Chapter 12 â It's All Clean Now
Seraphina walked down the corridors of the Imperial Castle, cradling Aurelia gently in her arms.
People turned to stare. Maids froze mid-step. A steward dropped the documents he was carrying. Even passing guards stiffened, gripping the hilts of their swords with trembling hands.
She was supposed to be executed today.
Yet here she was, walking casuallyâno blood, no bruisesâwearing a clean and elegant maidâs uniform, her hair jet-black and shining, eyes unreadable. There was no fear in her movements, no hesitance in her steps. She carried Aurelia like a knight would carry a sleeping princess, as if the entire castle belonged to her and no law could touch her.
Whispers rose behind her, but no one dared speak directly to her.
âIs she a ghost?â
âMaybe the court forgave her?â
âThat canât be⦠she was on the platform⦠I saw her die.â
But Seraphina paid them no mind.
She had no need to.
She had one task: protect the girl in her arms. Nothing else was relevant.
When she reached Aureliaâs chambers, she nudged the door open with her shoulder and stepped inside. The room was dim and still, barely changed since she had last cleaned it in her former life. Carefully, she laid Aurelia down on the stiff mattress. The girl twitched in her sleep, brows furrowing, as if her dreams were arguing among themselves.
Seraphina sat beside her, tilting her head with a look of gentle curiosity.
âSo fragile,â she murmured, voice soft and melodic. âYour emotions are overwhelming your vessel. Thatâs why you collapsed.â
She watched Aurelia for a long timeâwatching her chest rise and fall, watching her eyelids tremble. Then she turned her gaze to the room.
Dust in the corners of the dresser. A bent candle stand. Pillows slightly off-center. Imperfections.
Unacceptable.
âSo⦠I need to clean this?â she whispered to herself, blinking thoughtfully.
With a swift flick of her hand, she grabbed a rag cloth from a nearby drawer.
And then she vanished.
Not literallyâbut to the human eye, thatâs how it seemed. One moment she stood at the window wiping the sill, and in the next breath, she was at the far wall aligning portraits, then at the floor, scrubbing away stains. No blur. No afterimage. Just impossibly fast movement.
She moved like an inevitability.
Like lightning.
End had not simply possessed Seraphinaâs body. No. Possession was for spirits and necromancers. End, a being beyond existence, could not be housed in any mortal shell without destroying it. So End had rebuilt Seraphinaâs body from the inside outâa perfect vessel, unbreakable, tireless, eternal, and absurdly powerful.
And yet⦠this perfect being struggled with something new: domesticity.
Despite her speed, when Seraphina paused to assess the room⦠it was still messy.
She tilted her head in confusion.
âI⦠do not understand. I moved the objects into aesthetically appropriate configurations. I erased visible disorder. Why is it⦠still wrong?â
A pause.
Then a smile.
âAh. This must be what they call learning.â
Stolen story; please report.
She stood tall, brushing invisible dust from her skirt.
And then, she spoke.
Not in human tongue.
Not in divine script.
But in the First Languageâthe language of beginnings. The one that predated time and space. The language created by the Creator and shared only with End.
It was not a spell.
It was a command.
á á¹á¨á¾á á¨áá á±ááá áá áá ááá¾áá á¨á¾á áá±á·á¨á¾áááá.
(I want all room to be cleaned and organized.)
Just a few words.
The room trembled.
Dust vanished into nothing. Objects realigned in perfect harmony. The scent of lavender filled the air. Broken items fixed themselves. Curtains straightened as if a breeze had swept through. Everything obeyedânot because of magicâbut because they had no choice.
Seraphina clasped her hands together and smiled, pleased.
ââ¦Thatâs better.â
She returned to Aureliaâs bedside and knelt, watching her sleep.
âSo this is what it means,â she whispered, âto try and make a human happy.â
Her tone held no arrogance, only curiosity.
This child had begged for nothing.
But Seraphinaâno, Endâhad answered anyway.
And she intended to learn what joy meant⦠even if it took eternity.
The Corridor of Blood
The stone halls of the Imperial Castle trembledânot from war, nor rebellionâbut from whispers. Whispers of something impossible.
âI saw her walking.â
âThey all saw her walking⦠just like thatâ¦â
âSeraphinaâthe executed maid.â
The rumors had spread like wildfire.
A group of ten Imperial Guards moved in formation, boots pounding the marble floors as they advanced toward the western wingâspecifically, the chambers of Princess Aurelia. They werenât ordinary guards. These were elite, trained to act first and question later. Their commander, a hard-faced man in iron-plated armor, signaled them to halt near the door.
They whispered among themselves.
âIt has to be an impostor.â
âBut who would impersonate an executed assassin?â
âShe was executed. I saw her die.â
The commander didnât care.
âStay sharp. Whether itâs a ghost or a fool, we take them down.â
One guard stepped forward, preparing to kick the door open.
But before his boot could touch the wood, the door creaked open gently from the inside.
A woman peeked out.
Elegant, clean maid uniform. Jet-black hair. Gentle eyes that carried no malice. Just soft confusion.
âPlease donât make noise,â Seraphina said, tilting her head. âMy lady is sleeping.â
The guards froze.
She stepped outside without fear, closing the door behind her.
They stared at herârelaxed posture, calm voice, composed presence. Not a trace of the chaos or desperation expected from a criminal on the run. For a moment, they hesitated. Maybe⦠maybe the Court had truly pardoned her?
But the commander snapped them back to reality.
âArrest the assassin!â
Seraphina blinked, visibly puzzled. âThat seems⦠excessive,â she murmured.
Four guards moved forward, intending to subdue her.
They surrounded her.
They grabbed her arms.
They pushed her shoulders.
She didnât move.
Not a twitch.
Their efforts were like pressing against a mountain.
She didnât resist. She didnât react violently. She simply looked at them with calm, puzzled eyes, as if they were performing some strange ritual. Were they trying to give her a massage?
The guards began to sweat.
One finally shouted, âBlades out!â
The sound of steel rang out.
Seraphinaâs eyes narrowed, an unfamiliar excitement flickering behind them. âAh,â she whispered, almost gleefully, âso this is a fight.â
Her stance changed. She raised her fistsânot like a warrior with a sword, but barehanded like a boxer. Balanced, composed. Footwork perfect.
Seraphina [https://i.ibb.co/zWJ8J1k4/Seraphina-1.jpg]
Seraphina First Illustration
The guards faltered.
She was going to fight barehanded?
They charged.
And thenâ
The first four dropped.
Silently. Instantly.
Their heads were gone. Not sliced, not severedâsimply gone, erased like chalk from a slate. Their bodies slumped to the ground, bloodless, like puppets with snipped strings.
The remaining six guards stiffened.
They didnât run.
They wanted to.
But her gaze stopped themâsomething colossal and cold that stared through flesh and soul alike. They trembled like prey cornered by a predator.
Then, Seraphina smiled. Cold. Curious. Happy.
âRunning? Really?â
Her next words were not in any known tongue.
She spoke in the First Language, the voice of the beginning.
áá á¾áá á±á¢á¾. á²ááá á¨á áá â á¨áá áá á£áá¢.
(Do not run. Come at meâall of you.)
The guardsâ bodies froze mid-step.
Then moved against their will.
Swords drawn. Screams stifled in their throats.
They charged.
None survived.
Heads crushed. Chests punctured like paper. Some crumbled with wounds that no mortal weapon couldâve delivered. The corridor filled with bodiesâsilent, mangled, and lifeless.
And Seraphina? Not a hair out of place.
She sighed, pulling out a crisp handkerchief from her apron. Calmly, she wiped the blood from her hands. Crimson stained her sleeves for a second, then evaporated into mist.
She looked at the ruined corridor. âHm⦠this wonât do.â
Once more, she spoke in the First Language.
ááºáá ááá¨á²á á¹ááá áá á²ááá¨á¾áá áá ááááá. á·áá áá¢á â á¨áá áá á£áá¢.
(This place will be cleaned of blood. Get outâall of you.)
The air vibrated.
Blood vanished from the walls and floors. The broken tiles reassembled. And the corpsesâone by oneâstood, bowed to her silently, and marched away down the hall in eerie unison, disappearing around the corner like obedient servants.
When all was done, the corridor looked pristine.
Like nothing had happened.
Seraphina placed the handkerchief back in her pocket, smiled, and muttered to herself:
âNow⦠itâs all good.â