A Witch Lives In The Emperor’s Bedroom - Chapter 00

“You devilish woman!”

In the dark, damp underground prison, Rosalie knelt on the mold-infested floor, veins bulging in her neck as she shouted. Standing rigidly upright, Isabella gazed down at Rosalie without the slightest shift in her expression. Her eyes simply scanned Rosalie’s filthy dress, her disheveled hair, and her face smeared with dirt and crusted blood, all with a hint of curiosity.

“You’ll die and go straight to hell! No one will mourn you. Instead, they’ll thank the heavens in relief, grateful that the demon’s life has finally ended!”

Rosalie’s entire body shook as she screamed, her piercing voice echoing through the prison. Isabella frowned slightly at the harsh sound.

“Rosalie. How could you say such cruel things to your own sister?”

“Evil witch!” Rosalie bared her teeth like a hunting dog and lunged at Isabella. But the chains binding her wrists and ankles to the wall yanked her backward, sending her sprawling onto the floor.

“Rot in hell, you monster!”

Isabella let out a hollow laugh as Rosalie’s relentless curses rained down on her. Then, she slowly knelt down on one knee.

As their eyes met up close, the hatred, fury, and shattered pride in Rosalie’s gaze became even clearer. That sight filled Isabella with joy.

“Well, Rosalie, how does it feel to be locked away in this stinking dungeon with no hope of release?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why am I locked up here? Why? Don’t you dare look at me with those eyes! Just die. Just die, Isabella!”

Rosalie thrashed, fighting against the restraints binding her body. It was a scene too perfect to witness alone. Oh, if only she could remember this moment forever. Isabella inhaled deeply, as if to imprint the memory into her mind with the scent. The familiar smell of mold prickled her senses.

With a charming smile spreading across her delicate lips, Isabella reached out toward Rosalie’s cheek. Expecting a slap, Rosalie squeezed her eyes shut, but instead, Isabella simply stroked her face softly. Leaning in, she whispered, almost tenderly.

“I’m truly sorry, Rose.”

“…”

“But I came from hell.”

Rosalie’s face slowly filled with terror.

“Do you think I’d fear returning there?”

An exquisite malice glinted in Isabella’s eyes, and in her palm, a crimson power began to flare, red as blood.

“Aaahhhh!” Rosalie screamed, trembling in terror, but Isabella only smiled wider, savoring her fear.

In that moment, there was nothing—nothing—that could possibly stop Isabella.