I will be the perfect wife this time-Chapter 126: Borrowed Vision

Alisha stirred, the heavy silk of the sheets feeling like a restrictive shroud against her skin. She forced her eyelids open, expecting the familiar gold-leafed ceiling of the imperial chambers to greet her.

Nothing.

A thick, oily void had swallowed the world. She blinked once, twice, her breath hitching as she turned her head frantically from side to side. There was no flicker of candlelight, no shadow of the towering wardrobe—only a hollow, absolute darkness that felt like a physical weight pressing against her pupils.

"Your Majesty! Oh, praise the heavens... you’ve finally awakened!"

The voice of her lady-in-waiting cut through the silence, wet with suppressed sobs. The maid scrambled to her side, her hands trembling as she clutched Alisha’s limp fingers. "I couldn’t believe it... we were so worried... after the kidnapping, the palace has been in mourning..."

The word kidnapping struck Alisha like a physical blow.

Suddenly, the fractured memories surged back—a violent tide of red and black. She felt the phantom pressure of Mathias’s fingers, cold as a winter grave. She remembered the terrifying stillness in his eyes as he leaned over her, and then... the agonizing, white-hot flash of pain as he tore the very light from her soul.

The memory should have broken her. She should have shrieked, clawed at the bedsheets, or drowned in her own terror. Instead, a chilling, jagged composure settled over her features. Her face became a mask of graveyard marble, her sightless eyes fixed on the void.

"Stop your wailing," Alisha whispered, her voice a thin thread of frost that made the maid freeze.

She adjusted her position, sitting up with a haunting, rigid grace despite the darkness. "The Emperor... is he outside?"

"Not right now, but, Your Majesty. He has been waiting for your awake, refusing to leave your side until—"

"No," Alisha interrupted, her tone a flat, lethal blade. "Do not summon him. Not yet. I wish to rest. If he insists on entering, tell him I requested to speak with him directly when I am... composed."

"But... Your Majesty, the Emperor is—"

"Execute my orders," Alisha hissed, the authority in her voice dripping with a sudden, pure venom.

The maid flinched, bowing her head so low it nearly touched the floor. "As you command, Your Majesty."

As the maid turned to leave, Alisha’s voice caught her at the threshold, colder than before.

"One more thing... find Killian. Bring him to me secretly. I want no eyes on him, no whispers in the corridor. This is a private matter. Go."

The door groaned shut, leaving Alisha alone in her new, eternal night. She reached up, her fingers trembling only slightly as she touched the hollow ache where her vision used to be. A slow, predatory smile—one that mirrored the monster who had blinded her—tugged at the corners of her lips.

Mathias thought he had silenced her. He didn’t realize that in the dark, one hears the truth much more clearly.

The moment the heavy door groaned shut, Alisha’s composure didn’t just break—it decimated.

Her fingers, trembling like dying moths, crawled up her face to find her eyes. They were there. She could feel the wet curve of the orbs, the flutter of her lashes against her skin. But they felt wrong.

They felt like broken marbles, a child’s discarded toys that no amount of prayer or surgery could ever fix. Mathias hadn’t just blinded her; he had reached into her skull and dragged out the very essence of her life, leaving behind two dead, hollow spheres that reflected only the abyss.

Her right hand clawed at the silk sheets, her nails digging in until the expensive fabric shredded with a rhythmic, agonizing screech. Her other hand remained clamped over her eyes, a desperate attempt to shield herself from a darkness she could no longer escape.

"Damn you... damn you to the deepest pits of hell, Mathias," she hissed, the curse bubbling up like black bile. "Son of a whore... I will tear it back from you. I will make you bleed until the world runs dry. Just wait for me."

But then, a cold, jagged realization pierced through her rage. A sob caught in her throat, turning into a frantic, breathless stutter.

I cannot stay like this. No, no, no! I am the Empress!

The thought of the nobles whispered in her mind—their snickering, their pointed fans, their mockery of a "broken" ruler. And Lucius... No, no, no. Lucius won’t accept a deformed Empress. He would look at her with that chilling indifference he reserved for the weak. He would discard her like a cracked vase.

"I have to fix it... now... I have to..."

Her descent into a full-blown mental collapse was interrupted by a faint, rhythmic scratching at the window. A shadow detached itself from the moonlight, slipping into the room with the fluid, silent grace of a thief.

Killian.

He approached the bed and dropped into a bow so exaggerated his forehead nearly struck the cold stone floor. A mockery of devotion. "How is my Empress faring?"

Alisha didn’t answer. She simply thrust her hand out into the void—a silent, regal command for him to pay his dues. Killian moved closer, his lips brushing against the back of her trembling hand with a chilling reverence.

"You summoned me," he murmured, his eyes scanning her frantic face. "Is something... wrong?"

A slow, ghastly smile stretched across Alisha’s lips—a expression that had no place on a human face. "Yes, I summoned you. I had other plans for your talents... but priorities have shifted."

Killian narrowed his eyes in the gloom. "Priorities? I don’t understand, Your Majesty."

Alisha leaned forward, her sightless gaze fixed somewhere over his shoulder. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, dripping with a sudden, pure venom.

"Mathias took my sight. He thinks he’s won." She let out a soft, discordant chuckle that sounded like glass breaking. "Well... wouldn’t taking the eyes of his precious little Ann be a fair trade? He started this war. Let him carry the weight of its casualties."

She reached out, grabbing Killian by the collar, pulling him into the freezing orbit of her madness. "Bring me that girl’s eyes. Do it quickly. No one will suspect a thing if you move like the shadow you are. Do we have an agreement?"

Killian didn’t flinch. He sank back into his bow, a loyal hound basking in the darkness of his master.

"As you command, Your Majesty," he whispered, his voice thick with a dark, unsettling pleasure. "It would be my greatest honor to return to you what was stolen."

"Are you a dog now? Why are you sniffing me like this?" Olivia’s voice was a jagged thread of irritation, cutting through the heavy silence of the room. "And what do you mean you’re ’home’? Where exactly have you been, Mathias?"

She rained questions down on him, her hands pushing against his shoulders, but Mathias didn’t seem to hear her. He remained anchored to her, his face buried in the hollow of her neck, breathing her in as if her scent were the only thing keeping his fractured mind from splintering.

A low, vibrating chuckle escaped his chest—a sound that felt more predatory than playful. "If I were a dog, I would have bitten you by now," he murmured against her skin. He paused, his grip tightening. "Actually... I think a small bite wouldn’t be so bad."

Before she could protest, he sank his teeth into the soft curve of her neck. It wasn’t a lover’s nip; it was firm, sharp, marking her as his in the darkness.

"Ouch! What is wrong with you?" Olivia gasped, shoving at his chest with all her might. "Have you gone mad? Get off me!"

She managed to push him back for a second, but Mathias moved like a blur. He lunged forward, catching her around the waist and lifting her off the ground until her feet dangled uselessly in the air.

"Your husband returns home after a long absence, and this is how you welcome him?" his voice was silk wrapped around steel.

"Husband? Returns home?" Olivia snapped, her sightless eyes flashing with a mix of fury and exhaustion. "You bastard! You dragged me to this place—God knows where—and then vanished like a ghost. Is this how you ’take care’ of your wife, you insufferable man? Put me down and leave me alone!"

Mathias didn’t flinch. Instead, he pulled her closer until their foreheads touched. He leaned toward her ear, his breath hot and ghosting over her skin. "Why all the shouting? Don’t tell me... you actually missed me, didn’t you?"

Olivia let out a sharp, incredulous huff. "Ha! Mathias, are you drunk? What is this childish behavior? Anyone seeing you now would think you’re hopelessly in love with me."

Mathias froze for a heartbeat. He stared into her face—a face filled with confusion and dark question marks—and then he laughed. It was a sound stripped of its usual lethality, replaced by something far more unsettling.

"Maybe they’re right," he mused, his golden eyes burning with an unholy light she couldn’t see. "Maybe I am hopelessly in love with you. Who knows?"

Olivia’s lips curled into a mocking line. "Right. And the sky is red, and I have wings. I totally believe you."

Without a word, Mathias carried her toward the bed and lowered her onto the sheets with a chillingly clinical tenderness. He hovered over her, his presence a heavy shadow in the lightless room.

"Enough with the sarcasm," he whispered, his voice dropping to a low, lethal vibration. "I have gift for you."

Olivia’s breath hitched in the silence. "A gift?"

"Yes... a very special gift," Mathias murmured, his voice dropping into a low, lethal vibration that seemed to vibrate against her very bones. "You might not like where it came from, but I am certain you will cherish the result. So... are you ready?"

Olivia tilted her head, a flash of suspicion crossing her blind features. "I don’t know why you’re speaking in riddles today, Mathias. It’s annoying. But fine... I’m ready. What is it?"

Without a word, Mathias leaned in. His hands, rose to cover her eyes. A sudden, violent surge of energy—cold and sharp like shards of obsidian—pierced through her skull. It wasn’t just pain; it was the feeling of a soul being tethered to hers, the stolen essence of Alisha’s vision being forced into her empty orbs.

"Ah! Mathias... my eyes... they burn! What are you doing?" she gasped, her hands flying up to claw at his wrists.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he silenced her plea by crashing his lips against hers with a desperate, crushing intensity. It wasn’t a kiss of affection; it was a distraction, a violent anchor to keep her from spiraling into the agony of the transformation. He breathed the stolen light into her, his strength lifting her off the mattress as the magic finished its gruesome work.

He didn’t pull away until the last spark of the transfer was complete.

Olivia’s chest heaved, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps as her lungs fought for air. Her head was spinning, the world tilted on its axis. "What... what was that?" she wheezed, her voice shaking with a mix of fury and confusion. "Have you finally lost your mind? And why... why are you looking at me with that insufferable, confident smirk?"

Mathias let out a low, predatory chuckle, his eyes burning with a feverish, unholy triumph. He leaned back just enough for her to see the blood-splatter on his cheek in the dim light.

"So..." he whispered, his voice dripping with a terrifying satisfaction. "You can finally see me again, my dear wife."