STELLA
I can see her. They call her the 'hero'. A woman—beautiful, powerful. She flies around, saving everyone, and everyone admires her. It's almost infuriating how effortlessly beautiful she is.
I know, I know. She’s impressive.
But what I don’t understand...
Where is she when Nullus emerges and tears everything apart? Why? What is she doing? Why does she only show up after everything is destroyed? She has the power, the gift that no one else possesses. She can fight him, his monsters. Yet, where is she? Like, seriously, what the hell?
Yeah... what the hell.
And why the hell is she here?
Here—in Nullus' place. Wearing a red dress and a pair of red high heels. She still has that long blonde hair and that alluring body, but why, in the name of all that’s sacred, is she here? I don’t speak, just keep my gaze averted as I quietly clean things that shouldn’t need cleaning in the first place.
"Where's Nullus?" she asks, her voice sharp, almost hostile. No one answers because we don’t know. She glares at us, her expression shifting from annoyed to angry, and it seems like I’m her target. She steps closer and forces me to meet her eyes.
"Where is Nullus?" she demands again, her voice firm.
I try to avoid furrowing my brows, not wanting her to read my expression. I shake my head slightly. "We don’t know. We don’t have any information."
She stares at me for a moment. That simple look turns into a threatening glare. She's angry. She raises her hand, and I let it land on my left cheek. My face feels numb. She steps back and heads upstairs, where I know Isaac—or Nullus—is.
"Tangina," I mutter under my breath. "She slapped me."
Crista beside me grimaces but says nothing. We’re dressed the same—maids’ uniforms—so I blend in easily. But the truth is, Nullus made me one of his maids. Damn him. After driving me away from my father, I’m stuck here. I can’t escape. This is his lair. He knows every move we make.
But I don’t speak. I don’t complain. I’ve learned that arguing with him is useless. He’s insufferable. Worse than my mother, and I don’t want him to kill me again, especially not for real this time.
"She’s always here," Crista says quietly. "I used to know her differently. I came from the outside too. But she’s different—she’s not the ‘hero’ they say."
I don’t respond.
All I can think is: All the hope in our world is a lie. This is all a lie. What do I believe anymore? I don’t know. It feels like everything I worked for in the military is wasted because I once believed… I believed there was still hope.
"I told you not to come back here, didn’t I?" I hear someone shout irritably. It’s Nullus. He’s losing it again. "Oh, please, Diana, leave!"
"Diana? What does she have that I don’t?" I groan internally. I already know what this is about.
I glance at them discreetly. They’re standing on the staircase. Nullus still wears his robe, disheveled, disoriented. He looks like he just woke up, and I bet he’s unraveling fast.
Diana shouts, "You can’t bring her back, Nullus! She’s dead! Stop loving her!"
"I’m not in love with a corpse, moron!" Nullus snaps back. "Diana, it doesn’t matter if I love someone or not—I just don’t like you! You’re WAY older than me, right?" He raises his brows at her. "It means you’ve finished college a hundred times, and I know you understand Tagalog. Get out of my home."
I roll my eyes skyward as I watch Diana cry like a child. She descends the staircase silently and heads straight for the door. Before she leaves, she turns back toward Nullus. "I won’t give up on you!" Then, she disappears.
What a melodramatic scene.
I let out a weak laugh. They’re both pathetic. When our eyes meet again, Nullus smirks sarcastically. "What the hell are you looking at, peasant?"
I don’t respond. It’ll just drag on, and I’ll only get irritated. I return to cleaning the supposed mess, focusing on the task at hand, ignoring the fact that he’s still at the top of the stairs.
"Hey, you, soldier. My room," he suddenly commands.
I freeze and turn toward him. All I see is his shadow. I glance at Crista and find her just as bewildered.
"Why me?" I ask hesitantly. "What am I supposed to do in his room?"
But no one answers. I have no choice. I release the rag and climb the long, tiring staircase. Yes, it’s excruciating, but after weeks of climbing it, my legs have adapted.
God, I want to go home.
But I know that will never happen. I’m just one of his maids now—people taken from the outside, and here, I’ll grow old. Yes, grow old. And I’m ridiculously lucky. Nullus won’t kill me, no matter what.
I hate him.
When I reach his door, I knock before turning the knob and pushing it open. His room is vast, but since Nullus is a narcissist, he dominates the space—even just lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
"Do you need anything?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Amuse me," he replies, shifting his gaze to me. His eyes glow faintly, and he seems bored. For the past few weeks, he hasn’t left his room. Sometimes, I hear him making noise, sometimes playing loud metal music in the dead of night.
I sigh and let my shoulders drop. "Why would I do that? And how?"
"I don’t know. Just amuse me. Dance. Or hang yourself in front of me."
I mutter, "You’re miserable," and walk around his room in silence, observing the cluttered yet oddly charming space. I feel his gaze following me, but I’ve stopped fearing him. I don’t care anymore.
There are random objects in his room—charms with feathers embedded in the walls—but I don’t understand what they are.
"Hey..." he says again.
I pause, turning to him. He’s sitting upright now, robe slightly open at his chest, revealing bits of his pale skin. He brushes his long hair away from his face with elegant fingers, his eyes never leaving mine.
And he dares to call himself ugly. If he sees himself that way, what am I? 4'10 feet tall, useless, and irrelevant. RIP.
"You’re such a narcissist, aren’t you?" I scowl. "Fishing for compliments?"
"Answer me," he commands.
"Fine," I snap. "You’re not ugly, alright? But if you’re asking about your personality, Isaac, the word ‘ugly’ is an understatement."
His eyebrow twitches slightly, revealing the hit to his ego. I’m not intimidated when he stands. Everything he does is so effortlessly graceful. Even his simple movements, like a slight bow toward me, carry a sense of control. Maybe he’s not human.
He smirks. "You’re short."
That’s it.
I explode. "Oh, shut the fuck up!" After weeks of calmness, I lose it with just two words from him.
"At least you’re not boring," he says with a laugh, infuriating me further. My head burns with anger. He turns away, but I don’t fall for his games. I kick him hard in the leg, and he immediately looks at me, gasping dramatically.
"I’m gonna destroy your pathetic world!" he yells. "How dare you soil my skin with your dirty shoes!"
I scream irritably, "I’ll ruin you!" And I lunge at him, grabbing his hair. Yes, I’m pulling his hair! He shouts at me to stop, but I don’t relent.
However, his height is an advantage. He stands tall and grips his hair, holding it up high, out of my reach. He looks down at me with a mocking gaze, and I just want to cry.
God, I hate this man!
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