Location:????
Dr. Sigmund was perplexed.
And more than a little surprised.
He narrowed his eyes.
"You are here to see Miss Bathory?" he asked carefully, looking at the two women standing near the reception desk.
Both appeared to be in their early twenties and were incredibly beautiful, though in different ways.
The taller one sported long, bright orange hair that faded to white toward the ends, paired with deep orange eyes filled with an almost comforting warmth.
The other young woman was… ethereal.
Short silver hair framed her delicate face, reaching just past her shoulders, while crystalline eyes stared back at him with an unnerving emptiness.
Both were dressed casually in jeans and shirts that matched their color palettes, enough to blend in with ordinary people, but they still stood out.
The taller woman nodded to his question with a warm smile.
"I am Miranda, and this… she gestured to the silver-haired woman. "This is Helen."
Her orange eyes met his. "We are Elizabeth's sisters."
Dr. Sugmund frowned slightly.
It was a surprising claim.
But what truly caught his attention had been the expression on Miranda's face when she first stepped through the entrance.
It was a brief flicker of an expression, but his keen eyes caught it.
A brief flicker of horrified recognition, as if someone stumbling upon the scene of a horrific murder scene they never expected to find.
And now she was calmly introducing herself as Elizabeth Bathory's sister.
He couldn't help but be suspicious.
"Miss Bathory has no registered relatives," he said calmly. "We conducted a rather extensive search."
"You're right," Miranda admitted without hesitation. "No blood relatives."
A faint, melancholic smile appeared on her face.
"We grew up together in the same orphanage."
She shrugged.
"It shut down years ago. Fewer kids, fewer donations."
The explanation came naturally, smoothly.
Almost too naturally.
"A priest of the Hearth Sanctum eventually adopted me," she continued. "But Helen…"
For the first time since entering the building, Dr. Sigmund noticed sorrow flicker across Miranda's face.
"She was caught in a civil war overseas."
Her gaze drifted for a moment toward the silver-haired woman. "She suffered terribly during her imprisonment."
Dr. Sigmund blinked and looked toward Helen.
"You were the sister Miss Bathory mentioned?"
Helen just gave him an empty stare before giving a small nod.
Her movements were oddly delicate.
Almost like a living doll.
Miranda offered an apologetic smile.
"She's quite traumatized from her imprisonment, so please excuse her detachment."
"Ah…" Dr. Sigmund immediately felt guilty for staring. "I am very sorry, Miss Helen. If you'd like, I would be more than willing to help you."
"It's fine," Helen replied softly.
Her voice matched her eyes.
Empty, yet strangely gentle.
Then she tilted her head slightly. "How are you doing, Doctor?"
"Me?" Dr. Sigmund asked awkwardly as he froze.
The question itself wasn't unusual.
What unsettled him was the sincerity behind it.
Not a polite obligation.
Not casual conversation.
She sounded genuinely concerned.
Not many people asked about his own well-being.
Not his patients.
Not even his coworkers.
Only one other person regularly asked him that question.
Elizabeth Bathory.
For reasons he couldn't quite explain, hearing Helen ask him that question made him feel strangely relieved.
He smiled faintly. "I'm doing quite well, Miss Helen. In fact, things have been rather peaceful ever since your sister became our patient."
He chuckled.
"We sometimes joke that she's our lucky charm."
"Well…" Miranda smiled warmly. "Elizabeth always did have that effect on people."
But despite her composed demeanour, Dr. Sigmund noticed the faint twitch near her eyebrow.
"Please follow me, you two," he said, turning toward the corridor. "Visitors are rather uncommon here."
He paused briefly.
"This institution used to have a rather infamous reputation."
As the three of them walked down a corridor, silence settled around them.
Dr. Sigmund noticed Miranda's eyes wandering towards the walls and floor.
They drifted to the reinforced doors and security cameras.
Then he saw it again.
The same expression of disturbed recognition.
Like someone walking through a nightmare.
"You have a rather… interesting paint job," Miranda remarked.
He chuckled.
"You are the first one who ever commented on the paint, Miss Miranda."
"Personally, I preferred some bright yet soft colors," he admitted with a shrug. "But the people who established this place went for something… simpler."
"I see."
Miranda's gaze lingered on the walls for a moment before returning to the corridor ahead.
Soon, they arrived at Elizabeth Bathory's room.
Dr. Sigmund immediately noticed the silence.
There was no eerie humming.
There was no movement.
No shifting of fabric, not even the sound of breathing.
The room beyond the door felt eerily still.
Concerned, he knocked.
"Miss Elizabeth?"
Silence stretched for a few seconds.
He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
Then he heard her voice.
It sounded eerily distorted, yet soft.
"Yes, Doctor?"
It felt unnatural.
Dr. Sigmund unconsciously straightened.
He always did that whenever he spoke to Elizabeth, though he never understood why.
She was a sweet young woman.
Sure, she had a habit of humming eerie tunes of songs that should never exist, but she was otherwise kind and surprisingly easy to talk to.
Yet despite that, he could never fully shake the feeling that something was wrong.
Horribly wrong.
"You have visitors," he said. "Your sisters."
"Oh!"
The excitement in her voice was immediate.
"Let them in!"
Dr. Sigmund opened the door.
And nearly stumbled backward.
Elizabeth Bathory was standing directly in front of him.
As though she had been waiting on the other side.
A bright smile was plastered on her pale face, and her deep scarlet eyes, which reminded him of frozen blood, glittered with excitement.
For a brief moment, Miranda froze.
Not visibly.
Just enough for Dr. Sigmund to notice.
Something in those orange eyes tightened.
Then it vanished.
"Sister!"
Elizabeth immediately strode past him and enveloped Helen in a fierce embrace.
"You are free!"
Helen remained unnaturally still.
"I am free," she repeated in a voice devoid of excitement or relief.
It was just a statement.
This contrast made Dr. Sigmund uncomfortable.
Elizabeth slowly let go of her and turned to Miranda.
"Long time no see."
Miranda smiled warmly. "I believe it's been years, Elizabeth."
"Of course!"
Elizabeth looked genuinely delighted.
Far more delighted than most people would be.
The intensity of it felt oddly overwhelming.
She spun toward him.
"Doctor. Can I please have them in my room?"
He offered a stern smile.
"Miss Elizabeth. You know I can't easily allow this. Not that I am worried that you might cause trouble, but it is institutional protocol."
Her shoulders immediately dropped.
"Doctor…"
"Hospital policy remains hospital policy," he continued. "Even if things have been peaceful lately, this is still a dangerous institution."
"I know, Doctor," she looked at him with pleading eyes.
"But please, just this once."
For a moment, he lost his train of thought.
The crimson seemed to swirl.
To deepen.
To pull.
Dr. Sigmund inhaled sharply and forced himself to look away.
"I…" he took a deep breath. "Very well, Miss Elizabeth."
Her face immediately lit up.
"You're the best!"
Before he could react, she threw her arms around him.
Dr. Sigmund sighed.
Somehow, Elizabeth always managed to get her way.
Turning to her sisters, she gestured excitedly toward the door.
"Come in, you too."
Helen strode in without a second thought.
Miranda lingered for a moment. Her gaze swept over Elizabeth, then over to the room beyond.
Whatever she saw caused a brief shadow to pass across her expression.
She exchanged an apologetic smile. "She's still the same."
Then she stepped inside, and the door closed behind them.
Dr. Sigmund stood there for a moment, and a suffocating silence enveloped him.
Eventually, he shook his head and continued down the hall. There were still some duties to do.
Yet as he walked away, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that the silence behind that door was somehow watching him.
*******
Uriel turned her gaze toward the young woman sitting down on the bed, her dark blue hair spilling over her shoulders, its crimson ends fanning out on the bed.
The Incarnus of Ignis scowled, annoyance and revulsion lacing her words.
"I see you are still as depraved as ever, Cruor."
Elizabeth Bathory, or rather, Cruor, turned around, her simple blue dress shifting with the movement.
A slow, eerie smile stretched across her pale face.
Her crimson eyes danced with a mad light.
"And you are as observant as ever, Uriel," she replied calmly.
"What you did to this place…" Uriel paused, finding it hard to form the right words, "… is horrifying."
"I am the Goddess of Madness, Uriel," Cruor, the Incarnus of Haema, replied in a soft, sultry voice. "I have a reputation to maintain."
Uriel stepped forward, the fiery rings in her irises appearing and smouldering dangerously.
"And this is how you do it?" she asked in a quiet, dangerous voice.
Cruor gave a casual shrug.
"To be honest, I was bored."
"And this doctor is your new toy?" Phoebe suddenly asked in response, her plain, emotionless voice cutting through the tension.
The scarlet eyes of the Haema Incarnus fell on the Lux Incarnus.
"Goodness."
Cruor approached Phoebe, her movements almost… intimate.
"Little Lilith really hollowed you out, huh?"
When Phoebe didn't respond, Cruor's eyes brightened.
"This is very weird… and exciting."
Her gaze slowly traveled across Phoebe's face.
"I sense no anger, no hatred, no grief."
"Just… nothing."
Her smile widened. "How fascinating."
"Get away from her," Uriel warned. "She's recovering."
"I seriously doubt that," Cruor sang, running a finger across Phoebe's silver hair.
For a moment, she simply stared.
Like an artist studying a damaged masterpiece.
Then, with a sickening crack, her head rotated until she was looking directly at Uriel.
The sound echoed throughout the room.
"Did you like the new splash of color I added to this building?" she asked excitedly.
"It's quite amazing if you ask me."
"You're sick," Uriel replied simply.
"I am!"
Cruor's body slowly twisted until it faced Uriel properly once more.
"It was rather simple."
She snapped her fingers. "Just a single, fun thought, and everyone got their throats opened up."
"A little pull on the blood."
"A tiny suggestion to their crimson stream of life."
She grinned like an excited child. "They couldn't even scream as their vocal cords were torn."
"Although," she frowned. "It got boring after a minute of watching them clawing at their throats."
Her smile returned, brighter than ever, "So I made them rip each other apart and paint the walls."
"Most people never notice this, but every human bleeds differently."
Uriel looked ill. "You think?"
The Haema Incarnus smiled, spreading her hands in a grand gesture.
"Fear darkens the color."
"Excitement makes it brighter."
"Despair is surprisingly vibrant."
She sighed. "The walls were terribly boring before."
Her eerie gaze went toward the door, beyond its structure. "Now they are vibrant. Just like how dear Sigmund wanted."
Uriel narrowed her eyes. "You left him alive, masked his gaze with the illusion of a peaceful psychiatric hospital even as he is walking in a corridor flooded with blood."
"Why?"
"For the final stroke of my masterpiece," Cruor replied with a gleeful smile.
Phoebe tilted her head like a curious doll. "Your final stroke?"
Cruor nodded. "I want to see his sweet expression when I remove the veil of ignorance from his eyes and witness my artwork."
An ecstatic expression spread across her face.
"With that, my masterpiece will be complete."
"You and I have different perspectives on art," Uriel said, a disturbed expression crossing her face.
"Why wear that frown on your face, dear Uriel?"
Cruor appeared before her, fondly cupping Uriel's face between her hands.
She pouted.
"Are you still upset about our first and last kiss?"
A sly grin stretched across Cruor's face.
"I don't think it's taboo. Unlike the first generation of Incarni, we are bound only by ardor, not by blood."
She winked.
"And besides, I'm the adopted child."
"What you did," Uriel's eyes narrowed. "Was an utter violation of my dignity and personal space. I had to purify myself after that kiss."
"But you enjoyed it, didn't you?" Cruor replied with a small giggle.
"Cruor!"
A golden hue immediately spread across Uriel's face.
The Haema Incarnus laughed softly as she danced away.
The sound was strangely genuine.
Her crimson eyes drifted toward Phoebe.
"Your disciple is so easy to tease."
"She always was," Phoebe replied.
Cruor blinked, then she laughed again. "This is fun!"
Uriel groaned, her face turning more golden as Cruor hummed her disturbing melody before abruptly stopping.
A look of realization crossed her face.
"Perhaps it's not the kiss."
Her crimson eyes twinkled with mad mischief.
"Is Michael still angry with me?"
The question immediately snapped Uriel out of her embarrassment.
"After what you did?" she asked flatly. "I'm surprised he hasn't hunted you down."
A look of pain appeared on Cruor's face. "I only wanted to improve his painting."
"Though I must admit Malakh blood is a rather poor material for paint."
She paused.
"The glow ruined the composition."
Uriel's fist clenched, and she gave a strained smile.
"Perhaps I should take you to him?"
"Oh, please don't."
Cruor immediately retreated behind Phoebe.
The movement was so dramatic that it almost looked rehearsed.
Pointing at Phoebe, she said. "I nearly lost my head fighting this one."
"Michael is practically the same."
Phoebe slightly tilted her head. "Michael is more emotional than I am."
"Exactly!" Cruor exclaimed.
Uriel looked one step away from setting the room on fire.
Cruor ignored her.
Instead, her gaze settled on Phoebe once more.
The mischief and the madness faded.
A different expression emerged.
Something quieter and older.
"You remember, don't you?"
Cruor asked. Her hand slowly rose toward her neck, fingers brushing against the terrible scar resting there.
"You drove your spear straight through my throat."
There was no accusation in her voice.
No bitterness.
If anything, she sounded nostalgic.
"It still burns."
Her smile softened.
"A wonderful strike."
Her form flickered, and she appeared before Pheobe.
Still touching her scar, Cruor continued softly. "When your chains shattered, the pain suddenly flared."
Her crimson eyes glowed faintly.
Cruor grinned. "That's when I realized that you've been freed."
For a brief moment, the room fell silent.
Even Uriel stopped glaring.
Cruor stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Phoebe.
The embrace was surprisingly gentle.
Almost careful.
As though she feared the Lux Incarnus might disappear if she held too tightly.
When she finally spoke, her voice had lost all traces of mischief.
"Welcome back, dear sister."