The bathroom was filled with damp steam and the sweet fragrance of rose essential oil, while the lights cast warm halos through the mist.
Altair, wearing a thin silk robe and barefoot, walked across the soft carpet.
She entered the washroom with an extremely languid air.
The maids nearby kept their eyes lowered, moving gently as they prepared the bathing tools, barely making a sound that might disturb her.
After Altair came to a halt, two maids stepped behind her, one standing and the other kneeling, and gently untied the sash of her robe with their fingertips. As the silk robe slid down, Altair's fair, delicate body was revealed.
When Altair, with half-closed eyes, stepped into the brass bathtub and leaned against the edge, a maid began to gently wipe her back with a cotton cloth.
Water droplets rolled off her snow-white skin, like pearls sliding over fresh snow.
Everything was so quiet, with only the sound of water and the friction of fabric.
Until footsteps approached from afar, and a sweet, metallic scent drifted into her nostrils. This scent was not rose fragrance or essential oil, but the warm breath of life itself, flowing deep within the blood vessels beneath the skin.
At that moment, Altair's breathing faltered slightly, and a familiar burning sensation rose in her throat.
Altair turned her head to look toward the Door, her gaze landing on Irene, who had just entered.
Irene's expression was calm, almost elegant, as if the silver tray she carried held not a cup of blood, but a glass of expensive wine.
After taking the crystal cup handed to her by Irene, Altair began to slowly taste and examine it. The blood in the crystal cup was as translucent as a ruby, and when light passed through it, fine red rays reflected off the walls of the cup.
After tasting it, Altair wore an expression of lingering desire, and then she fixed her gaze on Irene's exposed neck.
The skin there tightened slightly with Irene's movements, and the blue veins were faintly visible under the light.
"Countess Altair?" Irene lifted her head slightly after feeling her gaze.
Altair did not answer the maid Irene, but instead gently placed her fingertips on Irene's wrist.
When Altair's palm made contact with Irene, it did not bring warmth to the maid, but instead made her shiver coldly.
Yet Irene did not resist her touch, and even began to enjoy it.
Altair's fingertips moved slowly upward, brushing past her forearm and stopping at the crook of her elbow, as if feeling the pulse beneath the skin.
"Irene." Altair's voice was very soft, tinged with a hoarse longing. "May I?"
Irene's eyelashes fluttered slightly, but she did not panic or shrink back. Instead, she gently turned her head, exposing her neck more clearly to Altair, responding to her with a silent, almost pious invitation.
With her head slightly turned, Irene's lips curved into a faint, almost imperceptible arc.
Having felt the maid's response, Altair hesitated no longer. She leaned in slowly, opening her pale pink lips, and her four small fangs slowly emerged, flashing with a cold glint in the light, before gently piercing Irene's neck.
"Mm—" A suppressed sigh escaped Irene's lips.
But it was not a sound of pain.
Irene's body stiffened slightly at first, but then quickly relaxed, even leaning back to offer herself to Altair in a more natural and exposed way.
Altair's hands wrapped around Irene's waist, pulling her into the bathtub. At this moment, the sound of swallowing was exceptionally clear in the silent washroom.
As time passed, an unusual flush began to spread across Irene's face.
Her eyes were half-closed, her gaze unfocused.
Her breathing became rapid, her chest heaving violently, and the splashed water droplets fell onto her collarbone before sliding downward.
Irene's fingers unconsciously reached for Altair's wet blonde hair; she was not pushing her away, but rather, it seemed, yearning for a deeper connection.
"Ah—Countess—" Irene whispered intermittently, her voice sweet and cloying, like melted hot honey.
At this moment, Irene was savoring a pleasure that was almost maddening; her body grew softer and softer, leaning almost entirely into Altair's embrace.
When Altair's fangs bit deeper, a sudden jolt shot through Irene's entire body.
She threw her head back, her snow-white swan neck forming a graceful arc, and let out a long, satisfied sigh. Altair stopped feeding at the right moment. After she reached out, a maid standing nearby timely handed over a prepared medicine bottle. After the medicine was applied to the two tiny wounds on Irene's neck, they healed at a speed visible to the naked eye.
After doing this, Altair gently placed the unconscious Irene on the edge of the bathtub, which was covered with a thick velvet blanket, and covered her with a dry, soft bath towel before having the maids carry her away.
Before she left, Altair observed a lingering, satisfied smile on the corner of Irene's mouth.
This expression seemed to say that what she had just experienced was not being preyed upon, but rather some kind of divine favor and blessing.
In the mist-filled washroom, the other maids standing around the bathtub silently watched all of this. From tasting the blood to feeding on Irene, they felt no fear or panic regarding Altair's actions.
After seeing Irene's peaceful expression and the crimson stain on the corner of Altair's lips, a silent, burning, almost tangible desire ignited in their eyes—it was envy, it was longing, it was the sacrificial desire of religious fanatics.
After pondering this, they bowed their heads slightly, their postures becoming even more submissive, as if they were waiting and praying that the next one to be chosen would be themselves, and that the grace would descend upon them.
After licking away the last trace on her lips, Altair returned to her previous languor. She slipped back into the warm water and closed her eyes, as if the episode just now had been nothing more than a trivial matter.
The reason Irene and the "abnormal" maids behaved this way was not because of anything Altair had done to them.
It was because they were like that to begin with.
These maids who revered Altair as their "True God" were not the original maids of Sheffield Manor; they had all been recently purchased by Vivian.
Thirteen days ago, on the night of Altair's birthday, Vivian had gifted them to Altair as a birthday present, completing her retinue of maids.
As for why they held such abnormal thoughts, it was because these maids had been indoctrinated with these ideas before they were bought.
The ideology they had accepted was even more extreme than Irene's: it was a fanatical, crazed belief in Altair, worshipping her as if she were a god.