“Can you tell me how it feels?” I asked, voice low and almost mocking, my curiosity sharpened by the darkness settling between us.

  “What?” Her eyes fluttered open in confusion, the fog of pain and exhaustion clouding her mind. But as my hands clamped down on her shoulders—hard, merciless—my nails slicing shallow furrows into her pale flesh, the question sank in. The air thickened, the scent around us growing unbearably sweet, almost intoxicating. A low, cruel chuckle escaped my throat, barely restrained from turning into a ravenous growl.

  For a moment, I was on the edge—tempted to tear into her neck without ceremony, to rip life from her with nothing but teeth and hunger. But only for a few seconds.

  Arthur, like clockwork, yanked the heavy cloth aside with a practiced motion, exactly as we had arranged.

  “Death,” I whispered, and then I did it.

  My teeth sank into her neck with hungry precision, breaking through tender flesh to draw the warm, dark nectar that tasted more exquisite than the finest wines or richest feasts I’d ever known. The woman, drained and broken by hours of torment, didn’t resist. Her body sagged into mine, exhausted and resigned, as if she welcomed the end—accepted it as an escape from the unbearable.

  Within seconds, her life would slip away, offered as a perverse gift for our twisted amusement.

  And by the gods, it was intoxicating.

  The liquid gold slid across my tongue, thick and heady, sending a wildfire of satisfaction racing through my veins. Her trembling form pressed against me, her tension crackling like a live wire beneath my touch, and I surrendered to my primal urges like never before. This moment—this raw, brutal communion—felt eternal. I wished I could freeze time, trap the sensation forever.

  Arthur must have noticed the sudden shift. The faint glimmer of hope and fragile gratitude in her eyes drained away, replaced by a hollow despair that clung to the edges of her fading soul. I burned with a desperate need to witness this transformation from his perspective—to see the spectral dance of color behind her eyes as death claimed her.

  Reluctantly, I released my grip and gently turned her face toward me, licking my lips wet with desire and blood. She stared back—vacant, glassy, stripped of everything but the shadow of what had been. Yet even in this lifeless gaze, the strange hue behind her eyes twisted, deepening into a viscous dark brown that churned with an eerie, unfathomable presence.

  Then, as if the world held its breath, it all vanished.

  Her body slackened, falling limp in my arms, the last flicker of life extinguished.

  The mystery of that shifting color haunted me still—a puzzle locked just beyond my reach—but a dark whisper of understanding curled in my mind.

  “Arthur…” I commanded softly. “Sit in front of me.”

  He hesitated, uncertain. Who wouldn’t? Here I was—a monster clad only in blood-streaked underwear, the stench of death clinging to me like a second skin. But curiosity and fear tangled together, and he knelt before me, eyes wide and wary.

  I reached out, cupping his cheeks with cold, deliberate hands, pulling his face close enough to taste the fear lingering on his breath. My teeth gleamed sharply in the dim light, a silent, hungry threat.

  Impatience gnawed at me—eager to confirm the truth I’d glimpsed in her eyes, to test the limits of my control.

  Thoughts of ending him flickered through my mind like a violent storm, stoked by the heady scent that hung thick around us. But I clenched teeth, locking down the dark tide of instinct. For now, I would play the game.

  As our lips hovered inches apart, the sharp scent of his ragged breath filled the space between us. I locked my gaze deep into his eyes—an abyss of red fire that both captivated and unnerved me. But there was something else, another shade hidden beneath that crimson blaze. A subtle flicker, elusive and shifting—was it love? Rage? Hatred? Fascination? The possibilities tangled and twisted, refusing to untangle. Arthur was good enough of masking his true feelings, making it impossible to decipher what lurked beneath the surface.

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  But there was another question that struck me like a cold blade: If the green hue behind the woman’s eyes was a sign of hope, did that same color hold the same meaning for Arthur? Or did it shift and mutate from soul to soul, unique and unknowable?

  “What do you see in my eyes?” I asked, the words barely a whisper but heavy with meaning. It was uncertain whether others could witness this strange phenomenon, but I had to know—had to confirm it at least once.

  “Nothing? … They’re green…” His voice was hesitant, almost unsure. Arthur couldn’t even see beyond my contact lenses, let alone glimpse my true eye color beneath. Disgusted by how close we had been, I immediately released him and leaned back, putting distance between us. His breath escaped in a long, relieved sigh—as if a great weight had been lifted from his chest.

  “Do you have a mirror?” I asked, driven by an insatiable curiosity about the eyes I hid behind green lenses.

  “Yeah… wait here.” Arthur vanished for a moment and then returned, a small handheld mirror clutched in his hands. I took it, lifting it to my face, focusing entirely on my own gaze.

  Arthur was right. I saw my green lenses clearly, but beyond them was something far more unsettling. Beneath the surface of my eyes, a sinister blackness writhed and pulsed, like a living shadow devouring light from within.

  A slow, crooked grin crept across my lips as the truth dawned on me.

  It was my soul—an ever-shifting tempest, flickering like a dark flame beneath the thin veil of my mortal shell. This gift, bestowed by Aska, allowed me to see what others could not.

  Within every person resides a soul—unique, vibrant, and raw. Most mortals hide their souls behind skin, flesh, and bone, burying the essence deep where no light reaches. But the eyes… the eyes are different. They are the gateway, the thin membrane that lets glimpses of the soul escape into the world. By staring deep enough, I could peer inside, unveiling the core of their being. Even on Solaris, far from purgatory, this ability never left me.

  In the purgatory I had traversed, such visions were useless. Every soul there shimmered in the same cold, tranquil blue—equilibrium or death, I never knew which. The woman’s eyes had shown me a slightly different shade, one I couldn’t interpret. What did that hue mean? I had no answers.

  Souls shifted and changed. They danced in colors that reflected their owner’s heart, their fears, their secrets. I didn’t know the system or meaning behind the palette of shades, but I did know what my black soul represented—darkness, chaos, and a hunger that no light could quench.

  And in that blackness, I found my truth.

  Black wasn’t truly a color—it was the absence of everything. A void, a nothingness that swallowed light and meaning whole. I chuckled softly at the stark contrast between myself and the others whose souls flickered in vibrant hues.

  For the most part, I was a hollow calculative vessel, devoid of emotion, just as I was now. Yet there were cracks in this emptiness—shards of feeling that surfaced in spite of myself. My vampiric desires were the most obvious, primal and fierce, a dark hunger I had yet to unleash fully. Another was the rage I felt when that hand had touched my shoulder earlier—the raw fury that nearly unhinged me, driving me to the edge of madness. Only after some time, and much effort, did I manage to extinguish the blaze by burning the evidence to ash.

  Strangely, I was different when it came to children. Around them, an inexplicable euphoria would take hold, coaxing me into moments of rare gentleness and warmth. I wasn’t sure when or how this change had taken root, but it began after the first child I met in purgatory. Since then, no matter the cost or temptation, I refused to harm children unless utterly unavoidable. For that restraint, I owed Aska a quiet debt.

  I wrestled endlessly with these flickers of feeling. Emotions were a liability, a distraction from my goals. Yet, oddly enough, I no longer wished to suppress them completely. As this thought lingered, I noticed the color behind my eyes shift—a faint pink bleeding into the all-consuming blackness. A soft blush of something dangerously close to warmth, though the darkness remained dominant.

  I smiled then, a small, knowing smile, as thoughts of Aska stirred within me.

  The darkness soon reasserted itself, engulfing the pink tint as I continued staring into the mirror. Behind me, I was certain Arthur must have been wondering why I was gazing into a simple handheld mirror like a madwoman—lost in the depths of my own soul’s black abyss.