I Revived My Maid, Now She Hungers for My Blood

Lightly scented soap lathered into fine foam between her palms. Warm water poured over her.

The grime—blood, gunpowder, dried sweat—washed away and spiraled down the drain.

And with it, the tension that had been coiled deep in her bones, wound tight from fighting for her life, finally unwound.

About twenty minutes later.

When Pandora stepped out of the bathroom wrapped in a bath towel, still patting her damp hair, every last inch of her had let go.

The exhaustion had changed its character. It was no longer a sharp, stabbing pain. It had become something heavy and gravitational—the kind that pulled you toward sleep.

Her clothes had been set out by the bed at some point.

Washed. Dried. Even folded with careful precision, sitting in a neat stack on the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed.

Pandora looked at the folded clothes.

Then at the bed, which looked indescribably soft.

She hesitated for one second.

Then walked directly to the bed.

As for getting dressed?

Forget it.

She had absolutely no desire to put herself back in any kind of constraint right now.

..................

“My Lady?”

Aurora was standing at the entrance to the suite’s living area, having just taken the evening meal from a room attendant—two small plates of delicate, steaming food and a platter of sliced fruit.

She heard faint movement from the inner room and called out on instinct.

No response.

A flicker of unease crossed Aurora’s face. She frowned slightly, her voice rising a notch.

“My Lady?”

Still nothing.

She set the tray down on the round table with barely a sound and walked quickly to the bedroom.

The moment she pushed the door open and saw the bed, the tension drained from her expression. It was replaced by something helpless, and something else—something quietly warm.

Pandora was still wrapped in the oversized white bathrobe.

Her long hair, glossy and damp, was spread loose over her shoulders and the pillow. It was clear she hadn’t bothered to dry it properly.

She had simply sunk into the absurdly soft bed.

Her breathing was long and even.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

She was already asleep, thoroughly claimed by exhaustion.

“My Lady...”

That was the third time Aurora had called her name.

But this third call was different from the others. It carried exasperation, yes, but also something she couldn’t quite put into words.

It made her voice go unusually soft—like someone afraid of startling a butterfly that had landed on their finger. She was calling out, and yet afraid of actually waking the dream.

Naturally, a sound that quiet had no chance of rousing someone already sunk into deep sleep.

Aurora moved to the bedside with careful steps and first adjusted Pandora into a more comfortable position, one that wouldn’t leave her stiff and cramped.

Then she picked up a clean, dry towel and began, with extraordinary gentleness, to work through the damp hair.

It clearly hadn’t been dried at all—water was still beading at the tips and soaking into the pillowcase.

Elsa’s thorough, attentive care had apparently left Pandora a little rusty on certain basic life skills most people managed on their own.

“But if it weren’t for Elsa...”

Aurora found herself thinking, hands still moving.

“I might not have had an opportunity like this at all...”

The thought passed quickly. It left behind a complicated feeling—quietly bittersweet, and oddly exhilarating.

By the time the thought ran its course, her hands had already dried the hair thoroughly.

And yet, stopping and leaving felt harder than it should.

Without quite thinking about it, she lifted a strand between her fingers and brought it to the tip of her nose.

A faint scent. Clean soap mixed with something that was distinctly, unmistakably the girl sleeping in front of her.

She felt strangely nervous.

Elsa’s face surfaced unbidden in her mind. Aurora felt a flicker of apprehension—the irrational fear that Elsa might materialize from some corner right now, fix her with those cold eyes, and rebuke her for this overstepping.

One second.

Two seconds.

The strange fantasy didn’t materialize.

Nothing happened.

Only the last light of dusk filtering through the window, and the steady breathing of the girl before her.

The feeling of having done something she shouldn't, and getting away with it, left a small, hidden thrill humming in her chest. Like brushing the edge of a forbidden thing.

Aurora let out a breath that was slightly warmer than usual. She gently lowered the strand of hair and tucked the soft blanket up around Pandora.

Then she straightened and stood.

She had ordered dinner for My Lady earlier. Pandora clearly needed sleep more than food right now, but Aurora still intended to tidy things up in the outer room and adjust the temperature and lighting while she was at it—

She took one step.

And stopped.

A hand had caught her sleeve.

Small. Pale. Slender. Warm.

She had no idea when it had happened.

The grip was light, familiar. But it carried a weight that couldn’t be ignored.

“...Sleep together.”

What?

The voice was so faint it could have been a murmur from a dream.

Aurora almost convinced herself she’d heard wrong.

She turned her head instinctively, looking at the peaceful face resting on the pillow.

Pandora’s eyes were still closed. Her lashes trembled faintly. Her brow was smooth. She didn’t look like someone speaking in full wakefulness.

“My Lady?”

Aurora called out softly, tentative.

No response.

She was just starting to think she’d imagined it when the person on the pillow shifted slightly, lips parting to murmur, indistinct and unhurried:

“Aurora... come here...”

This time, Aurora was certain.

That was Pandora’s voice.

She just couldn’t be sure whether My Lady was actually conscious, or if it was a dream talking. She couldn’t be sure whether those words were truly an invitation.

But...

Did that matter?

This was an order.

My Lady had given her an order!

Aurora’s mouth curved upward before she could stop it, excitement surging through her expression, a near-fervent joy lighting her eyes.

“Your knight obeys, My Lady.”

Her original plan had been simple: Pandora takes the main bed, she keeps watch from the sofa bed in the outer room. Keeping vigil was a knight’s duty.

But—

My Lady had spoken. My Lady had reached out and taken hold of her with her own hand.

What kind of knight would refuse?

This was My Lady’s request.

Aurora abandoned her plan to tidy the outer room and deal with the perfectly good food sitting on the table without a second thought.

Dinner?

Nothing on the menu compared to sleeping beside My Lady!

As for whether she might disturb My Lady’s rest?

Was that even a question? She was a Second-Rank Transcendent. She could control her own breathing to a hair’s breadth. Disturbing My Lady’s sleep simply wasn’t something she was capable of.

There were switches at the bedside for the lights and curtains.

None of it was a problem.