Breeding Season - Chapter 40
Her once pale skin was now covered in red marks.
At first, she worried she might have developed some kind of skin condition. But judging from Pamilla’s reaction, that didn’t seem to be the case.
“It’s not an illness…?”
As she mumbled, Pamilla’s eyes grew round.
“Illness? No! Those are love bites!”
“……?”
“T-they’re bite marks. It seems Master was… playing around while you slept.”
“…Ah?”
To think she had been sleeping soundly, completely oblivious to this.
Siren was astonished at her own lack of awareness—and equally exasperated by Yasamin’s persistence. No wonder. The so-called love bites were not just one or two.
‘There are dozens of them.’
She couldn’t even count them all. There had to be at least twenty.
“He really is a pervert.”
Marking a sleeping person’s body like this… and this….
And yet, the reason she didn’t hate it was probably because of the words he cherishes you. The reason it didn’t feel burdensome was likely due to the word playing.
Strange and contradictory as it was, it was just the right amount for her at this moment. Just enough to keep her from running away. Just enough so she wouldn’t flee.
Unaware that she was being lured in, she followed, seeking comfort in an embrace.
But it was fine, because there was no way that extraordinary man was sincere about her. And she didn’t have to reveal all her secrets either.
As long as neither of them were truly honest, they could simply take the warmth they needed. That wasn’t a bad thing.
Alone in the bath, Siren gazed at the scales creeping up her skin with darkened eyes before pulling her knees to her chest and resting her cheek against them.
She had always found her scales repulsive, but today, they seemed slightly more tolerable.
Perhaps it was because she now knew that somewhere in this vast world, there were others who looked like her. And that there were people who accepted them.
To have one’s existence, one’s uniqueness, acknowledged.
That was a comfort beyond words.
After bathing, she didn’t feel particularly hungry, so she decided to have only some fruit. With the simple meal set beside her, Siren reclined amidst a pile of cushions, her gaze drifting to the stack of books nearby.
‘Should I read until Yasamin returns?’
According to Pamilla, Yasamin had gone out. She didn’t know where, but it wasn’t her place to ask. Nor was she particularly curious.
Right now, what piqued her interest was this book.
The Various Races of the World, On Origins, Conversations with Secretive Tribes, Beginner’s Guide to Sorcery, If You Wish to Make a Fennec Fox Your Familiar, Runic Symbols, The Camellia Tattoo…
Among them, The Camellia Tattoo was the book that had once been on Yasamin’s desk. She had wanted to read it, and in the process of trying to obtain it, they had ended up kissing. More than just kissing.
‘I wonder what it’s about. A novel, perhaps?’
Every book intrigued her, making her heart race with excitement. She didn’t know which one to reach first.
‘Ah, I wish I could do this forever….’
Time seemed to freeze as the pages fluttered in the quiet space.
Soon, she became so absorbed that she forgot to eat.
A world meant solely for her unfolded at her pale fingertips, uninterrupted by anyone. The overflowing act of reading filled the emptiness in Siren’s heart like nourishment.
By the time night fell and she closed the final page of Beginner’s Guide to Sorcery,
Siren exhaled deeply, returning from the world within the book.
‘Sorcery.’
An invisible force—yet an alien substance, Raksha, undeniably present in the atmosphere. By properly rearranging it, one could ignite flames or conjure water.
It could be used to curse or heal, to cause pain or bring misfortune. However, malicious sorcery inevitably rebounded onto its caster.
Thus, when employing dark sorcery, a sacrifice was required to bear the retribution in the caster’s stead.
‘For a beginner’s guide, it contained quite a lot of theory.’
Were there intermediate books? Advanced ones?
She wanted to learn more.
She was clumsy at embroidery. Whenever she tried reciting poetry, people would mock and ridicule her, so she never excelled at that either. She had no talent for playing instruments, nor could she paint.
In the end, she had no use.
As for dancing—just managing not to trip over her own feet was a feat in itself. It wasn’t as though she was skilled at arithmetic either….
But Siren did have one thing she was good at.
She had a gift for languages.
She had always been interested in foreign tongues, which was why she quickly learned the Southern language. She loved books, and as a result, she had secretly tried writing as well.
Though she had never shown her work to anyone.
It wasn’t a talent grand enough to boast about anywhere, but at this moment, she was grateful for even this meager ability.
After all, sorcery was, in the end, a form of language.
At least, that was how it felt to her.
“Madam, it’s Jin. May I come in for a moment?”
“Ah, Jin. You may enter.”
