We weren't allowed to cry... Those who made that mistake were punished horribly, by having their eyes gouged out.
We weren't allowed to scream... They'd hold us down with our tongues out and slam our heads down, biting off our tongues.
We weren't allowed to move beyond our rooms... They would find those who have slipped out and amputate them, revoking their license to walk...
Why are we forced to suffer?
Why were you chosen to leave this hell?
Why couldn't you bring us along with you?
Why are you the special one?
What the hell makes you so damned special?!
Guilt gnawed at the girl's chest as she remembered the children's devastated faces when she left for the Syndicate. Their anger and hurt were like a sharp sting, a constant reminder of the pain her departure had caused.
It was at that moment that something inside her broke—not because of the abuse she had suffered, but because of the anguished faces of those she left behind.
Instead of celebrating her chance at escape from their shared hell, the children unleashed their anger and curses at her. Their reaction, so full of hurt and resentment, left her feeling more trapped than ever and made her lose her only sense of empathy.
From then on, Mavislin couldn't feel any pain. Even when she was beaten into a pulp or scolded for being such a worthless scum. She gained infamy throughout the Syndicate about how emotionless she was, especially when it came to her missions.
Zenos was incorrect about her title of Shadow being related to her skill of being an espionage... It was a nickname given to her by both Raven and Venom to further emphasize her trait of being hollow.
A shadow may be visible, but it cannot convey or grasp the emotions that lie beneath. The food situation barely changed when she was sold to the Syndicate, but at least she gained a measure of freedom.
At least, she got a chance to earn her meal and they had to feed her. Despite the perilous missions where simply surviving felt like a victory, her rewards were meager at best—a bowl of lukewarm soup or a piece of stale, hardened bread was often all she received.
"Beast has acknowledged your talents of battle. You are to come with us."
"This is your reward. A step up from the gruesome diet in that orphanage. Be thankful that it doesn't have poison."
"Are you really content with the way that they treat you?"
Mavislin's eyes widened upon hearing those words, recalling that it was one of the first interactions she held with Mattheos. Of course, she wasn't content... Who would have the sound mind to be okay with being treated less than a pet?
"Then why do you not leave?"
As if it were that simple... If it were, half the Syndicate would have walked out long ago! Leaving wasn't a viable option; it would mean living in constant fear, with the Syndicate's watchful eyes ever-present, reminding her of her betrayal.
And once they caught up to her... well, she shuddered to think of the consequences. Death would be the most merciful thing they could do.
Mavislin remained motionless, silent with disbelief as Zenos, with deliberate and measured grace, lifted the polished silver dome from the dishes.
The room was instantly flooded with the rich aroma of succulent meat—a feast of grilled beef and pork, glistening under the soft light.
The sides were no less sumptuous: a generous bowl of mashed potatoes swirled with cheese, crisp edamame, unagi glazed to perfection with soy sauce, and two bowls of fluffy, steaming rice.
The sight was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the meager rations she had grown accustomed to. She wondered if the bunny would be able to hone his culinary arts to remake the feast before. Ah, one could dream.
Zenos offered no words as he turned to her, his expression one of quiet command as he gestured toward the bed. Understanding the unspoken order, Mavislin rose from her stiff stance and made her way to the bed, where the Viceroy had already drawn the cart close.
It was a rare indulgence, and for a moment, the dragoness hesitated—this display of generosity felt foreign, almost disconcerting.
But as she took her seat and allowed herself to be drawn into the warmth and fragrance of the meal, the pang of hunger overrode her doubts.
The Prince of Darkness' presence remained imposing, yet there was a calculated elegance in his actions, a silent acknowledgment of the indulgence he offered—if only for this fleeting moment.
"Try not to spray food all over my bed, little beast," warned Zenos as he lifted the chair from his desk and placed it on the opposite side of the cart.