"Lady Cely seems to have been hit..."

True Dawn blinked her innocent cerulean eyes, curiosity flickering within them.

"Who?! My master was struck?!" Euphemia shot up in alarm, twisting around—but Cecile and the woman who mirrored her had already vanished.

In this world, anyone might get slapped—except Cecile, the Pride Witch.

Her arrogance, beyond words, would never tolerate such humiliation.

She demanded only submission and loyalty.

"Pfft!" True Dawn finally burst into laughter.

"Sister calls Lady Cely 'master' so naturally!"

Euphemia flushed, turning to scold her giggling sister on the bed: "Don’t tease me!"

True Dawn covered her mouth, eyes dancing: "I’m not! You’re just overthinking... I only spoke my observation."

"Our relationship isn’t what you imagine," Euphemia insisted stiffly—though her wavering voice betrayed her own doubt, not lost on the girl watching.

True Dawn’s eyes gleamed brighter.

"Mhm, mhm!" she chirped obediently.

*No one would believe you, Sister,* she thought.

Euphemia’s usual sharp instincts dulled around True Dawn, missing the sarcasm in her sister’s tone.

True Dawn took Euphemia’s hand.

Roughened as always, though softer than before Lady Cely’s arrival.

She pressed it gently against her cheek...

"True Dawn?" Euphemia murmured, bewildered.

"You needn’t hide it. Lady Cely is truly kind. Even if you two... I think it’s wonderful."

The girl smiled warmly: "I can see she genuinely cares for you."

Euphemia’s hand shifted from caress to pinch—light, playful—tugging True Dawn’s smooth cheek.

*If Cecile’s ‘kind,’ the world has no villains left.*

She’d never met a more venomous soul.

But for her sister’s sake, she nodded: "Lady Cely is... good."

"Oh! Want some fruit platter? Lady Cely had it specially made for me—it’s delicious!" True Dawn offered her half-eaten bowl.

Euphemia eyed the unfamiliar dessert skeptically. She speared a piece.

Sweet fruit and creamy richness melted together—divine.

"...It’s good."

"Told you! Eat more!"

"Nonsense. It’s yours. Open up."

"Ahhh~" True Dawn obeyed, accepting the bite.

As she fed her, Euphemia chided gently: "Clear that silly head of yours. Stop dwelling on useless things."

"Yes, Sister."

"Come to me with any trouble. I’m free now—I’ll visit often."

"Yes, Sister."

"Tell me the moment you’re fully healed."

"Yes, Sister!"

"...You sound like you’re humoring me."

"Not at all! Just your tired imagination~" True Dawn beamed.

"Perhaps..." Euphemia sighed, unconcerned.

......

"From this moment, attacker and defender switch roles."

"What you once did to me—I’ll return in full."

Cecile led Edwina into a hidden chamber.

Her lips curled slightly as she faced her.

"Cecile... are you speaking to *me*?"

"Indeed. To you, Edwina." Cecile’s smirk turned vicious. "From now on, you address me as *Mother*."

"*What?!* Mother? You’re delusional—" Edwina froze.

*Wait. What did I just call her?*

*Mother?*

"Mother..."

"What have you done to me, Mother?" Fear edged her voice.

This made no sense. She hadn’t been like this before entering that room—before hearing the blonde girl’s command.

*How?*

"When Abathur freed you, did she truly do *nothing*?" Cecile’s laugh was ice. "Did you honestly believe freedom came without strings, Edwina?"

"*Her?* I—" Edwina’s mind flashed to the bindings, the hazy scent filling her nose...

A dreamlike intoxication.

Then the droning hum:

"*Test: successful.*"

The restraints vanished. The door opened. Her traitorous apprentice stood beside the suited figure.

"You remember now." Cecile snapped her fingers. "Abathur’s beyond even my control—but so far, she serves my interests. Now. Shape-shifting is basic magic. Revert to your sixteen-year-old form. You’re too tall. It displeases me."

Edwina shrank under forbidden magic, bones softening until she stood barely chest-high to Cecile.

Cecile nodded, satisfied. "Better. Since you call me Mother, your name changes too. ‘Winnie’ suffices. Edwina died long ago—and I refuse to face that fossil again."

"You can’t just—"

Cecile ruffled the petite witch’s hair, mocking. "Apologize for your past actions, Winnie."

"I—"

"I’m sorry, Mother." The words spilled out, beyond her will.

No matter how she resisted, her body obeyed. Magic surged within her—yet against Cecile, not a spark would form.

"Honest apologies show your belly. Basic manners."

"But... I’m wearing a skirt."

"No matter. I’ll help." Cecile glanced at her own torn neckline—this gown was ruined anyway.

Her hands seized Winnie’s dress.

*Riiip!* *Tear!*

Fabric shredded into ribbons.

Cold air hit Winnie’s skin. Panic seized her—she had no defense against Cecile.

"No! Stop!"

"If I obey every ‘no,’ where’s my dignity?" Cecile’s cheek still tingled. *That old hag hit hard.*

A well-bred lady wouldn’t slap faces. Spanking a daughter was... unseemly. It bred resentment.

*...Though Winnie won’t rebel. Perfect.*

"Turn. Bend over the table. Lift your skirt."

"What are you—?!"

"The price for defying Mother." A ruler materialized in Cecile’s hand.

*Smack!* Perfectly firm, springy resistance.

Heat exploded across Winnie’s backside. Her face burned crimson.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight. Her traitorous body stayed pinned, skirt raised.

*Disgusting!*

*Smack!*

"Damn you, Mother—"

*Smack!*

"*Hnngh!*"

*Smack!* Crisp. Loud.

"Enough, Mother!"

*Smack!* The fifth strike landed instantly.

Winnie’s defiance crumbled. "No! Mother, I’m sorry! *Sorry!*" Tears threatened.

"Repentance requires sincerity."

*Smack!*

"Please... stop... Mother..." Shame drowned her. *This is torture.*

Cecile savored the rhythm. *...Slightly addictive.*

*Smack!* The seventh blow fell.

"*Sob!* You wretched brat—*enough!*"

*Smack!* Eighth.

"*Enough!* Mother! *Please!*"

*Smack!* *Smack!* Ninth. Tenth.

Winnie wept openly. "What do you *want*, Mother...?"

"Calculate: one thousand minus seven."

"Nine hundred ninety-three..." *Smack!*

"Count down by sevens. Each answer sweet and obedient, *Teacher*."

*Smack!* "Nine hundred eighty-six..."

"Still defiant, Teacher?"

*Smack!* "Nine hundred seventy-nine..."

"No rush, Teacher. We’ll stop when you truly submit—when you call me ‘Mother’ with a gentle heart. We have *all* night..."

*Smack!*

"Nine hundred seventy-two!"