Chapter 3: The Black Rose’s Curiosity
The slums were a wretched place.
A rotting carcass festering beneath the grandeur of the noble district, filled with filth, desperation, and the kind of suffering polite society pretended not to see. The air was thick with the stink of mildew, blood, and rot, clinging to everything like a disease.
But Vaera von Nachtrose walked through it unbothered.
The filth did not touch her.
Her steps were graceful, measured, as if she were walking through the polished halls of her family's mansion rather than the grimy streets of the city's lowest depths. Her dress, woven from the finest silks, trailed just above the filth, black and crimson embroidery glistening under the dim light.
She did not belong here.
And yet, she had come anyway.
Not out of necessity.Not out of kindness.
But simply because she was curious.
The slums were unpredictable.
And Vaera loved the unknown.
She had heard whispers about this place.
Servants in the Nachtrose estate spoke of the lawlessness here. Of men who slit throats over a scrap of bread, of women who sold their own children to survive. Of people who vanished without a trace, their bodies never found, their names already forgotten.
That was what fascinated her the most.
The cruelty of it.
The way people could be erased so easily. As if they had never existed at all.
She wondered what that must feel like.
To be nothing.
To have no one.
To belong to no place at all.
Her silver hair shimmered beneath the dull glow of the lanterns, catching the eyes of those around her. They stared. Some in confusion, some in hunger, some in fear. But no one dared approach.
Even in the slums, people knew power when they saw it.
And House Nachtrose was feared.
The men and women lurking in the alleys only needed to see the violet glow of her eyes to shrink away.
Wise.
Her gaze swept over the streets, past the starving children, past the gaunt-faced men clutching rusted knives, past the women with hollow eyes. None of them interested her.
They were common.
She had seen suffering before.
But then—
She saw her.
The girl was small, barely more than skin and bones.
She sat slumped against a crumbling stone wall, her back pressed against it as if it were the only thing keeping her upright. Her clothes were ripped and filthy, barely more than rags, her golden hair tangled with dirt and dried blood.
At first, Vaera thought she was dead.
But then—
She saw her eyes.
Half-lidded, barely open, but still burning red.
Red like blood spilled under moonlight.Red like dying embers refusing to be snuffed out.Red like something that refused to break.
She was alive.
But only barely.
Vaera stopped walking.
Her two accompanying guards hesitated.
"My lady," one of them, a burly man with a scar along his jaw, murmured. "She's just a street rat. We should keep moving."
Vaera ignored him.
She stepped forward, her polished shoes clicking softly against the uneven stone. The closer she got, the more she could see—the bruises blooming across the girl's arms and legs, the dried blood caked beneath her fingernails, the faint rise and fall of her chest.
She had been beaten.
Perhaps by the slum gangs.Perhaps by a stranger she had tried to rob.
Or perhaps, by someone she had killed.
Vaera's lips curled in amusement.
Because she could tell.
This girl was not just a victim.
She was something else.
Something wretched and ugly, the kind of creature that should have already died a dozen times over.
And yet—she was still here.
Vaera knelt.
She did not touch her.
She simply observed.
Watched the slow rise and fall of her breathing. The way her fingers twitched—small, unconscious movements, as if she were dreaming of killing someone.
Even in the depths of exhaustion, this girl wanted something.
To survive.To kill.To destroy.
How fascinating.
Vaera reached forward, her fingers lightly brushing a strand of golden hair away from the girl's face.
A heartbeat passed.
And then—
The girl's fingers twitched.
She was awake.
Not fully, not yet.
But she had noticed.
Even now—half-dead and ruined, she still had enough will left to recognize a threat.
Vaera grinned.
She had found something interesting after all.
"Take her."
Her guards hesitated.
"My lady," one of them started. "She's just some filthy—"
Vaera turned her head, her violet eyes settling on him.
She did not speak.
She did not need to.
The moment their eyes met, the man swallowed his words.
He bowed his head and stepped back, giving a quick order to the other. Together, they moved, lifting the girl from the ground.
She was light.
Too light.
A body that had been starved for too long, beaten down until there was almost nothing left.
But she was still alive.
And Vaera wanted to see how much further she could endure.
She turned on her heel, the fabric of her dress swirling around her as she walked away.
She did not look back.
She did not need to.
The girl belonged to her now.
And she would not let her break so easily.
Soft.
It was the first thing she noticed.
The sensation was foreign, unfamiliar.
She was used to the cold, the roughness of dirt and stone beneath her body. She had slept on the streets for as long as she could remember, her back pressed against jagged walls, her limbs curled in on themselves to preserve what little warmth she had.
She had never known softness.
And yet—
She was surrounded by it.
A strange weightless warmth embraced her, as if the very air itself had changed. Something plush and thick cushioned her body, sinking beneath her touch rather than resisting it.
She flinched.
Her fingers twitched, clutching at the fabric beneath her, and for the first time, she felt silk.
Her mind fought against it.
This was wrong.
It had to be a dream. A trick of her dying mind.
She had collapsed.
She had lost everything.
She had been waiting for death to take her, feeling the hollow ache of hunger, the exhaustion in her limbs, the phantom pain in her wounds.
So why was she here?
Why did it feel like she had been swallowed by something impossibly gentle?
She forced her eyes open.
The light was blinding.
She winced. Her vision blurred, adjusting to the overwhelming brightness that burned against her eyelids. A chandelier, glistening with crystals, hung high above her, casting fragmented light across the room.
A room.
She was inside.
She inhaled sharply, her fingers digging into the fabric beneath her. The scent of lavender and roses filled her nose, clean and delicate, nothing like the filth-ridden air of the slums.
It only made her more uneasy.
She turned her head.
The bed was enormous.
Far too big for someone like her. Thick, embroidered blankets draped over her body, an elegant canopy hanging above. The room stretched far beyond what her eyes could immediately take in—grand furniture, velvet curtains, shelves lined with books and trinkets.
It was a place that did not belong to her.
A place that she should not be in.
Her breathing quickened.
She didn't understand.
Had she been caught? Taken? By whom?
Her thoughts were a mess—disjointed, tangled. The last thing she remembered was the wall, the exhaustion in her limbs, the feeling of her body shutting down.
And then—
Nothing.
But now, she was here.
Somewhere she could never belong.
Her body tensed. She needed to leave.
She tried to sit up—
But the second she moved, the door opened.
She froze.
Footsteps.
Measured. Calm. Unrushed.
Then—
A voice.
"You're awake."
Smooth, composed, carrying the faintest lilt of amusement.
A voice that did not belong in the slums.
Her gaze snapped toward the door.
And there—
She stood.
The girl from before.
The one with violet eyes.
She was dressed differently now. A loose silk nightgown draped over her form, her silver hair cascading down her back, unbound and flowing like strands of moonlight.
She looked effortless.
Untouchable.
A creature of nobility—of power.
The kind of person who should never even look at someone like her, let alone bring her here.
And yet—
Here she was.
Watching.
Waiting.
A slow, creeping awareness settled over her.
This girl had taken her.
This girl had decided she would live.
And for the first time in a long, long time—
She didn't know what to do.
Vaera took a step forward.
The girl on the bed stilled, her body tensed, eyes sharp despite her obvious exhaustion.
Ah.
Good.
Even now—half-dead, unfamiliar with her surroundings, trapped in a situation she could not control—she was ready to fight.
Vaera's lips curled.
"Are you afraid?" she asked, tilting her head.
No answer.
The girl merely stared, her red eyes unreadable, her expression blank.
Vaera hummed.
She liked that expression.
No whining. No begging. No useless displays of gratitude or confusion.
Just quiet, steady calculation.
"Do you know where you are?"
Still, the girl remained silent.
Vaera took another step.
Closer now.
She could see it—the faint scars, the bruises still fading from the girl's pale skin. The way her fingers twitched against the fabric of the sheets, subtly preparing to move if necessary.
The girl was dangerous.
But she was also small.
Thin.
Weak.
For now.
Vaera smiled.
And then, she reached out.
A slow, deliberate movement.
Her fingers brushed against the girl's cheek.
She did not flinch.
But her eyes—
Her eyes burned.
Like embers waiting for fuel.
Like a spark that could turn into a wildfire.
Vaera chuckled.
"How interesting."
Vaera von Nachtrose had always been meticulous in her choices.
She did not make impulsive decisions.
Every move, every word, every action—calculated.
And yet—
She had brought this girl into her home without a second thought.
Without hesitation.
And now, as she stood before the frail, battered thing resting in her bed, she found herself wondering why.
The girl was broken.
There was no mistaking that.
Her frame was too thin, her skin marred by faint scars, bruises barely beginning to fade. No noble blood ran through her veins. She had not been raised in elegance, nor had she been granted the privilege of an easy life.
She was filth—by all accounts.
A stray.
A nobody.
And yet…
Vaera's violet eyes trailed over the girl's face, taking in the details she had not before.
Red eyes.
Not dull.
Not empty.
But sharp. Calculating.
A stark contrast to the lifeless husks she had seen in so many others.
This girl had not given up.
Even now—trapped in an unfamiliar room, facing a noble's scrutiny—her body remained tense. Poised to react. Poised to fight if needed.
She is not afraid.
The realization sent something dark and pleasant curling in Vaera's chest.
What an intriguing creature.
Her lips curled into a smile.
"What is your name?"
A simple question.
Yet, the girl did not answer.
Vaera watched, waiting, as the girl merely stared.
Not in defiance.
Not in confusion.
But as if the question itself was… meaningless.
Her smile widened.
Of course.
A girl like this—raised in the slums, discarded like trash—would not have a name.
At least, not one that mattered.
And so, Vaera lifted her hand.
Slowly.
Gently.
She reached beneath the girl's chin, her fingers cool against the warmth of bruised skin, and tilted her face upward.
Their eyes met.
A breath of silence stretched between them.
Then—
"You will be my personal maid."
The words fell softly from Vaera's lips.
A command.
A declaration.
A decision.
The girl did not react at first.
Not outwardly.
Not in any way a normal person might.
There was no surprise. No hesitation.
Only silence.
Only the slow, creeping shift of something behind those red eyes—something neither shock nor gratitude, but something far, far deeper.
And then—
"…I see."
Her voice was quiet. Hoarse, as if unused.
But it did not waver.
It was steady.
Dangerously so.
Vaera's fingers lingered beneath the girl's chin a moment longer before she withdrew her touch, watching as the girl lowered her gaze slightly, nodding just once.
Submission.
Or perhaps… something else.
Regardless, Vaera was pleased.
A stray had wandered into her path.
And now, she would be hers.
Completely.
She turned on her heel.
"You will begin tomorrow," she said simply. "Rest for now."
She expected no response.
She did not need one.
She had already decided.
The warmth of Vaera's fingers lingered against her skin even after she had pulled away.
It was an unfamiliar sensation.
Strange.
Unsettling.
But not bad.
Not like the touch of her parents.
Not like the fists that had left her broken.
This was different.
Deliberate.
And the words that had followed—
"You will be my personal maid."
She turned them over in her mind, letting them sink in.
A maid.
Something so… simple.
So ordinary.
Yet, it was the way Vaera had said it that made it different.
Not a question.
Not an offer.
A statement.
A decision that had been made for her.
She understood that.
She understood what it meant to be taken—what it meant to be told where she belonged.
Her parents had never let her forget.
She had been a thing to them. A burden.
But Vaera…
Vaera did not say "thing."
She did not say "burden."
She had chosen her.
Claimed her.
There was no hesitation in those violet eyes.
No doubt.
No disgust.
Only certainty.
And so, for the first time in her life—
She did not resist.
She did not question.
She simply accepted.
And in her mind, Vaera's words twisted.
You will be mine.
A slow, creeping warmth unfurled in her chest.
Yes.
Yes, she would.
She would be hers.
Hers alone.
Forever.
And this time, she would never be thrown away.
Never be left behind.
Never be weak again.
For now, she would play her role.
A maid.
A servant.
But she knew the truth.
She had never served anyone before.
And she would not start now.
She belonged to Vaera.
But more importantly—
Vaera belonged to her.
She just didn't know it yet.
And that thought—
That thought made her smile.