a weapon in her hands.

"Hold her." Anastasia's command was low and menacing.

Shelly laughed, a cruel, chilling sound. "Woah, you're so evil." She moved behind Leonariz, pinning her arms. Leonariz remained still, her eyes fixed on Anastasia.

A cruel smile twisted Anastasia's lips as she reached into the bucket, her fingers digging into the mud. She pried Leonariz's mouth open and shoved a handful of the earth inside.

Shelly pretended to gag. "You really hate this woman that much? You're insane!" she laughed, a mixture of disgust and amusement.

Anastasia raised an eyebrow. "Well…this woman lived in the forest, right? Look how capable and unbothered she is. Maybe they eat crops, insects, and even things like this."

"Just die or kill yourself if you can't bear it anymore—oh well, you can't even understand me since you're just a filthy and lowlife woman who came from a good-as-dead tribe."

—

"Tsar."

Psyke's deep, emotionless voice filled the room.

"Aaa, a vot i syn, kotoryy naveshchal menya tol'ko togda, kogda ya zval yego. Ty zadevayesh' moi chuvstva, Psyke."

("Ahh, and here goes son who only visit me when I called for him. You're hurting my feelings, Psyke.") The Tsar, Psyke's father, spoke from his seat, his voice heavy with disappointment and veiled threat.

They were in a VIP room of a luxury hotel in France. Psyke had just eliminated an assassin sent to kill the Tsar. His father was attending a major event.

"Eto ne tak, tsar'. Vy znayete, kak ya zanyat, chistya i unichtozhaya mukh, kotoryye dostavlyayut problemy nashey gruppe."

("It's not like that, Tsar. You know how busy I am, cleaning and wiping out the flies that cause problems to our group.") Psyke replied, sipping his tea.

Only four were present: Psyke, the Tsar, Sebastian, and the Tsar's butler.

"Khm... YA prav, ty stal sovsem myagkim. V chem dolzhna byt' prichina?"

("Hmm... I am right, you have become quite soft. What must be the reason?") The Tsar's gaze was intense.

Psyke chuckled. "Vy, dolzhno byt', oshibayetes', tsar'. YA takoy zhe, kak i ran'she."

("You must be mistaken, Tsar. I am the same as before.") He set down his glass.

Psyke felt the atmosphere shift as he met his father's gaze. The Tsar's ruthlessness was palpable.

"Dolzhno byt', eto zhenshchina. Mozhet, mne prosto ubit' yego yeshche raz, Psyke? Vy znayete o pravilakh—"

("It must be a woman. Should I just kill it again, Psyke? You know about the rules—")

"Nichego podobnogo, tsar'. Eto vsego lish' golodnyy malen'kiy tigr, kotorogo ya kormlyu do sikh por. YA prosto ne mogu nasytit'sya i zhdat', chtoby vospol'zovat'sya etim."

("It's nothing like that, Tsar. It's just a hungry little tiger that I've been feeding. I just can't get enough and I'm waiting to use it.") Psyke cut him off.

"Togda tebe luchshe ne pozvolyat' yemu uyti... kto znayet, etot starik pered toboy mozhet poymat' i ubit' yego, yesli on dostatochno opasen, chtoby smyagchit' tebya."

("You better not let it get away then… who knows, this old man in front of you might catch and kill it, if it's dangerous enough to soften you.") The Tsar's gaze was unwavering.

Psyke smiled, a cold, predatory smile. He stood, straightening his coat. "You don't have to worry, Father. I can handle it myself." He walked towards Sebastian.

Sebastian returned a chilling smile.

Psyke's aura was dark, dangerous. He clenched his fist, Leonariz's innocent face burned in his mind. He needed to control her, to possess her. He wouldn't let her escape.