The following trigger warning must be stated, as this is a mature story. Be careful if you are sensitive to matters relating to torture, violence, bloodshed, and self-harm. Please and thank you. Viewer discretion is advised.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

In the center of Edelweiss Greenhouse, the ultimate edifice towers. An octagon cage dwells, serving as a grand atrium with its glittering panels and silver cell bars. Deep within, its glass walls besiege Elora from all directions. Drifting the borders of her pretty prison, the royal guards remain a persistent presence.

And though there's plenty of space to fan her wings out and take flight, Elora can be found crouched down on a bed of grass instead, staring into the depths of her watery reflection. Beneath streaks of moonlight, her own little lake shimmers back at her, accompanied with the occasional lotus flowers in pink or white.

The reality is that no matter how much she wants to, she can't bring herself to hate Master Azalea.

And she's certainly tried.

It was only a few years ago did she make countless attempts at taking his life, again and again with her most powerful spells. For if her creator is no more, then she can finally be free in the afterlife of her dreams.

But he isn't just any wizard.

He's the wizard king of Edelweiss and one of the greatest archmages to ever live. Whatever she can do, he can do better. Word of his arcane prowess had reached far and wide since his reign, foreboding and unkind. True to his infamy, he would skillfully put Elora in her place every time she would strike. From extended electrocutions to fireballs of fury, he would punish her accordingly until the burns would haunt, phantom pains still stinging.

Over and over, she'd be stunned by the sparks of his wrath, his signature shocks electrifying, damn right paralyzing. Over and over, she'd scream in the face of his blue flames melting off her skin, burning her complexion to a charcoal crisp.

Then he'd bring her back into the world the next morning with nothing amiss, hoping she'd learned her lesson by now. It took several more times before she truly did.

After all of his arcane atrocities, after all her lament and languish, there's one memory that occasionally stops her from reenacting old times and committing to the full-blown resentment he deserves.

Even now, it weighs on her mind.

Her first life.

The very first time she had ever been conjured into existence. From their initial encounter years ago, she met another man inside Master Azalea. It had been before his horns had grown out. Before the dragon scales and the silver eyes ever plagued his face.

Her creator had burst into maniacal joy after the summoning that brought forth her existence, presented as the Master Azalea that she always knew. Runes shaped from his blood were blotted across this very same spot within the greenhouse, his scarlet red seeping into brittle blades. Crooked cuts gaped from his bare arms, scattered across his shoulders down to his wrists.

A gasp ripped from her lungs as she tried to fly off, startled by the gore fest that was his upper body—her first core memory. Her heart hammered against her chest, her pulse thundering like never before. The strange noise that scraped his throat ached her ears, something that she didn't realize to be laughter at the time.

Crazed and chaotic laughter.

"Llits eb."

Suddenly, her wings stiffened mid-flight from his spell, its verbal components halting her in place with a stern snarl. Trapped in the center of the bloody runes, she remained muted with fright. Something solid caught onto her toes, which she quickly realized to be stone.

As the rest of her legs gradually followed, frozen from his stony blight, Master Azalea summoned a dagger from his sleeveless robes. Then, he gripped the back of her head and inched the blade close, its steel edge grazing the skin of her neck. She flinched, nearly slamming into its sharp end.

Her lips quivered and her breaths halted. She'd only been alive for a minute and already, fear conquered.

Death awaited—the very first one.

But before he could take the plunge, that familiar electric spark spiraling in his eyes, something inside of him stopped. His irises dulled just then, giving way to fatigue. His smirk slipped off, eager fangs shrinking out of sight. The dagger dropped from his blood-soaked fingers as he collapsed into Elora's arms, tears already flooding his face. The slippery reds of his self-inflicted wounds soiled the whites of her dress. His magical hold of her waned, its paralyzing effect ebbing away, while she floundered with indecision.

She could've gone. Attempted escape in what was an unknown labyrinth back then, desperate and aimless. Probably soon to expire, with more of Master Azalea's royal enforcements at his beck and call.

Or she could just let it be—the safest choice yet. Let him cry until there was nothing left. The weight of his tears sank into her shoulder as she rigidly stilled.

Waiting.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, a low hush just shy from a whisper. A wrecked vocal fry picked up when he pushed forward, louder than before, and continued. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I..."

His shoulders shook, rattling his nerves. A broken gasp tore into him, interrupting him midway, as he clawed at throat.

"You should've never been made." His nails dug into the skin of his neck, smeared with bloody fingerprints. "This was a mistake."

You are my mistake.

The implication stung her. More tears entered the scene, but this time they were her own. She didn't know why she cried. Perhaps some part of her understood just how right he would be.

Before she could blink them off, startled by their newfound presence, he thumbed the tears away for her. The last of his blood was dashed across her face, underlining the corners of her eyes.

"You'll have to go through so much pain," Master Azalea murmured, agonized by his own claim as he stared her down with a pitying gaze. "You won't be able to escape. Not even I have been able to escape Him."

Him?

Something twinkled in his stormy eyes once more, rising from the unknown. Electricity flickered. Sparks renewed, making room for silver hues.

Him.

Before she could react, before her wings could snap, the same dagger from before swung right back into her neck.

And this time, it didn't miss.