The Night of the Monsters - Chapter 5

“……!”

The once-brilliant sunlight had dimmed, and the breeze had turned a little chillier by the time Giselle gasped softly and opened her eyes.

She was still outside, seated on the same chair. Though some time had passed and her tea had gone cold, the important thing was that everything around her was exactly the same as it had been before she fell asleep.

‘A dream…?’

Her lips parted soundlessly as a flush spread across her cheeks and eyes. It was an utterly absurd dream, yet it had been so vivid, so real, that her legs trembled faintly as though her body still remembered it. Giselle blinked blankly, her thoughts in a haze, when Hugo appeared behind her.

“Master.”

Startled, Giselle shrank into herself like a guilty child, lowering her head. From above, Hugo’s voice came again.

“What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. Look at me.”

Despite his words, Hugo didn’t wait for an answer. He cupped her face with his hands and tilted her head upward, forcing her to meet his gaze. Her eyes darted unnaturally, avoiding his, her face flushed and lips trembling. Seeing this, Hugo feigned ignorance, his tone innocent as he asked,

“Why is your face so hot?”

“B-because it’s cold…?”

“Cold? But Master, you don’t even catch colds.”

“…Hugo, um, how long was I asleep?”

“For quite a while. It’s nearly dinner time, so I came to wake you up.”

Hugo replied indifferently as he lightly kneaded her heated cheek, his casual tone in sharp contrast to her flustered demeanor. Giselle wasn’t a good liar, nor was she skilled at naturally changing the subject, which made her attempts almost laughable. It was no wonder that people who came seeking to take Hugo and Ian away often underestimated her.

Hugo, who had been gazing steadily at her gentle features, suddenly slid his arm under her legs and effortlessly lifted her up. Her slender shoulders stiffened, and he could feel the slight tension in her thighs as they pressed together.

“H-Hugo?”

“Seems like you had quite the strange dream, Master.”

“…What?”

The knuckles of Giselle’s hands, clenched tightly around the fabric of her robe, turned white. Hugo tilted his head slightly, meeting her gaze, and continued speaking.

“I’m not sure what it was about, but you kept saying it felt so good.”

“……”

“What was so good, Master?”

Giselle bit her lip in silence, unable to respond. Saying it felt good? That couldn’t be true. It simply couldn’t…

Yet the vivid image of herself drowning in pleasure refused to leave her mind. The feeling of strong arms binding her like a trap, of being filled front and back by those hard bodies—it was all too clear. It should have hurt, it should have been unbearable, but instead, the sensations had been the most intoxicating she had ever known.

At that moment, Hugo tightened his grip slightly. Giselle flinched, her body curling reflexively, and her hips gave a small twitch as a gush of arousal spilled out from her.

“Hngh…!”

A faint whimper escaped her tightly pressed lips. Reacting instinctively, she grabbed at Hugo’s collar, causing him to stop walking.

“Master?”

“N-no, it’s nothing…”

Now that she was conscious of it, being carried in Hugo’s arms began to feel uncomfortable. But expressing that discomfort would only make her embarrassment worse, so she bit her lip again to suppress her feelings. The fact that she had dreamed such things, and that her body had reacted to it—leaving her wet—was unbearable. The tips of her ears, peeking through her hair, burned red with shame.

Although her long robe covered her down to her ankles, her undergarments were already soaked, and her thighs felt slick with arousal. The thought of having left a damp mark on the chair she’d been sitting on made her stomach churn. Just imagining it was mortifying.

Swallowing hard, Giselle spoke in a small, plaintive voice.

“Hugo, I… I don’t really have an appetite…”

Hugo chuckled softly, his tone light but teasing.

“Master, you’re the one who always says, ‘Even if you don’t feel hungry, you shouldn’t skip meals.’”

“……”

When unwell, she had always said it was important to eat well and rest. Before taking in Hugo and Ian, Giselle had lived alone, devoting herself entirely to caring for her disciples when they were sick, often staying by their sides through the night. Hugo’s firm demeanor undoubtedly came from a place of genuine concern for her.

Unable to muster a response, Giselle’s eyes darted nervously. As Hugo carried her inside, Ian, who had been preparing a meal, turned at the sound of their entrance.

At first, Ian frowned sharply, scrunching his nose as he looked at Hugo. But the moment he noticed Giselle’s distressed expression and trembling lips, his face softened, breaking into a radiant smile.

“Giselle, did you sleep well?”

“…Ian.”

“I made cottage pie for the first time in a while. It’s not beef, but it tastes pretty close. And I used the leftovers to make a stew. Since I know you don’t like the gamey smell of meat, I added plenty of herbs this time, too.”

As Ian pulled out a chair, Hugo gently set Giselle down on it. Knowing the state of her lower body, Giselle immediately tried to stand up, her face pale with embarrassment. But Hugo pressed her shoulders back down firmly, leaving her no choice but to sit again. She thought she heard a faint sticky sound and felt her face burn with shame.

“Eat plenty, Giselle. You’ve lost too much weight lately. What if it ends up affecting your health?”

Ian’s gentle smile remained as he poured stew into a deep bowl. The aroma of freshly baked pie and well-seasoned stew filled the room, but Giselle found herself unable to even think about eating. Not only had her appetite disappeared, but her lower body’s condition made it impossible to focus.

When she hesitated to lift her hands, Hugo, seated beside her, took up a spoon himself. Cooling a spoonful of stew, he brought it to her lips. Her tightly pressed lips parted reluctantly, and she allowed him to feed her.

Like a bird being fed, Giselle silently accepted each bite that Hugo offered. Ian sat across from them, observing quietly. As Giselle chewed awkwardly, she finally spoke in a curious tone.

“Aren’t you two… going to eat?”

“Later. If we don’t take care of you, you’ll do nothing at all,” Ian replied with a teasing smile.

“T-that’s not true,” she protested weakly.

“It is true, Giselle. You’re clumsy in the kitchen, not thorough with cleaning, and you always manage to ruin the laundry somehow. What would you do without us?”

Giselle’s face turned red as she squirmed in her seat, squeezing her thighs together tightly. Unable to refute Ian’s words, she focused on swallowing the food, silently enduring her embarrassment.

Naturally, Giselle had no idea that everything being fed to her was laced with drugs. Not just aphrodisiacs, but also, for the first time, sleeping agents, hallucinogens, and amnesiacs designed to blur her memories—all of it was slowly building up within her body.

When Hugo and Ian had first met Giselle, she had been wise and intelligent. Though she had always been clumsy with household chores like cooking, the woman who had survived alone in this forest for decades certainly didn’t need anyone’s help to live.

That’s why Hugo and Ian had decided to make her this way. To ensure she couldn’t survive without them.

“Is it good?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Ian asked with a bright, innocent smile, and Giselle reflexively smiled back. Her mind, however, was entirely consumed by the sensations in her lower body, leaving her no room to fret over Hugo and Ian’s meals as she usually did. To make matters worse, the longer time passed, the hotter and more restless her body felt, instead of calming down.

“I… I’m full… I can’t eat anymore…”

Her trembling voice was so pitiful and strained that anyone hearing it would sense something was wrong. Biting down on her lip, Giselle tried to stand, but the moment she moved, a warm liquid trickled from her twitching entrance.

She could vividly feel the lewd fluids running down her thighs, pooling beneath her tightly clenched legs. With a pale, horrified face, she swallowed hard.

“Master. Why is your seat so wet?”

Hugo’s drowsy voice came from where he sat, his chin propped lazily on his hand.

Her heart plummeted. Giselle couldn’t even breathe properly as her body trembled in mortification. Hugo’s gaze drifted to the spot where she had been sitting moments before. The wooden chair now bore a darkened patch where the dampness had soaked in.

When he reached out toward the chair, Giselle instinctively grabbed it and pulled it closer to herself.

“N-no, don’t!”

“But, Master,” Hugo replied calmly, “wood rots when it absorbs moisture. And if you peed yourself, it’ll start to smell, so we should wipe it right away.”

Hugo’s nonchalant comment made Giselle’s face flush bright red. In a panic, she frantically traced a summoning sigil in the air, calling for the spirits, but none of them appeared. Once again, the spirits refused to answer her call.

Before she could react further, Ian had risen from his seat and approached her from behind. Startled, Giselle quickly covered her backside with her hands and stepped away, but Ian only smiled gently at her.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, Giselle. Remember when my brother and I wet the bed? You said it was because of a scary dream and comforted us.”

“What are you even talking about? I’ve never done that! You’re the one who had nightmares and wet yourself!”

“Falsifying the past isn’t very virtuous, brother. Anyway, Giselle, you should probably change—”

“Eep!”

Ian’s lighthearted response was cut short as his hand naturally moved toward Giselle’s backside. She hadn’t noticed his hand because it was out of her sight, and she let out a high-pitched shriek. But it was too late—his fingers had already touched the slick wetness there.

Feigning surprise, Ian widened his eyes as he pulled his hand back, looking at the glistening fluid on his fingers.

“Giselle… don’t tell me…”

“N-no, it’s not that! It’s just… I mean…”

“It wasn’t pee… but something else?”

Giselle’s face turned crimson as she swallowed hard, her embarrassment reaching its peak. Below her, Hugo smirked faintly, as if just now realizing the truth. Without giving her a chance to stop him, he reached for the chair, running his hand over the darkened patch of wood where she’d been sitting.

Pressing firmly, Hugo lifted his fingers, which now glistened with a string of translucent fluid clinging to them. A tense, suffocating silence filled the room as Giselle’s shoulders began to shake, her tears threatening to spill over. Her mind was so consumed by shame and mortification that she didn’t even register Ian pressing his stiff arousal against the cleft of her backside, moving it slowly and teasingly.

Hugo, throwing a glance at his brother with a mixture of irritation and resignation, spoke in a dry tone.

“Master, what exactly were you thinking for your body to drip so much… and soak your clothes and the chair?”

Unable to respond, Giselle bit her lip hard, bowing her head in humiliation. Meanwhile, Ian, who had been casually rubbing himself against her, leaned down to whisper softly in her ear.

“Are you… burning up again?”

“N-no, it’s not… it’s just…”

Giselle found herself utterly incapable of explaining. How could she confess that she’d had such a lewd, indecent dream about being intimate with her own disciples? The painfully vivid dream refused to fade; instead, it grew sharper with every passing moment.

Just then, her lower abdomen throbbed again, and another gush of slick arousal spilled forth. Swallowing hard, Giselle gently pushed Ian away. Her lips trembled, and her voice broke as though she was on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. I just… I need to be alone right now…”

Covering her mouth with the back of her hand, she turned and fled. The stain on her backside had spread, and with every shaky step, droplets of fluid fell from between her legs, leaving a trail on the floor. Yet Giselle, overwhelmed with mortification and confusion, didn’t even notice as she staggered toward her room.

Ian sighed, glancing down at the painfully swollen bulge straining against his clothes.

“She ran away.”

“Giselle turning into such a temptress isn’t my fault,” Hugo replied coolly. “Just make sure everything’s ready to leave by dawn.”

“You’re still not going to tell me where we’re going?”

“The city,” Hugo answered curtly.

“What?”

Ian frowned deeply, his tone sharp and almost hostile. Weren’t they leaving precisely to keep Giselle away from others? After all, if anyone asked about their relationship, she’d undoubtedly refer to them as her disciples or siblings without a second thought.

Even if, in truth, they were far more than that, Ian could no longer stomach hearing her describe them so distantly. Just the thought made him feel sick.

Reading Ian’s thoughts clearly, Hugo replied in an indifferent tone, “Exactly. You know as well as I do. Giselle always wanted to live among people. That’s why she taught us everything she knew—so she could eventually send us back into that world.”

For a brief moment, Hugo’s golden eyes blazed, fierce and dangerous, like flames threatening to consume everything in their path.

Giselle’s love and devotion to them was something the brothers understood all too well. If someone were to put a knife to her throat and threaten to kill her unless she ended Hugo and Ian’s lives, she would undoubtedly choose her own death without hesitation.

Just as Giselle was everything to them, they were everything to her. The cursed witch of the forest, who had lived a life of solitude, had loved the two young brothers she took in as if they were her own children—or her own siblings.

Yes. Like a mother. Like a sister.

“A dog wouldn’t even get hard for its mother or sister,” Hugo muttered.

“What are you going on about?” Ian asked, frowning. “Don’t tell me, Hugo—you’re not seriously thinking of Giselle like that, are you?”

“Of course not,” Hugo replied casually.

But no matter how Giselle saw them, the brothers could never view her as a mother or a sister. How could they ever forget the day she reached out her hand to them?

The witch once labeled a monster living deep in the forest had been an incomparably beautiful woman, exuding the scent of fresh grass. Yet now, that role had been filled by the cursed twins born on the same day, at the same hour, sharing the same fate.

Hugo’s voice was light as he continued, “In the past, maybe, but how long do you think Giselle could survive among people now? A young woman living with two men is bound to attract attention. Even if Giselle tries to act like it doesn’t bother her, deep down, she’ll care. She’ll get uncomfortable, and eventually, she’ll say it herself—she’ll want to go somewhere far away, where no one else is around.”

“That would hurt Giselle,” Ian replied coldly, as though accusing Hugo of cruelty.

Ian’s reaction, however, was steeped in twisted desire. He couldn’t tolerate the idea of others hurting Giselle, even though he himself had no qualms about doing so. To Ian, no one but the two of them had the right to love her, possess her, or hurt her.

Hugo’s expression darkened as he absorbed Ian’s icy rebuttal, a reflection of the same cruel nature they both shared.

“If we don’t act, Giselle might start talking about living with people again someday,” Hugo said. “And any bastard who says something stupid to her, I’ll kill them all.”

“…Fine. Then I’ll start gathering things from the herb room. You’d better help me,” Ian replied with a resigned sigh.

“That’s your stuff.”

“If I go down there, I know you’ll sneak off to find Giselle.”

Ian’s irritated remark earned a soft, regretful click of Hugo’s tongue.

By now, Giselle was probably on her bed, panting as she desperately wiped away the excess fluid spilling from her. The image of her trembling in shame and self-reproach as she cleaned herself between her legs flashed through Hugo’s mind. Despite having released his desires not long ago, the thought made both his appetite and lust flare up again.

If, from the beginning, he had been the monster of the forest and Giselle the abandoned princess, he might have devoured her whole in a single act—pressed her firmly into his belly where no one could see or take her away.

Trailing behind Ian as they descended the stairs, Hugo wore a surprisingly serene smile.

“You know, Ian, I’m genuinely glad Giselle likes you.”

“What are you going on about now?”

“Because if she didn’t, I would have killed you.”

“…You’d have been poisoned long before that,” Ian retorted coldly. “You should be glad Giselle doesn’t hate you either.”

Their entire worldview revolved around Giselle. Everything was filtered through what she liked and disliked. If Giselle despised something, they would remove it from her sight without hesitation. If she liked something, the same rule applied—it was theirs to keep her love focused solely on them.

Stepping into the damp underground room, Hugo wrinkled his nose.

“It stinks.”