Chapter 143: Truthful Horror

The pain in her body was vicious and searing. Every movement brought sharp, stabbing pains to the already searing parts that still felt like they were getting burnt.

And to top it all, her devil little sister was here.

Here to rub salt in her wounds.

And probably here...to finish it the same way she had started it.

"Oh sister," Beatrice cooed softly, before she crouched down, "That looks so painful. Would you like me to get you out of your misery?"

"Get...away," Della could barely hear herself.

"After I came all this way to find you? Of course not," Beatrice chuckled, then she continued talking casually like there was not a bleeding, dying woman next to her that was wailing in pain, "You know, I, Jaime and Mother had just returned to Eclipse Crown two days ago. Malachi had summoned us all. We stumbled upon the wolves Selene had employed to get rid of you, and Jaime suggested we join in the fun without Selene knowing,"

Della was barely breathing.

Every inhale hurt like she was breathing in tiny daggers stabbing every space in her lungs. One eye kept twitching, but she could barely feel it amidst everything else.

She didn’t even realise a good portion of her face was also burnt, till Beatrice brought up a claw and began dragging it down the fragile, peeling flesh.

Della instantly hissed and pulled away.

"Sorry about that," Beatrice chuckled again softly, "I just couldn’t resist hurting you even more. I always love it when you’re in pain. It brings me some semblance of joy,"

"Why do you hate me so much, Beatrice?" Della sounded like she was begging. Her eyes were filled with the look of betrayal and torture as she stared back at her sister, memories of old times coming back to her again.

Playing together.

Running around the castle together.

Beatrice holding her hand tightly despite how hard Evangeline yelled at her daughter to let go.

Beatrice scowling at anyone who dared insult Della, so confident in herself when she was so young.

Beatrice always smiling at her, and wiping away her tears anytime she cried.

"I don’t hate you, Della," Beatrice replied, then she paused, "I mean, I do hate you. But I love you. I love you more than I hate you. There’s just so much... pent-up anger and frustration and madness inside of me,"

Della squeezed her eyes hit for a moment. Why was she even having this conversation with someone like Beatrice? It’s not like she was trying to make peace with her because Della had long accepted her sister hated her.

She was buying time, that was it.

Della was buying time, and praying some miracle would occur and someone that can help her would arrive before their discussion ended and Beatrice...also ends her.

"Why are you angry and frustrated?"

"It’s all because of father," Beatrice sighed, and Della caught a look of deep exhaustion and longing behind her carefully curated soft but mad gaze, "He has never loved me, Della. He looks at me and he wishes you were me. He wishes the woman who looked like his first love and late wife were the daughter with a strong wolf and pure blood. He never gives me any attention or love, and the number of times I’ve caught him staring at you the same way I want him to look at me? Uncountable. And I put in so much effort to get his attention when I was younger. You know there was a time when I spent over a month painting a portrait of him? I took it to his study to show him, and he didn’t even glance at it. He tore it into pieces right Infront of my eyes, and told me that if he could peel off my face and replace it with yours...he would,"

Della listened quietly, utterly bewildered.

She had no idea...!

"I chased and chased after his love," Beatrice’s lips were trembling now, and she looked like she was about to cry. It wasn’t fake this time. Her eyes had never looked so genuine before, "Every day, I woke up determined to make him see ME. And every day, I was reminded that I would never be enough. All I ever wanted was a father who loved me, for being me. Who would have looked at that portrait, and simply pat my head, expressing a job well done. Who would look at me, even if it’s just once, without looking like I am the biggest disappointment ever. I mean," She forced out a bitter laugh, "I’m not the Rotblood. I’ve never been the Rotblood, so why did he always look at me like I’ve always been one?"

Della’s mouth remained hanging open.

"And it was all YOUR fault! If only you didn’t look like your bloody dead mother. If only you just died along with her that night! If only you never existed and made my whole life feel like a living hell!"

"Beatrice—"

"You know the reason why you lived this long? It was because of me!" She snapped again, looking vicious once again, "Father wanted you dead and gone. You were still a curse, but I wanted to make your existence even more painful before you died so, I managed to convince him to keep you alive longer,"

Della was lost.

What did Beatrice mean by ’Father wanted you dead and gone?’

Beatrice saw the terrified and confused expression on Della’s face, and then she chuckled, "Oh, I almost forgot. You didn’t know, did you?"

Della began shaking her head, "Beatrice, you’re out of your mind,"

"I completely agree with that, as long as you agree that you made me this way because you existed,"

Della shook her head again, a little more frantic this time, "I don’t believe what you said about father! You need to stop spitting lies, Beatrice. If you want to kill me just do it already and stop lying about father,"

"I agree again that I’m a little manipulative liar, but I was being sincere when I said everything I did. I mean, I have nothing to lose by telling you the truth. It’s not like you would live long enough to ever confront father about the things he put you through,"

Della’s head was spinning again.

She stared deeply into her sister’s eyes again, past the ravaging madness that was eating deeper into her soul, and past the darkness that had taken hold of her soul.

She was desperately searching for the lie.

Searching for her pure, soft look that Beatrice always gave her in the past.

She couldn’t find it anywhere.

There was only horror behind her sister’s eyes.

Truthful horror. One she couldn’t deny.