Chapter Text
Servilia慎重地戴上她的少女面具。
天鵝絨吻上她的臉龐，觸感柔軟而細緻，如同母親的抱擁，讓人得以卸下所有矜持與防備。Servilia閉上眼睛，放任自己墜入面具所帶來的安全感中……
她的身邊一片寂靜。
少女面具將來自風暴的血潮之聲阻絕在時光之河的彼端，阻止祂們向她提出任何要求。她睜開眼，望向鏡中的自己，縫隙之間的雙眸充滿了活力與激情，這雙眼睛屬於Servilia Monrogue，她正翹首以待，等著房門被所愛之人敲響。
她笑出聲，整了整身上為了約會而挑了幾個小時的白洋裝，在露出的脖頸噴上某人最喜歡的香水──前調是迷迭香、藏紅花帶著一絲紅茶香氣，不久後將勾出中調皮革混著菸草的氣息，Servilia Monrogue享受這種用情人的味道包裹住自己的感覺，感官織出的夢境讓她得以忽視任何祖先的責難與耳語──
畢竟Servilia Monrogue已經死了，就在風暴血潮灌滿她身體的那一天。死人是不需要對任何人負責的，幽靈只需要忠於自己！
叩叩叩，門響了。
Servilia Monrogue輕盈地從梳妝台前起身，打開堅固的橡木門，看見她最重要的人環著胸，板起臉抿著唇，一臉不悅地瞪著她。
「怎麼了，你不會還在生氣吧？」
她伸手把Cornelius拉進房裡，反手關上門。
「哦，好重的黑眼圈，真的整整一周沒闔眼呀……」
她踮起腳尖，將雙手環上男人的脖頸。男人的手跟著環上她的腰，把她拉得離自己更近了一些，力道大的讓她踉蹌一下，呵呵。
「好嘛，雖然那嚴格來說不是我燒掉的，但我向你道歉。你知道的，坦皮斯特皇后不可以隨便向人道歉，只能由我代勞……」
她讓天鵝絨面具的鼻子觸上Cornelius的鼻子，看見他瞇起眼。
「就由好心腸的Lady Monrogue來替Empress Servilia Tempest補償你……然後就不可以生氣囉？」
Cornelius在她脖子上咬了一口，哦，一把年紀了還這麼沒教養，但她喜歡。
「我早該知道皇后是不會承認自己有錯的。」
「尊貴的皇后永遠不犯錯，你只能退而求其次，懲罰可憐的Lady Monrogue。Lady Monrogue總會原諒你遷怒在她的身上所有行動，誰叫她希望你開心呢？」
她咯咯低笑，指尖挑動他襯衫的鈕扣，一顆兩顆三顆，直到他把她整個人抱起來，拋在床上。
「你就喜歡玩這種遊戲，你是故意惹我生氣的，是不是？」
「如果這會讓你心情好點，是的！你現在可以享受盡情生氣的感覺了，發洩一下吧，Cornelius！」她開懷大笑，「親愛的，你需要運動，需要激情！別每天埋在公文堆……你的手應該翻點更有意義的東西……」
她抓住他的手，掀起她的裙擺。當他把頭埋進裙子裡時，她笑個不停，房間裡都是她的笑聲，混雜著很快蔓延開來的呻吟。
是的，可憐的Servilia Monrogue，她生前從未如此快樂過。
這是唯有死去的Servilia Monrogue才能享受的放縱與激情。
她是一抹魅影，活在面具之下，偉大帝國的暗潮之中。她享受生前的她從未能享受的每一分每一秒，她歌頌這一切，在沉淪中嘲笑著風暴血潮起伏的蔑視與咒罵。唯有這些時光能支撐Empress Servilia Tempest度過那些叫人發瘋的夜晚，所以是的，沒有人能阻止Servilia Monrogue騎在Cornelius身上，尋求這些本該屬於他們卻被她親手毀棄的時光──
「Servilia……」
Cornelius貼在她耳邊，呼喚著他死去愛人的名字，深情而繾綣。經過一番發洩，他果然已經不生氣了，她知道這招總是有用的，遺憾與懊悔是他們之間最好的催情劑，Cornelius永遠不會真正怪罪Servilia Monrogue，他業已死去的戀人，百年來始終如此。
始終如此。
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※ The following translation was generated via ChatGPT. I've only done a quick check to make sure the meaning aligns with the original, without any extra editing. Feel free to refer to it if you find it helpful!
꧁༒☬ Maiden's Mask, also known as the Death Mask ☬༒꧂
Servilia carefully put on her maiden's mask.
Velvet kissed her face, soft and delicate to the touch, like a mother's embrace, allowing her to lay down every trace of reserve and vigilance. Servilia closed her eyes, surrendering herself to the sense of security the mask bestowed...
Silence surrounded her.
The maiden's mask shut out the roar of the Blood Tide of the Tempest, leaving it stranded on the far side of the River of Time and preventing Them from making any demands of her. She opened her eyes and looked at herself in the mirror. The eyes peering through the mask's openings brimmed with vitality and passion. Those eyes belonged to Servilia Monrogue, who waited expectantly for the knock of the one she loved upon her door.
She laughed softly and smoothed the white dress she had spent hours choosing for their date. Then she sprayed the perfume her beloved liked best onto the exposed skin of her neck—the top notes of rosemary and saffron carried the faint fragrance of black tea, soon giving way to a heart of leather laced with tobacco. Servilia Monrogue delighted in wrapping herself in her lover's scent. The dream woven by her senses allowed her to ignore every accusation and whisper from her ancestors—
After all, Servilia Monrogue had died on the day the Blood Tide of the Tempest flooded her body. The dead owed no one anything. A ghost needed only to remain true to herself!
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The door sounded.
Servilia Monrogue rose lightly from her vanity and opened the sturdy oak door. There stood the most important person in her life, arms folded across his chest, lips pressed into a thin line, glaring at her with obvious displeasure.
"What is it? You're not still angry, are you?"
She reached out, pulled Cornelius into the room, and shut the door behind them.
"Oh, those dark circles... You really haven't closed your eyes for an entire week."
Standing on tiptoe, she slipped her arms around the man's neck. His hands found her waist in turn, drawing her closer with such force that she stumbled into him.
"All right. Strictly speaking, I wasn't the one who burned it down, but I apologize anyway. You know how it is—the Empress Tempest can't simply apologize to people, so I'll do it on her behalf..."
She let the velvet nose of her mask brush against Cornelius's own, watching his eyes narrow.
"So let kind-hearted Lady Monrogue make amends to you in Empress Servilia Tempest's stead... and then you won't be allowed to stay angry anymore, all right?"
Cornelius bit her neck.
Oh, so uncivilized for a man his age.
But she liked it.
"I should've known the Empress would never admit she was wrong."
"The exalted Empress is never wrong. The next best thing you can do is punish poor Lady Monrogue instead. Lady Monrogue will always forgive every bit of misplaced anger you take out on her—after all, all she wants is for you to be happy."
She let out a soft, tinkling laugh, her fingertips teasing open the buttons of his shirt—one, two, three—until he swept her into his arms and tossed her onto the bed.
"You do so enjoy playing these little games. You’re trying to provoke me on purpose, aren't you?"
"If it'll make you feel better, then yes! Now you can enjoy being as angry as you like. Go on, let it all out, Cornelius!" she laughed brightly. "Darling, you need exercise. You need passion! Stop burying yourself in piles of paperwork every day... Your hands ought to be turning over something far more meaningful..."
She caught his hand and lifted her skirt. As he buried his head beneath it, she laughed without restraint, her laughter filling the room, soon mingling with the moans that spread through the air.
Yes, poor Servilia Monrogue had never been this happy while she was alive.
This was an indulgence and a passion that only the dead Servilia Monrogue could ever enjoy.
She was a phantom, living beneath a mask, hidden within the undercurrents of a great empire. She savored every single moment that her living self had never been able to taste. She sang the praises of it all, laughing in her own descent at the contempt and curses that rose and fell like blood-red Tempest tides. Only these stolen moments could sustain Empress Servilia Tempest through those maddening nights. So yes, no one could stop Servilia Monrogue from straddling Cornelius, seeking the time that should have belonged to them both, yet which she herself had destroyed—
“Servilia...”
Cornelius pressed close to her ear, whispering the name of his dead beloved with tenderness and aching devotion. After venting his emotions, he truly was no longer angry. She knew this always worked. Regret and remorse were the finest aphrodisiac between them. Cornelius would never truly blame Servilia Monrogue—his long-dead lover. For a hundred years, it had always been so.
Always.