Volume 1, Chapter 12 – The Doll

The outskirts, swept by a cool breeze, were eerily silent. As if to accentuate the stillness, layers of thin clouds drifted across the night sky, obscuring the once-bright moonlight and dimming the stars. Turning off the magic lamp in the room—which required an infusion of magic to operate—and taking care not to make a sound, Camilla stepped barefoot out of bed.

She had to follow orders.

This was the principle ingrained in Camilla since birth. Even before her parents abandoned her, all she remembered was being confined to a pitch-black room, carrying out tasks assigned as commands. Though “tasks” was too grand a word—they were merely simple instructions. Unlike those raised to be assassins, Camilla’s upbringing was neither harsh nor cruel. Beyond mechanically obeying orders, there was nothing else.

And this was precisely why Count Pescia had adopted her. Since his eldest daughter’s willful temperament made her unsuitable for interacting with nobility, he needed someone who could fulfill that role in her stead.

The abandoned Camilla was perfect for the position. An inferior human, even if rebellious, posed no threat to the vampire count’s eldest daughter. And the innate obedience of a doll ensured that Camilla would remain subservient to her in the future.

Thus, Count Pescia invested effort into shaping Camilla—transforming her from a lifeless, hollow puppet with no survival skills into a woman of refined knowledge, capable of smiling to suit the occasion.

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The count had hidden none of this from Camilla. Nor did she harbor any resentment. To her, this was simply how things were—not out of gratitude for being taken in, but because she had never once defied an order.

A doll could not develop emotions, much less its own will. In fact, it was the days without commands that left Camilla uneasy.

The authority to issue orders had once belonged to anyone, but now it rested solely with the count’s eldest daughter. Thus, no matter how Camilla’s surface personality might reason, the Camilla deep inside would never act against her sister’s wishes—unless the command itself was ambiguous.

Stepping softly onto the handwoven rug, Camilla soundlessly approached the mirror. The late autumn night carried a slight chill, and she tightened her nightgown around herself. Though she was aware that her beauty rivaled her sister’s—if the eldest daughter’s appearance could be likened to the moon, then Camilla was the dazzling sun—there was one regret.

Camilla’s figure lacked curves.

The age-appropriate bust Yisi had seen during the day was merely the result of padding. In truth, Camilla was as flat as the count’s eldest daughter. She had rarely cared about this before. The padding had only been because Count Pescia had said, “This will please your sister and those around you.” But now, for the first time, Camilla felt an unprecedented hatred for her underdeveloped body.

“Lacking charm… is that it?”

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There was no doubt—her sister had changed. In the past, the eldest daughter had always looked at her with predatory eyes, but now her gaze held only the admiration common among ordinary people. If this shift could be attributed to a mere change in taste, then the anomalies at dinner were what convinced Camilla that the count’s eldest daughter was no longer herself.

Allowing a human like her to sit at the table, choosing to fetch a glass herself rather than having a servant do it, forgetting basic magical principles, sparing the blood slaves—even ordering their wounds to be treated. Of course, one could argue that her sister was in high spirits after mastering powerful magic. But the change in how she consumed blood was not something to overlook.

Attitudes could shift due to drastic changes in circumstances, but habits were not so easily altered. Though Camilla had only seen her sister a few times at banquets and spent less than a week with her after becoming her captive, she remembered vividly how the eldest daughter drank blood.

Her sister had never poured blood into a glass. She always bit directly into the slaves’ necks, savoring the freshest nutrients. Camilla recalled how her sister, with blood dripping from her lips, had once tossed a half-dead slave before her and said, “Only fresh blood is the finest cuisine,” forcing her to taste it.

Not just her demeanor, but even her speech and habits had transformed—all overnight. The sheer disparity was baffling.

If Camilla had to pinpoint a cause, the only explanation was her sister’s claim of absorbing the power of the Demon King Ouranos.

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Had her sister not only taken Ouranos’s power but also assimilated his way of thinking?

This possibility wasn’t unfounded. While studying magic, Camilla had come across experiments where a lower vampire’s heart was extracted and transplanted into a human using blood magic. The human survived, but their personality was influenced by the vampire’s—a once-kind nature turned violent, and though they had no need for blood, they developed an insatiable craving for it.

If the same had happened to her sister, everything she did today could be explained. The only question was whether her sister’s mind still dominated or if Ouranos’s consciousness had taken over.

Perhaps her sister hadn’t even realized she was no longer the same Loiswell.

Camilla pressed a knuckle to her chin, frowning in thought.

It might be necessary to verify this. Of course, the outcome wouldn’t change anything. The verification was merely to satisfy her surface personality’s curiosity. The old Camilla wouldn’t have cared even if she noticed. But to make her seem more lifelike, Count Pescia had cultivated a surface persona—one capable of independent thought when no orders were given, rather than cowering and screaming in terror like a human faced with a monster.

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A silent deliberation.

After a moment, Camilla exhaled softly.

“It’s necessary… but I’ll need to dress the part first.”

Unbuttoning and shedding her unappealing winter nightgown, she reached into the void and retrieved a folded, scandalously revealing two-piece set from her storage magic.

“This should do.”

After scrutinizing her reflection, Camilla nodded. She knew exactly what kind of desire her sister held for her. Donning a white cloak, she pushed open the door and headed for the first-floor bathhouse.