“Abigail, thank you, but what you’re doing to me is very cruel.” Khanyi interrupted her, her emotions uncontrollably agitated. “Please don’t give me hope anymore; I… want to die.”
“Why die? I don’t believe that when people die, they still have souls. Besides, there are already enough dead people.” Abigail’s face was stern, but her eyes were clearly red. After saying this, she capped the ointment and turned to leave.
Khanyi lowered her gaze, knowing that everyone was mourning the death of the little gardener, Charles. These servants could turn a blind eye to the slaughter happening outside the mansion, but his death occurred right beside them; he was their companion and friend.
Everyone has a soft spot in their hearts, but his heart did not, mirroring his cold gaze, a bottomless abyss of darkness. She even doubted whether he had a heart. The deaths of Dr. Harrison and Charles were blood debts on his conscience. Did he not fear the judgment day…The ointment was effective; three days later, her hands were no longer red and swollen, and the pain had lessened significantly, allowing her to curl her fingers slightly. She had been lying in bed for these days, and Abigail had not made her do any work. Occasionally, someone would come to bring her food and water. She was certain that the devil would not let her off so easily.
“The elegant black knight of Atlantis”—the Führer’s tailor and the bespectacled senior officer of the SS called out his nickname in unison. They prided themselves on being descendants of the lost Atlantis civilization. Indeed, he was a ghostly black knight, the tyrannical lord of lightning, mercilessly destroying all obstacles. He was madly seeking revenge on her because she had thwarted his plans; he had not possessed her in the way he had intended.
Khanyi’s gaze fixed on the half-window ledge in the basement, where there should have been a pot of white flowers, now empty. He was too powerful; in comparison, she was so weak. But the only thing she could do was not let him have his way. She just didn’t know how long her body and will could hold out…
“General, Mr. Miller has arrived.” Lieutenant Jacob reported softly.
“Let him in.” He stopped writing, lifted his head from the documents, and smiled at his adjutant.
The small man named Miller first presented a beautifully bound book in sheepskin. His long fingers flipped through the thick volume, and his ice-blue eyes sparkled. “Miller, are these all your works? They are beautiful, like pieces of art.”
“Yes, General, this is an art in itself.” A proud and self-satisfied expression appeared on Miller’s face, smiling without a hint of flattery.
He raised his head and returned a smile of appreciation. “Yes, an art that transcends all others; it has life and soul.”
“You truly are an expert; I feel very honored to serve you. So, General Ryan, have you chosen a pattern? Also, where do you plan to have it inked?”
“Jacob, bring in my little angel. You see, it’s her.”
Miller looked toward the door, where the tall, thin Lieutenant Jacob was bringing in a slender girl. She had black hair and black eyes. Her figure was slim and graceful, with a beauty and delicacy that European women lacked. But what attracted him most was her skin, pure white as porcelain, delicate as fat…
“She is truly beautiful!” he exclaimed exaggeratedly, his expression like that of someone admiring a rare piece of art.
Khanyi was brought here, unsure of what he intended to do. She caught sight of the large poplar wood table in the reception room, which was covered with many steel needles that looked like medical instruments, and this strange, thin man, so gaunt, with piercing eyes that seemed to penetrate her clothes and stab directly into her flesh.
He stepped closer to her, one hand pressing on her shoulder while the other measured her left chest. “Here, I want a lightning symbol,” he said, then turned her body slightly and pointed at her shoulder blade. “Here, I want a family crest, the emblem of my family. Look, it’s this.” He pointed to a wolf’s head design placed on the table.
“Oh, your design is perfect!” Miller clasped his hands together, genuinely admiring it.
Khanyi finally understood his intentions and realized what this thin, eccentric man was doing. Those steel needles were not medical instruments; they were tattooing tools. He intended to ink that wicked symbol on her body. She wanted to struggle, to resist, but the cup of warm water mixed with anesthetic that Lieutenant Jacob had made her drink had already clouded her senses, and she finally succumbed and fainted…
……
He pierced her skin with needle after needle, continuously pressing cotton balls against the blood that oozed out.
……
“Finally done.” Miller admired his work.
“Very good.” He stood behind this unique artist, softly praising.
