her mind. The plant inside the crystal had grown explosively, filling every nook and cranny of the room without giving those inside a moment to escape. However, she herself had once fought her way through a similar situation. In the Capital, she'd survived a blistering-fast avalanche of flesh pouring down upon her. There were any number of ways she could think of to survive the vines. However, Vlad's vague statement was hinting at something even more specific. Elisabeth dug even deeper through her memories, just to be certain. The cheeky face of Aliceâ€”the girl calling herself the Fremd Torturchenâ€”floated vividly to the forefront of her mind. Elisabeth came to an abrupt realization. I see... As the Torture Princess, I really have gone soft. Even the dullest knife would have been sharper than her. How could she not have seen it? "...Humpty Dumpty." "Precisely. Once it breaks, 'all the king's horses and all the king's men can't put it back together again.' But unless it 'has a great fall,' that break will never come." If those two were still alive, the entire situation was fundamentally different. Elisabeth immediately spun on her heel. When she broke off into a run, she ended up kicking one of the coffins. It looked as though she'd dislodged the third king's lid, but that was hardly her concern. She shot off like an arrow. Vlad's voice came chasing after her, his low, smooth bass bouncing off the walls and striking her from all directions. "Seeing someone beautiful succumb to sentimentality is like gazing at a work of art. And if they were a cruel woman, then all the more so. But as you are now, my precious, you're hideous. Back when you were filled with grim resolve, you were far lovelier, far greater, far more radiant, and far more beautiful." Elisabeth almost yelled back for him to silence his fool mouth, but she held her tongue. It was only reasonable that he'd mock herâ€”the Torture Princess had grown as slow as a heifer. She had no comeback. When Vlad went on, though, his voice was tinged with sadness. "I thought you swore a vow." You were the Torture Princess, Elisabeth Le Fanu. The proud wolf and the lowly sow. You were to live the cruel and haughty life of a wolf, then die like a lowly sow. Ah, that was my vowâ€”and my pride. The Torture Princess's lot was to be cursed by all, shunned by all, despised by all, and to accept her unseemly fate of dying alone. And at the same time, she had the cold resignation required to shrug off anyone's death, no matter who had passed. On a long enough timeline, everyone would die. Nobody would be savedâ€”they would all became carrion alike. And until then, all they could do was choose a way of living and carry it out. Even if that way carried a gruesome end befitting their life's ugliness. Such is the proper way of things, so when did I get soâ€”? Elisabeth shook her head to clear the muddy, unproductive thoughts from it. Losing her composure and debasing herself any further would be unforgivable. After swallowing down her self-loathing and disparagement, she reached for the door. The moment she did, it opened of its own accord. She stopped in her tracks so as not to crash into the honey-blond radiance before her. The other party spoke in a voice as hard and high as a bell's chime. "Now this is a rare sight, lady. Not every day I see your ass runnin' around all flustered." "Jeanne, hmm? What are you doing down here?" "Oh, did you hear the news already? Eh, I figured the punk woulda been eavesdropping on us." "If you knew, then why not do something about it?! ...Wait, what news?" What now? Elisabeth asked her question, her voice low. Jeanne's honey-blond hair rustled as she blinked her rose-red eyes. Her doll-like beauty remained wholly undisturbed as she spoke flatly. "We received word from a number of sources all at once. First, they detected a massive magical reaction at Vyade's residence. Immediately thereafter, a man wearing all black and a girl wearing a frilly dress appeared in the demi-human lands. A battle broke out, and the demi-human side lost. I'm told that La Christoph was taken hostage in exchange for the safety of their royalty, officials, and highest-grade pureblood citizens." Elisabeth clicked her tongue. Thanks to her oversight, the situation had taken a drastic turn for the worse. However, she didn't have time to lament her foolishness. Jeanne slumped her head to the side. When she went on, her voice was just as cold and unfeeling as before. "Our enemies have requested to see you, alone. So what's the plan, li'l princess?" Will you goâ€” â€”or won't you? 5 Wonderland I wanted to have a talk with you. Amicably, as a pair of friends would. You probably don't know who I am. Just as a human wouldn't know the name of a bug crawling on the ground. But I know who you are. Just as even livestock on their way to the market would hear the name of a saint. Such is the difference between the value of your life and mine. I know that all too well. But facts are facts, nothing more. It isn't the saints' fault, and it isn't your sin to shoulder. I'm not here to reproach you, not in the slightest. I just want to talk. As I said, amicably. As a pair of friends would. You and I can grow close. I'm certain of it. Though, ever since I lost my friend in childhood, I've never grown close to anyone. As such, I have no proof. But I really hope you'll believe that my desire to get closer with you is genuine... Thank you. Your understanding means the world to me. Hmm? Why you, you ask? It's simple. You too are weak, and you too have had everything taken from you. Do you find it humiliating, being pitied by me? No? Ah, of course, you would never take it that way. But you say you don't understand what I mean? I must say, I find your line of thinking rather hard to follow. As I see it, you saints have had so much taken from you. Take you, for example. Where did your lungs vanish to? When was your heart absconded with? What became of the flesh carved from your chest? As a human being, was your life not degraded? Have you never lamented that fact? If only God were more merciful. Were that the case, there might have been another way. Will you pray for me? Will you cry for me? Will you grieve for me, as one would lament a close friend's tragedy? I don't need forgiveness. I would never ask that of anyone. But even I have times when I want a close, distant friend to whisper in my ear. To whisper, This was the only way, so that I might find some delusive reassurance. What do you say to that? What do you say, La Christoph? The demi-human lands were home to golden sand, harsh winds, burning liquids, myriad minerals mass-produced in the Dragons' Graveyardâ€”and towering stone walls. They weren't built to keep enemies out. They were barriers designed to prevent mixed-blood children from being born. Demi-humans were segregated into different sectors based on the purity of their blood, and residents weren't allowed to travel freely between them. Elisabeth's destination was the first sector, home to the demi-humans with the purest blood. Crimson flowers and black miasma swirled around her as she landed atop the rough, sandy cobble. "Now, then." She glanced around. The people permitted to live here were all wealthy. Their sandstone houses were decorated with jewel-and-metal charms, hand-sewn sunshades, and various succulents. However, every door was shut tight, and there were no signs of anyone being inside. Elisabeth frowned. As I recall, the main massacre during the end of days was in the third sector, but the first didn't exactly get off scot-free, either. Still, it had been three years since then. For the most part, the corpses had been buried, the buildings had been repaired, and the residents had had time to recover emotionally. Even so, it was dead quiet despite being near dawn. It was as though all the residents had been wiped out. Elisabeth was no stranger to ghost towns. There was the Torture Princess's hometown, for one. She'd turned that city into a graveyard with her own two hands. However, she thought a little more. If the demi-humans had truly suffered such monumental losses, we'd have heard of it by now. As far as she knew, no slaughter had taken place there. The man in black and the Fremd Torturchen seemed to have learned from their failed initial attempt to recruit her. This time, they'd gotten La Christoph to surrender by guaranteeing their hostages' safety in return. At the moment, most of the ruling class was imprisoned in the temple that housed the Sand Queen's body. Apparently, the rest of the highest-grade pureblood citizens, as well as the slightly lower-grade citizens, had been ordered not to leave their homes. That explained the silence. There was no way they could make a move, not while their enemies were using the high-ranking purebloods and the temple itself as shields. Outside blood purity, the temple was the only other thing the demi-humans held in the highest esteem. After all, the Sand Queen's corpse was interred beneath it. The Sand Queen was the mother to all demi-human kind, and her shrine had been built from the bones of her close relatives. Some of the pillars had mineralized into gems, earning the shrine a reputation for its solemnity and beauty. However, Elisabeth would be hard-pressed to approach the building in question and save the captives. If she went near the temple, all the hostages would be killed. That was the arrangement. Until now, the demi-humans have firmly refused to allow any human visitors to the first sector. The Mad King's relief efforts during the end of days mark the sole exception to that rule. Now those same demi-humans were in a position where one wrong move by the Torture Princessâ€”a criminal from another raceâ€”could cost them many of their race's purest-blooded members. It was ironic, really. However, Elisabeth couldn't exactly take their xenophobic neighbor's fate lightly. She began walking forward. The main road leading to the palace was dyed vermilion, and painted atop that hue, there was an intricate array of other vibrant colors. It was an illustrated depiction of the demi-humans' history, redrawn and added to with every festival they held. A hard click echoed out with each step Elisabeth took upon it. Her high heels chipped at the paint as she strode on. To build the palace, they'd taken cuts of a special type of rock, processed them, and laid them out in a rising corkscrew pattern made through painstaking calculations. It gleamed like a spiral shell under the light of the desert night's countless shining stars. Under normal circumstances, no human would ever get to gaze upon its majesty. The Torture Princess's black hair fluttered as she approached the rainbow-colored building. She was following the rebels' instructions to the letter. Ironically enough, the spectacle unfurling before her was like a scene out of an illustrated history in and of itself. "Our enemies have requested to see you, alone. So what's the plan, li'l princess?" "I'll go." A few hours before landing in the demi-human lands, Elisabeth had answered Jeanne's question without hesitation. The golden Torture Princess narrowed her rosy eyes. That was her sole reaction. It would seem this was the answer she'd anticipated. Elisabeth passed through the door and strode down the corridor. Jeanne followed after her and muttered: "That's probably our best option, yes. Can't say I love kowtowin', but still. If you refused and La Christoph and the