The cold leather whip was drawn out with a cracking sound, leaving a hot numbness on the palm of the hand. I stared at my unfamiliar big hand - the joints were distinct, and the fingers were still stained with the dark red splattered when I trained the blood slave last night. The man reflected in the mirror was wearing a pressed tuxedo, his gray eyes behind gold-rimmed glasses were like poisonous ice edges, and the corners of his mouth were curved in a way that even made me feel sick.
"Steward Sirode, it's time for His Highness the Prince's breakfast to be delivered." The thin voice of the maid came from outside the door.
I tightened my whip and walked towards the dungeon. The werewolf just captured yesterday was curled up in the iron cage. The once majestic double-door hunk now looked like a large dog in heat. When he saw me, he immediately knelt over and licked my shiny Oxford shoes with his blood-red tongue. Glass shards mixed with saliva stuck to the tips of the shoes. This scene made my stomach churn - three days ago I was an ordinary high school girl who didn't even dare to watch a chicken being killed, but now I have become the blood prince's most powerful training tool.
"Wash him clean." I kicked his face away, my voice as cold as if it had been fished out of an ice cellar. This is not my voice, it belongs to "Sirrod".
The whip was turned in a circle in the palm of the hand, and the whip tip brushed against the werewolf's bleeding back. He whimpered in comfort, and his pupils were as dilated as mud. It's ridiculous. Is the "love" in this world just turning the other person into a pet without dignity? The slave collars on the wall in the prince's study are each engraved with the name of "beloved".
My neck suddenly felt cold, and the sharp blade moved against the artery. I smelled the familiar smell of wolf smell, mixed with the rusty blood.
"Let him go." The werewolf boy behind me had a trembling voice, and his nails dug deeply into my flesh. His golden beast eyes stared at the shoe-licking companion in the cage, "Syrold, I will kill you to avenge my tribe!"
The blade was pressed down sharply, and blood beads slid down the collarbone and into the shirt. But I burst out laughing, my shoulders shaking with laughter. The eyes behind the lenses curved into crescents, and his fingers slowly touched the back of the boy's knife-holding hand - the cold touch made him flinch.
"His Royal Highness the Wolf King," I tilted my head, the tip of my nose almost touching his angry wolf ears, "You must find the right target for revenge."
The whip suddenly wrapped around his knife-holding wrist and twisted it hard. The young man let go of his hand with a cry of pain, and the silver blade clattered to the ground. I stepped on the back of his hand and squatted down, my glasses reflecting the dim light of the dungeon: "You should go find the prince. He drank the blood and gave the orders. I am just a whip tool."
Fingers lifted his chin, forcing him to look at the monitor on the wall. The red light flashed silently, and the prince must be watching this farce somewhere. All the characters in this world are madmen, expressing their love through plunder and imprisonment. Even the so-called pure love is based on destruction.
"Remember your identity, little lamb," I took off my glasses, revealing the crimson surging under my eyes, "Your baby brother was just named the 'most gentle collection' by the prince last month. Oh, by the way, he also begged the prince to dig out his heart and make it into a necklace for me."
The boy's pupils suddenly contracted. I picked up the knife on the ground and put the blade back to my neck: "If you want to kill, hurry up, just in case I have to deal with those idiots who lick their shoes every day." The moment the blade cut through the skin, the monitor suddenly made a stinging sound of electricity.
"Butler Sirode is very unruly today." The prince's lazy voice came from the loudspeaker with a pleasant smile, "But I like it. Bring the Wolf King here, I will train him myself."
The blade clattered to the ground. I looked at the boy's resentful eyes as he was dragged away by the guards, and suddenly I felt that the world was terrible. Purely love comics? It's just a hell where a bunch of lunatics use love as an excuse to commit violence.
The whip hit the iron cage with a "snap", and splashes of blood fell on the back of my hand. The werewolf in the cage huddled in fear, but I just wiped my fingers slowly with a handkerchief, and gave a standard butler-like smile to the monitor:
"As you command, Your Highness."
But he was sneering in his heart. The characters in this world are all garbage, including the original owner of my current body. But it doesn't matter, I have already written a survival report anyway - don't mess with me, or we will all die together.
Intention: trouble trouble trouble trouble trouble