{IRIS}
The maid's breath hitched.
Her eyes widened—not with rage, not with hunger—but with raw, naked shock.
A thin, fractured sound slipped from her lips, more startled than painful, as her body jerked once against the blade. Rain plastered her hair to her face, streaking black ash like liquid down the front of her uniform while the dagger drank deeply, greedily.
I twisted the hilt and drove the blade higher, angling it upward without mercy, without hesitation.
Her pupils flared. Fangs snapped down in a belated reflex, a predator's instinct arriving long after the fatal truth had already settled into her bones. Her hands clawed weakly at my wrists, strength flickering and failing—untrained, unanchored, and utterly useless.
There was no scream.
Only a wet, shuddering gasp escaped her throat as her knees buckled and her weight sagged into me.
Then her body began to crumble.
