Eerie. Utterly eerie. Ling felt a chill, like mist pooling in an empty theater.

This dream was wrong. If the world followed a novel’s rails, that scene was meant to restore her memories. Instead, a sour dissonance gnawed at her.

She was a spectator, watching her life like a 3D film—colors bright, depth exaggerated, yet no memories surged, nothing familiar. Everything felt first-time new, cold as fresh snow.

She drifted forward and looked at the “Ling” sleeping on the floor. Her hand rose on its own and cupped that face—silk-smooth, spring-soft, achingly familiar.

She knew the one sleeping. Not because that girl wore her face, but because a thread bound them. A closeness she wanted—unlike that icy strangeness.

She had seen this “Ling.” The bond tightened as she leaned in. At ten centimeters, her heart synced with the other’s, thudding like twin drums. One body. One breath.

She lowered herself further, breath trembling like a moth against glass.

The “Ling” on the ground snapped her eyes open. Longing flooded them, tide-blue and endless. Before Ling could flinch, crimson lips parted—

“Good morning, big sister~ hee-hee, just kidding~”

—

“Ah!!!”

Ling jolted awake. Dream-Ling had stunned her; panic spiked. Sweat pricked her brow. She reached up—clank. Iron kissed iron.

Huh? A chain coiled around her wrist?

She yanked. The links held. A force slammed back, equal and opposite, like a river pushing a hand.

Wrong. Why can’t I break it?

The door clicked. Hinges groaned. Ling’s gaze snapped to the sound.

Rafi walked in. The most familiar face in her world.

Ling saw a lifeline and begged fast.

“Xiao-Fei, help me. This chain’s weird. I can’t break it.”

Rafi didn’t move. She stared, intoxicated, at Ling’s bound body. Five small knives glinted in her hands, breathing a black aura.

Ling shivered. Those midnight blades tugged a primal dread, like frost creeping under skin.

“Xiao… Xiao-Fei… what are you doing?”

Rafi ran her tongue along a blade. Her eyes shone with a sickly love, sweet as rot.

“Ala-la-la, why is that?” Ling asked, Rafi answered with a question, sing-song and wrong.

“I don’t—”

Rafi burst into laughter. Her smile twisted. The knife flashed wild. Together, they grafted a predator’s grin onto a doll’s face.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha! I’m getting ready so Ling can stay with me forever!”

“Forever? What do you mean?”

“Literal~”

The knife tip spun once. Then she drove it into Ling’s right hand. Black vapor tunneled through the wound like smoke hunting a chimney.

“Ahhhhhhh!”

Pain. White-hot. Not a simple cut. A storm, tearing petals from bone.

“Xiao… Xiao-Fei… what are you doing to me?”

Rafi stepped back, slid on a pair of glasses from nowhere, and began her lecture, neat as chalk lines.

“Emmm… let me explain. This knife’s from the Underworld. Ah! Right, introductions.”

Pink light bled across her skin. Clothes unraveled, falling like torn petals. In their place, a seductive outfit formed. Pink wings unfurled. A heart-tipped tail curled at her spine.

“Nice to meet you—again. I’m a succubus from the Underworld. When the gods still stood, I went undercover in the human world. Now the gods have fallen, and the job’s done. I was going to go home. Then I met you, Ling. I couldn’t believe the human realm held such delicious magic. I won’t waste a feast. Wasting food is a bad habit, you know.”

Ling blinked, stunned.

“So you approached me only for the magic inside me?”

Rafi didn’t flinch. She spoke the truth like candy.

“Yep. Some flavors you just can’t refuse.”

Ling strained against the chain. Metal rang, but nothing gave, the sound flat as rain on stone.

“Don’t waste energy, my lovely Ling. That chain isn’t something you can casually break. It’s crafted by a Chain-Serpent from the Underworld. Unless you hit its load threshold, any force you use rebounds into your hands. Just in case, I layered a weakening array the Demon King gave me. A headlong charger like you can’t pop this circle. Your strength isn’t what it used to be.”

She plunged another knife into Ling’s other hand.

“Ala-la, forgot this one’s intro. It’s a Form-Shaping Blade. Literal. One blade’s usually enough. But you’re the most perfect artwork I’ve ever seen. How could one ever be enough?”

When the second blade slipped in, the pain faded. Ling felt her senses peel away, one petal after another. Luck, if you could call it—pain went first. No more hurt…

“Hey, Xiao-Fei. Tell me. Did you ever truly like me?”

Rafi stared like Ling had told a joke to the sea.

“You must be kidding! Of course I like you! I’m the world’s number one who loves—”

Then… dying by the hand of the one you love. Maybe that’s fine. Maybe that’s enough.

“Really? You loving me… that’s so—”

Rafi finished her own sentence, honey edged with knives.

“…your body! Your body’s a fatal temptation to me!”

Crack.

Ling heard it. Something inside her broke, clean as ice at dawn.