Lys felt like she couldn’t breathe. As Aelina’s face drew near, her heart raced, and she blushed crimson. The Silverhaired Witch was so stunning. If only she could have a tenth of that beauty, how happy would she be? A cold autumn breeze swept up, whipping silver strands against her cheeks. She snapped awake like a tiny insect trapped in a spider’s web. When had the Silverhaired Witch’s lips gotten so close? When had her shameless breasts pressed against her shoulders?
Panicked, Lys pushed Aelina away and scooted farther off. Aelina blinked her starry eyes, as if reproaching her.
“Sorry, I…” The priestess didn’t know what she feared. “You want me to guard you? Exactly how?”
“Protect me forever. Never betray me.” Aelina’s expression turned serious, recalling the boy huddled in a trash can.
The double “forever” startled the priestess. She shrank back. “Forever? That’s too…? I’ve only known you moments.”
“You can apply to cancel the contract three days early,” Aelina soothed. “It’s lighter than you think.”
“I…” Lys shivered slightly, moving from Aelina’s warmth. Her azure eyes blinked hesitantly.
Aelina felt disappointed. Lys’s will was weak—she shouldn’t have impulsively asked this priestess to be her guardian. Lys was more like a princess meant to be shielded by a Knight, cradled in careful hands, not a warrior blocking blades. She belonged in the rear, healing wounds with divine magic.
“Forget it. Pretend I never spoke.” Aelina smiled, pulling an elegantly curved wooden bottle from her waist—like a cola bottle. She shook it; the liquid inside made a promising slosh. “It’ll make you beautiful. Try it?”
No, no! Lys, snap out of it. You’ve known her fifteen minutes—how can you trust her? Reason screamed in her ear. But her gaze clung to the bottle in Aelina’s slender fingers. If only I had a trace of her beauty. If only boys would risk their lives for me.
Aelina seemed to read her mind. “Drink it. With a ritual, you’ll grow lovely. Boys will gladly risk death for your heart.”
“The… cost?” Lys murmured, eyes fixed on the bottle.
“Silly child.” Aelina handed it over, fingers brushing Lys’s cheek. “Just help me if misfortune strikes.”
Doubts swirled, but the Silverhaired Witch was too perfect. So close, Lys felt her warm breath. Not a flaw marred Aelina’s face—no scars, no pores, not even faint lines. Divine perfection; nothing earthly dimmed her beauty.
“Drink. Then a small ritual in my room.”
Lys twisted the cap open. A sweet, blissful scent tickled her nose like a feather.
“Your skin glows.” Lys hesitated. She’d thought it was moonlight, but a halo clung to Aelina. Beside her, Lys felt like a dull pebble. “Will I glow too if I drink?”
Oh, timid maid, you guessed right—my skin does glow.
Aelina flashed pearly teeth. “Stay with me. In under three years, at your peak beauty, you’ll shine like me—favored by the moon.”
Lys couldn’t resist the bottle’s sweet promise. She cupped it, tilting her head back to drain it.
Warmth spread down her throat, hot as water flowing down her spine. Her heart pounded; blood rushed to her head. Everything blurred like a dream. Moonlight dazzled her eyes.
Aelina embraced her, standing. She leaned close, warm breath in Lys’s ear. “Come. Join the ritual. Give me your body.”
At first, Lys held onto reason. She clenched gloved hands, following the silver-haired witch. Then—surely dreaming—pale blue light enveloped her. Sweating, she followed Aelina into a tunnel. Where did it come from? Where were they going?
“To a dreamy fairyland.” Warm breath flooded her ear, tickling every inch of skin.
The “fairyland” was a cold stone basement. Humming, Aelina pulled the feverish priestess into pitch darkness. The means were dishonorable, unhealthy, immoral—but as one dreaming of a harem in another world, Aelina felt no guilt.
She raised the Molecular Reconstructor, conjuring a straw bed. Lys’s face burned crimson, ripe as a persimmon. “Witch… where is this? Why so dark? My god warns me!”
Aelina deftly snatched her holy symbol. “We’re on a planar ship, crossing a tunnel.”
In the dark, Lys heard soft rustling—like silver hair brushing soft cloth.
“I’m so hot.”
“We’re here.” Light shattered the darkness. The naked, snow-white Silverhaired Witch stood proud. Her milky body glowed under a hazy moonlight veil—hazy yet clear. She stepped forward like a proud elk. Her full breasts jiggled proudly. Starry eyes blazed, holding all the night’s stars.
“You…” Lys’s foggy mind cleared slightly at two points like flames in snow. She opened her mouth to ask—
Aelina’s gloved hand cupped her head. She lowered her lips—soft, ripe-fruit colored—and claimed them.
The priestess’s mind blanked. Admiration, awe, and longing flooded in. Warmth blurred her vision. She felt weightless, sinking into soft, white cotton.
Yet she saw clearly: the silver-haired witch drawing milk-pale arms from leather gloves. Slender fingers guided her gently to fairyland.
In the haze, Lys saw a pure white elk trotting on moonlight through ice and snow. She lit the sky, banishing cold clouds. Her hooves trod withered branches; new buds sprouted, ice melted. Spring followed her. She ran on snow, then on Lys’s body—clip-clop, clip-clop—making her tremble rhythmically. Lys melted with the snow under warm sun.
Spring, come faster. Lys flowed like melting snow into softened earth. Elk, run harder! Hooves pounded the damp ground. Green shoots sprouted.
The silver elk leaped joyfully on grass. Each step splashed water from the juicy meadow.
Warm spring. Lys surrendered completely. She softened—lying on sunlit grass one moment, riding the elk’s back the next, bouncing.
A warm drizzle fell from clear skies. Rain and wind coaxed a crimson bud from emerald grass. The lively elk spotted it. She halted, head high, golden eyes haughty over the trembling bud. It swayed, yearning in the breeze.
The elk stepped gracefully across wet grass. Water sparkled on her hooves. Before the bud, conqueror-proud, she lifted a hoof and touched it lightly. The bud shivered; tight petals loosened.
Yielding to its silent plea, the elk lowered her head. Her rough pink tongue curled around the bud, licking. Each stroke made it sway like a spring. Petals parted. Silvery drool strung between tongue and bud—until the flower bloomed shyly.
Among green grass, a dewy, nectar-filled rose opened under warm sunlight.
