The boy was the son of a butcher, deemed lower than a beast. The young mistress bought the dying boy for a single nyang. From that day forth, the young mistress became a god to the boy. A god to be worshipped, revered, and obeyed without question.

Years later, the grown young mistress said,

“I’m curious what it feels like to press lips together. So kiss me.”

“Yes, young mistress.”

“My chest feels ticklish and strange. Touch me here.”

“Yes, young mistress.”

He obeyed the absolute being.

Then a bloody calamity struck the young mistress’s household. She was taken as a concubine of her enemy, and he disappeared.

Years later, he returned—reborn as a hero of the battlefield.

The first thing he severed upon his return was the noble husband of the young mistress—the king’s head.

You obeyed like a dog, and I reigned like a sword. Even as I wondered whether you might someday bite me. Even as I knew my sword might one day cut myself. I couldn’t stop.

Even if everything were to turn to foam.

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