The way to Protect the Female Lead’s Older Brother - Chapter 35

“Should I send for the toy’s meal now, Miss?”

“No, thank you,” I told Emily. “I must see one of my darlings first.”

I walked idly, my skirts hiding the movement of my legs, before stopping at my next destination.

It had been three days since Cassis had been moved to the Grey Room and a routine between us had formed. I brought his meals to him three times a day. He didn’t ask many questions anymore, but his eyes tended to shift at every movement in the room, and he often brought his hand to his face when he was deep in thought. It seemed that he had not given up on escaping.

I had seen the scorch marks he had made on the wall with the remains of a used torch. There were no windows in the room. Instead, he made a tally after each of my visits, as if he were making a rough estimate of the time based on when his meals were brought.

Although Cassis was my main concern, I also had other chores to fulfill. This month, I was visiting the hatchery daily since the egg had grown and needed more nourishment.

Another day, another dollar. I smiled faintly from recalling an old idiom.

I slit my forearm with a dagger I had sharpened with a millstone this morning. Blood dripped from my arm; a slim stream that fell onto an egg that was the size of an American football. My arm stung and throbbed, but I could deal with this amount of pain.

A month ago, I had once cut too deep into the vein and the blood kept spilling on and on, no matter how much gauze or plaster I had pressed against the wound. I had grown teary then. I had crawled to a tree trunk hidden from the main path and eventually resigned myself to dying. The irony at that moment struck  my soul. I was committing accidental suicide during my mission to live a long and peaceful life.

Of course, that episode had a satisfactory ending. I was still alive now. I remember losing consciousness then; a pair of strong arms lifting me; how oddly quiet and familiar the figure moved. The last memory I had of the event was waking up in bed.

My eyelashes lowered as I saw the blood slowly absorb through the eggshell and feed the monster inside. The pale yellow eggshell began to turn into a dark red colour.

“Bon appetit,” I said softly.

I opened my mouth and breathed deeply, inhaling the poison in the air.

Originally, the hatchery was a greenhouse that housed ingredients for our speculative and secret poisons that could create many effects that were tested on sny toys available at the time. It was a hot and humid place that simulated the same environment where I had procured the eggs; the perfect atmosphere to breed viruses. The average person would collapse from the residual poison in the air in less than ten seconds; perhaps ten minutes if they were an Agriche.

Yet I alone had absolute immunity.

I closed my eyes, remembering that infamous volcano, full of dangerous and exotic creatures. The first time I had gone off the path of the original story.

In the novel, one of the male protagonists, the White Crest magician, found the existence of a poisonous butterfly colony that he eventually controlled and used as an army to destroy the entire Agriche line. Compared to the puppets and soldiers who had stormed the Agriche castle during the climax of the novel, the poisonous butterflies had made me shudder most. They were dainty creatures, as light and brittle as parchment, that consumed flesh and fed off its own master. It was a horribly appalling and beautiful concept. The White Crest magician had planned to sacrifice his life to feed those creatures in return for their loyalty. He had pledged his eternal love to Sylvia and needed the butterflies to help her revenge herself against the Agriche.

I used to be such a romantic sap, I shook my head, but I had no regrets for blowing off my college thesis to read the novel now. Remembering the details perfectly had worked to my advantage. I knew exactly where the butterfly colony was after reviewing several maps and interviewing soldiers who had explored that area.

This time, I took the magician’s thunder and found the butterfly colony first.

I fed the eggs with my blood.

I started talking to the eggs every day so that they would imprint on my voice, even before they were hatched.

In the beginning, I had managed to find three eggs. Two had broken apart, the legged insects squirming about, before laying still and becoming husks. Only one egg remained.

An ivy leaf vine curled around my shoulder and brushed my cheek. I wiped my dagger with a handkerchief before covering my wound with my sleeve. I was dizzy today. I had not prepared the first aid kit and brought it along as I usually did. The higher intensity and frequency of poisons I had drank in my tea lately had made my brain foggy.

The excitement of possessing the poisonous butterfly eggs had long faded away. It was true. I had other butterflies who could spy for me, but none had the murderous capability of consuming flesh that the young one in this egg had.

I felt a dull pang in my head. I wasn’t sure if my growing headaches were the aftereffects of the poison or insomnia. Perhaps I had missed a key ingredient. The novel spoke of the poisons the magician had consumed to grow his colony. I remembered the words he spoke to them and how he poured blood upon the eggs until the eggshells bloomed a fresh pink. Perhaps there had been an incantation I missed, or the White Crests were imbued with something unique that attracted the fantastic beasts.

I now loathed that man with a bitter jealously. If I was a gifted beast-tamer as him, I would not have to go to these lengths. Eventually, the magician had found that he had a talent to control the poisonous butterflies without resorting to poisoning himself. He had picked a few of the largest adult butterflies, making them subdue the rest of the colony, until he by extension, commanded all of them as his personal army.

I did not have that gift. None of the adult butterflies had listened to me. When I gave up on that attempt, I stole what eggs remained and destroyed that area of the volcano. At the very least, if I could not control the poisonous butterflies, the magician would not be able to use them against me in the future. They grew nowhere else since the poisons the eggs needed to grow in were limited to the only volcano in this world and recreated in this greenhouse again, in a controlled environment.

I stroked the tip of the egg with my finger. It was warm, as if touching the belly of a hairless animal.

My heart began to throb before beating more quickly in anticipation of a wonderful event. Suddenly, I felt different. Confidence shot within me, as if I had drunk a shot of throat-burning whiskey.

It made absolutely no sense. The egg still sat in front of me, a dark red that was transforming back into an innocent, pale yellow colour at the same rate it had always done for years.

I didn’t have any particular attachment to my other butterflies, but I began to love this egg alone.

This monster is going to be my baby, my eyes widened.

I was going to be the mother of a murderer soon.