Lilith had shit to do.
Better shit than lounging here, tangled in sheets that smelled like afterglow and Fullbringer sweat.
Yet here she was.
Stretching like a cat, she let her eyes wander lazily toward the ceiling, her fingers idly tracing patterns on her stomach. Her thoughts? Nowhere near romance.
What would happen... if she activated Hierro during sex?
Not on her skin. No no no.
There.
Just to test durability, purely for scientific purposes.
She smirked, tongue peeking past her lips.
"I'd break someone in half."
Probably.
Honestly, the only one she figured might survive it was His Majesty—though that was more of a statistical guess than a kink. She didn't glaze over or fangirl like those Espada-simping rejects. She was above that.
Still... anytime he gave an order, something inside her twitched.
Just facts.
Not lust.
Facts.
And yes, she had standards. She wasn't some Hollow in heat chasing after anything with a pulse and a mouth.
To her, sex was a transaction. A method. A means to power.
Love? Please.
That was for fairy tales and humans with poor decision-making skills. All lies, warm whispers with knives underneath.
She hated how bitter that sounded.
Hated even more that it rang true.
Oh well.
She sighed as the Fullbringer beside her shifted in the bed, blankets twisting with him like a ceremony of regret.
"Here goes another twenty years of my life," she muttered dryly.
Not that she aged. Not in the normal sense. Not like the rest of the trash-tier Hollows clinging to survival. She didn't die from time, sickness, or poison. You had to destroy her.
Even then—leave just one soul fragment behind?
She'd be back.
Perks of serving the King.
Lucky her.
The boy stirred again.
Right. Showtime.
Lilith sat up slightly, letting her voice soften, melt, become velvet and honey.
"Hubby...? You awake?"
He groaned faintly, eyes still foggy from sleep—or maybe from the hormone flood she may or may not have subtly triggered. His body was reacting just the way she wanted, sweat starting to glisten along his chest.
And yet...
When his gaze finally met hers, something flickered in his expression.
Softness?
Confusion?
Guilt?
"Mm... I'm sorry," he muttered, blinking hard and looking away. "That wasn't appropriate. I didn't mean to stare."
Lilith blinked.
What.
He apologized...?
She tilted her head, letting her hair cascade forward as she leaned closer. "Are you okay? You feel hot," she said, resting her cool palm on his forehead. "You didn't catch a fever, did you?"
No, that wasn't it. He was burning up—but not from sickness. Her power was working. Every cell in his body was crying out for her.
She could see it in the way his breath hitched, how his fingers gripped the sheets, how his pupils dilated.
And yet...
He wasn't lunging at her. Wasn't trying to grope or mount her.
Instead—
"Your... eyes," he said quietly, eyes locked on hers again.
"They look really pretty."
Lilith froze.
Her entire body stilled, like her processor short-circuited for half a second.
Pretty?
Her eyes?
Not her thighs. Not her hips. Not the curvature of her everything. But her eyes?
A strange warmth crept up her neck before she could kill it. Her cheeks—her actual cheeks—began to flush. No illusion. No mask. Just... heat.
She scoffed, flipping her hair to the side in dramatic dismissal.
"Idiot," she said, turning away so he wouldn't see her blushing like some virgin maid.
But inside?
A strange memory began playing in her mind.
FLASHBACK.
Roughly 400-ish years ago.
Before lust.
Before hollowfication.
Before the mask, the blood, and the lies.
She had a name.
Not one drenched in sin or feared by legions.
Just a soft, human name, cradled in hope—
Eve.
A girl born in the quiet corner of a noble household, not of silk and finery, but of soot and shadow. A servant's daughter. A mistake in the eyes of aristocracy. A whisper people used when they thought she wasn't listening.
The bastard child of a foreigner and a maid.
Eve scrubbed the floor quietly, her small hands red and raw, but her expression serene. Around her, the other maids muttered and gossiped, some casting side-eyes, some snickering. None dared touch her, but all made sure she knew she didn't belong.
Because they knew the tale.
How the princess of the land—the noble, oh-so-perfect princess—had once looked upon the charming traveler with pale hair and strange eyes... only to find him taken by someone below her station.
Eve's mother.
A maid.
A servant.
The story warped over time, of course. Twisted and reformed into poisonous little legends.
Her mother had seduced him, they said. A temptress. A foreigner-lover. A woman of the night.
Eve never believed that.
Because her mother—Izanami—was the kindest person she knew.
That evening, after the chores were done and the moon hung like a shy pearl over the old estate, Eve sat by the fire, helping her mother stir a pot of rice and sweet vegetables. Her hands were small, her face smudged, but her eyes glowed softly in the firelight.
"Mama," she asked, brushing soot from her cheek with her sleeve, "why did you name me Eve?"
Her mother's hands didn't pause, though her eyes softened. "Because you were my first light."
Eve tilted her head. "Is that what it means?"
Izanami chuckled faintly, voice tired but warm. "In old stories... Eve was the first woman. The beginning of life. She held both sin and hope in her palms."
Eve blinked. "That sounds like a lot to hold."
Her mother smiled, brushing a strand of her daughter's hair aside. "It is. But you're strong."
"Stronger than the princess?" she asked innocently.
Her mother paused, just for a second. Then whispered, "Much stronger."
Eve beamed. That was all she needed to hear.
She wasn't useless. She wasn't a loose woman... she would be fine... right?
A/N Yes...this is a Lillith mini arc, kinda needed for her and some other side characters, as I need emotional attachment for what happen next.....