A Witch Lives In The Emperor’s Bedroom

“You nasty lass!”

Inside a damp, gloomy underground dungeon. Rosalie, who was kneeling on the moldy ground, yelled violently till her veins pop out. Isabella’s expression remained unchanged as she stood upright and gazed down at Rosalie. She silently glanced at the woman’s comical appearance: soiled clothes, unkempt hair, and a face strewn with dust and blood.

“You’ll rot in hell!! Nobody will grieve your death! They’ll bless God, relieved that the devil has finally expelled her last breath!” Rosalie spit out venomous slurs and shook her entire body in wrath.

Isabella frowned slightly as she heard the shrill voice echoing through the dungeon.

“Rosalie. How can you be so cruel to your younger sister?

“You vicious bitch!” Rosalie threw herself towards Isabella, her teeth bared like a dog. However, her wrists and ankles, which were chained, attached to the wall, were yanked back, and she just tumbled backward.

“You f*cking bastard, go rot in hell!”

Isabella grinned as she heard Rosalie’s never-ending insults and then gradually went down on one knee. Rosalie’s hate, rage, and crushed pride grew apparent as their gazes met up close. 

Isabella was overjoyed with the view.

“How is it, Rosalie? How does it feel to be trapped hopelessly in a filthy basement?”

“Don’t make me laugh. Why am I imprisoned here? Why?! Don’t you dare look at me with those eyes! Die! Why don’t you f*cking die, Isabella!” Rosalie jerked, and her tense body trembled violently. 

‘Oh, I wish I could remember this moment for the rest of my life.’ For Isabella it was a waste to watch such a beautiful scene alone. She took a deep breath, attempting to remember this moment, including the aroma. Her nose was stimulated by a familiar musty odor. She smiled sweetly and opened her lovely lips. She extended her palm and directed it towards Rosalie’s cheek after taking in enough air to satisfy her. Rosalie clenched her eyes firmly, expecting a blow to land on her cheek, but Isabella only touched her face tenderly. Then she gently whispered,

“I’m truly sorry, Rose, but–”

“. . .”

“I came from hell.”

Rosalie’s face became increasingly contorted with terror.

“Why would I be afraid of going again?” A breathtaking murderous intent shone on Isabella’s face and blood-colored magic sprouted on her palms.

“Ahhhhhh!” Rosalie screamed with despair.

Isabella’s smile only widened, as though Rosalie’s fright was amusing.

There was nothing that could stop her at this point.