Chapter 44: Sharon’s Memories
Sharon had many residences: apartments off-campus, a sprawling villa provided by the academy, even the dorm room next to Adele’s.
But only one place could truly be called home: her father’s castle, the grand estate where she had spent her miserable childhood.
Her mother, as the rumors claimed, had indeed been a lowborn succubus. Her noble father, tired of his usual delicacies, had indulged in a cheap, fleeting pleasure, and… Sharon had been the result.
She had been brought to the castle when she was around three or four years old, just old enough to understand… that she didn’t belong.
The scenery shifted seamlessly, transporting them from the idyllic garden to the opulent interior of the castle, its grandeur a stark contrast to the cramped dorm room Sharon now favored. It was a simple feat for Sharon, the Dream Eater, the master of this realm.
The castle, despite its ancient origins, had been modernized, its interior a blend of old-world charm and modern conveniences. Vampires, after all, were creatures of comfort, their appreciation for luxury rivaling that of the wealthiest humans.
Adele, her gaze sweeping over the opulent surroundings, followed Sharon across the plush red carpet that covered the floor, her movements subdued, her expression carefully neutral. She couldn’t reveal her awareness, her true thoughts, not in this dream, not in Sharon’s domain.
Shadows, brighter and more distinct than the fleeting figures she had seen in the garden, flickered around them. They were memories, fragments of Sharon’s past, their clarity a testament to their… significance.
Several figures, particularly bright and distinct, all shared the same features: a tall, elegant man with silver hair, his attire impeccably tailored, his face… obscured. Sharon, in these memories, was always positioned below him, her head bowed, her gaze averted.
Within a single scene, multiple instances of the same figure could exist, representing different memories, different encounters.
In the first memory, Sharon was a child, a delicate little girl with rosy cheeks and wide, innocent eyes. She was chasing after the silver-haired man, her tiny legs pumping furiously, her laughter echoing through the vast halls. But she couldn’t keep up. She stumbled, falling to her knees, her laughter turning into sobs.
And the man… he didn’t even turn around.
Adele understood. That was Sharon’s father. A vampire duke, though not a True Ancestor. True Ancestors were the progenitors of their bloodlines, the ancient, powerful beings who had ruled the vampire world for centuries.
Sharon, a half-blood, could never be a True Ancestor’s child.
But there were rumors that… Dorothy…
In the second memory, Sharon was older, perhaps eight or nine years old, her silver-gray hair cut short, framing her delicate features. She was quieter now, more subdued, her eyes holding a flicker of hope, of anticipation, as she clutched a small, crystalline flower, a magical creation, a child’s attempt at… art.
She approached the silver-haired man, eager to show him her creation, to earn his… approval? Affection?
But he was surrounded by other children, his own children, their laughter echoing through the halls, their presence… overwhelming. They crowded around him, their voices vying for his attention, their bodies blocking Sharon’s path.
She never got a chance to show him her flower. His gaze, as it briefly swept over her, was distant, uninterested.
Sharon’s grip tightened on the crystalline flower, her knuckles turning white, her eyes stinging with unshed tears. She wasn’t crying, not outwardly, but Adele could almost hear the silent sobs, the heartbroken whimpers, echoing through the dream.
And the flower… it crumbled in her hand, its delicate petals shattering into a thousand pieces.
In the third memory, Sharon was a teenager, sixteen or seventeen years old, her features losing their childish softness, her body taking on the curves of a young woman. But even among vampires, whose beauty was often… superhuman, she was… ordinary.
And her demeanor, her posture, her every movement… they radiated a sense of… dullness. A lack of… spark.
She stood in a corner of the grand hall, her hands clasped tightly behind her back, her feet turned inwards, her gaze fixed on the floor. She had been summoned by her father, but she didn’t know why.
She waited, her heart pounding with a mixture of anxiety and… a sliver of hope?
The scene shifted, the memory unfolding, and Adele, her interest piqued, leaned closer, her gaze fixed on the unfolding drama.
Sharon, sensing her interest, paused, her lips tightening, her body tensing. But she didn’t stop the dream. She couldn’t. Not in this realm.
Adele’s gaze, her thoughts, her emotions… they were all… irrelevant.
The silver-haired man entered the hall, his presence commanding, his aura radiating power and authority. And by his side… a girl. A girl Adele couldn’t mistake for anyone else.
…Dorothy.
What is she doing here? Adele wondered, her heart skipping a beat.
The silver-haired man introduced Dorothy to his daughter, his voice respectful, his demeanor deferential. It was a clear indication of Dorothy’s status, her power, her… influence.
Their conversation was a muffled murmur, their words indistinct. But then… the silver-haired man, Sharon’s father, smiled at Sharon. A genuine smile, a rare expression of… approval? Affection?
He even patted her shoulder, a gesture of… encouragement? Comfort?
And in that moment, Sharon’s eyes lit up, her face glowing with a joy she had never experienced before. For the first time in her life, she had felt… seen. Acknowledged.
She would have done anything, given anything, to earn his… love.
“From that day forward, I became Dorothy’s… follower,” Sharon said, her voice soft, almost wistful. “She met me at a banquet, and… she found me… interesting.”
Sharon, however, had never considered herself to be… interesting. Especially not when she was hiding in a corner, her social anxiety a barrier that kept her isolated, alone.
But who could understand the whims of a vampire princess?
“So… you became Dorothy’s… playmate?” Adele asked, her voice carefully neutral, her question a reflection of the dream’s script, the implanted memories, the carefully constructed illusion.
Sharon, unaware of Adele’s true thoughts, shook her head.
“No,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I wasn’t worthy of such a… privilege.”
“Perhaps… in her eyes, I was just a… toy.”
Adele’s heart ached for Sharon, for the pain, the loneliness, that resonated in her voice.
To Sharon, being Dorothy’s “playmate,” her… friend, was a privilege, a status she could never hope to achieve.
Dorothy had called Adele her playmate, even her friend. But Sharon… she was just a toy.
And yet… Sharon, her voice filled with a genuine affection, said, “Dorothy is a good person, Adele.”
“I wasn’t… interesting. She would have simply walked away, but… I didn’t want to disappoint my father. So… I followed her.”
“I stayed by her side, even though I was… afraid.”
“And she… she tolerated me. She didn’t abandon me. She even… allowed me into her circle.”
“After that… my family stopped bullying me. Even my father… he started talking to me.”
A faint blush colored her cheeks as she spoke, her voice softening, her gaze drifting towards the floor.
“I’m… grateful to her,” she whispered. “I’ll never forget… her kindness.”
“…”
Adele’s throat tightened, her words catching in her throat. She couldn’t tell Sharon… that the Dorothy she admired, the Dorothy she was so grateful to… would one day be betrayed by her, nearly killed by her.
And that the catalyst for that betrayal… would be… Adele.
It’s… my fault.
