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The salt stung her throat before consciousness fully returned.
Maelle coughed hard, seawater spilling from her lips in a thin, bitter rush. She turned onto her side, sand sticking to her wet cheek and tangled hair. The sky above had deepened into bruised violet and burnt amber—twilight settling fast over the small island like a closing curtain.
A shadow blocked the fading light.
“Maelle.”
Verso’s voice was low, frayed at the edges. He knelt beside her, one knee sinking into the damp sand. His dark coat clung to his frame, soaked through, and a shallow cut along his temple still bled in a slow, diluted trickle. His storm-colored eyes searched her face with an intensity that felt heavier than the sea they had just survived.
She remembered fragments: they had all been flying on Esquie’s back when the colossal Nevron suddenly burst from the churning waves. They barely had time to react before the creature swung its massive arm, swatting them off Esquie’s back like mere insects. Esquie had managed to catch Lune, Sciel, and Monoko in the chaos, but she and Verso were thrown far away, plummeting helplessly into the cold, violent sea.
She spat out the last of the seawater and managed a weak smile.
“Looks like we got separated… again,” she murmured, voice hoarse. “You’re hurt.”
Verso exhaled through his nose, something like relief flickering across his usually guarded features. He offered his hand—long fingers steady despite the tremor she could feel beneath his skin.
“Can you stand? We need to move. It’s getting dark, and the tide’s coming in.”
Maelle took his hand. He pulled her up carefully, but she still swayed, catching herself against his chest. For a moment her forehead rested against the wet fabric of his shirt. He smelled of salt and ozone, with the faint undertone of his own body.
She jerked back as if burned, her cheeks flushing hot with embarrassment.
“Thank you,” she mumbled, unable to meet his eyes.
Verso’s jaw tightened. His hand lingered at her waist a second longer than necessary before he finally stepped back.
“We need to find shelter for the night,” he said, his voice rough but calm. “In the morning we’ll think about how to find the others.”
They began walking deeper into the island, moving away from the shore. The island was smaller than it had first seemed, but the vegetation was strange — twisted trees with silvery leaves that shimmered even in the dim light, and clusters of glowing blue flowers that pulsed faintly like living lanterns. The air felt thick, heavy with salt and the sweet, unfamiliar scent of unknown plants.
After a few minutes of silence, Maelle spoke, her voice quiet, almost shy.
“I’m glad it’s you,” she said, not looking at him. “That I’m not alone here. I… I don’t know what I’d do if it was just me.”
Verso glanced at her. A soft, thoughtful smile touched his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was something distant in his gaze, as if her words had stirred memories he wasn’t ready to share.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gently placed a hand on her lower back, guiding her around a cluster of thick, luminous vines.
“You won’t have to find out,” he finally said, his voice low. “We’re in this together.”
They continued deeper into the island, the strange glowing flora growing denser around them. Just as the last traces of daylight began to fade, Maelle suddenly froze.
Ahead, half-hidden by twisted silvery trees, rose an unexpected structure.
The orangery appeared like a half-forgotten memory given form — its cracked glass dome catching the bruised purple light of dusk. Some panes were missing entirely, replaced by thick, living vines that pulsed with a faint golden luminescence.
Verso stopped beside her, his body instantly alert. He scanned the interior through the broken entrance with narrowed eyes.
“I’ll look for wood—broken shelving, dry branches, anything that’ll burn,” he said, voice low and controlled. “Wait here. Don’t wander too far.”
Maelle nodded at first, but the moment his back turned, she slipped deeper inside anyway. She wasn’t helpless, and the cut on his forehead had started bleeding again during their walk. She needed to be useful.
In a small side room that had once been a potting shed, Maelle opened an old wooden cabinet. Inside, on the middle shelf, she found a weathered first-aid box. Among its dusty contents lay a roll of relatively clean bandage cloth and a small bottle of diluted antiseptic.
As she was about to close the door, her fingers brushed against a folded piece of paper tucked deep in the corner. She pulled it out carefully.
The note was written in elegant, slightly trembling handwriting:
“Yellow flowers bloom where her gaze lingers, carrying the soft hue of her unspoken sorrow. Ah, if only she knew the depth of my yearning, the quiet fire of my desires… Would her heart grow heavier still, or might she find even a fragile thread of happiness? For her, I will paint these golden blossoms again and again — only for her.”
The rest of the words were blurred by moisture and time, fading into illegible stains.
Maelle stared at the note, a strange curiosity stirring inside her. Who had written this? And who was the woman he longed for so deeply? The quiet melancholy of the words lingered in her chest.
Suddenly, a faint noise came from the main hall — a soft creak, like footsteps on old wood.
When she returned to the main hall, Verso was already back, stacking broken wooden slats and dry vines into a careful pile. A small fire crackled to life between them, casting warm, flickering light across the glass walls and the massive, glowing flowers. Their clothes had dried enough during the walk that the chill had left their skin, though the fabric still clung in places.
Maelle approached him with quiet determination.
“Sit down,” she said softly. “It’s still bleeding.”
Verso glanced up at her, the firelight sharpening the angles of his face. For a moment something unreadable flickered in his eyes—something darker than mere exhaustion. But he gave a short, dry laugh and lowered himself onto an old stone bench.
“Another scar won’t kill me, Maelle. I’ve collected plenty.”
She smiled, stepping between his knees so she could reach his forehead properly. The fire warmed her back as she dabbed gently at the cut with the cloth.
“You already look plenty masculine,” she teased lightly, her voice warm with affection. “No need to add more just to prove it.”
Verso’s breath hitched as her fingers brushed his skin. The contact was innocent—careful, almost tender—but it sent a sudden, violent surge through him. Heat flooded his veins like liquid fire. His pulse roared in his ears. The pollen he had walked through earlier while searching for wood had already begun its work, sinking deep into his blood, twisting every suppressed hunger he carried for her into something sharp and demanding.
He tensed under her touch, muscles locking.
Maelle paused.
“Did I hurt you?”
Before she could pull away, his hand shot up—fast, almost too fast—and caught her wrist. His fingers burned against her skin. For a long second he simply held her there, staring at the delicate pulse point beneath his thumb.
Then he brought her wrist to his lips and kissed it.
Not a gentle brush. A slow, deliberate press of his mouth—hot, open, lingering. His breath trembled against her skin as he inhaled the scent of her.
“Maelle…” His voice was lower now, rougher. “You should be more careful around me tonight.”
He didn’t let go of her wrist. The fire crackled between them, and somewhere behind her, another heavy flower pulsed with soft golden light.
Maelle frowned, a small crease forming between her brows, but she forced a gentle smile anyway, trying to ease the sudden tension that had thickened the air between them.
“I’m not afraid of you, Verso,” she said softly, her voice warm with stubborn affection. “I never have been.”
His grip on her wrist tightened for a heartbeat, then loosened. He looked up at her, and the sight made something twist in her chest. His face was flushed, a deep, unnatural red burning across his cheekbones. His breathing had grown heavier, almost labored, and his eyes now gleamed with a feverish, unsettling light.
“But you should be,” he rasped. The words seemed to cost him. “Something’s wrong with me. The air here… the flowers. I can feel it crawling under my skin.” He swallowed hard. “Go back to that small room. The one with the cabinet. Lock the door and don’t open it. No matter what I say. No matter what you hear.”
Maelle hesitated, searching his face. The seriousness in his voice, the way his hands trembled where they touched her, convinced her more than any explanation could. She nodded slowly.
“Alright. If that’s what you need.”
She slipped away from him, retreating into the small side room. The heavy wooden door clicked shut behind her. There was an old iron bolt; she slid it into place with a dull thud. Then she sank down to the floor, back pressed against the door, knees drawn up to her chest. The firelight from the main hall filtered through the narrow gap beneath the door, casting faint, dancing shadows.
On the other side, she heard Verso move. A soft scrape of fabric as he slid down to sit with his back against the same door. Only inches of wood separated them now.
For a long moment, there was only the crackle of the fire and the sound of his ragged breathing.
Maelle spoke first, gentle, trying to anchor him.
“What’s your favorite flower, Verso?”
A low, tired chuckle came from the other side. When he answered, his voice was almost normal again—dry, a little distant, the way it usually was during their quiet conversations on the road.
“I’m not much of a flower person. My… mother loved them, though. The house was always full of vases. She’d spend hours arranging them… as if color and order could fix everything else.”
Maelle smiled faintly in the dark.
“I love yellow roses,” she said. “Bright ones, almost golden. The paradox is that back in Gommage they only ever grew white and red. Never yellow. I used to imagine what fields of them would look like.”
They kept talking like that—small, safe things. The ridiculous way Lune always made notes about world around. How Sciel’s laugh could cut through the worst moods. For a while, Verso sounded almost like himself again: calm, slightly sardonic, the familiar dry humor threading through his words. The feverish edge in his voice receded, lulled by the ordinary rhythm of conversation.
Maelle’s eyelids grew heavy. The exhaustion of the battle, the fall into the sea, the long walk—all of it settled over her like a thick blanket. Her head tipped back against the door.
“Verso…” she murmured sleepily. “You’ll be alright, won’t you?”
There was a long pause.
“Go to sleep, Maelle,” he said quietly. “I’ll be right here.”
She didn’t hear the way his voice cracked at the end. Didn’t see how his fists clenched against his thighs as another violent wave of heat tore through him, worse than before.
He pressed his forehead against the wood, breathing hard through his teeth.
And listened to the soft sound of her breathing as she finally drifted off.
Maelle woke abruptly, her heart hammering against her ribs.
The fire had burned low, casting long, uneasy shadows across the glass walls. At first there was only silence—then a low, guttural sound tore through it. A deep, pained groan, raw and animalistic, like someone being torn apart from the inside. It came from the main hall.
Verso.
She remembered his warning.
Don’t open the door. No matter what you hear.
Her hand hovered over the iron bolt, trembling. The sound came again—deeper this time, almost a broken growl mixed with a desperate exhale. It twisted something painful in her chest.
“Verso…?” she whispered.
Another agonized moan, longer, wetter. It sounded like he was suffering horribly.
She couldn’t bear it.
With shaking fingers she slid the bolt back and cracked the door open. The main hall was empty. The fire crackled weakly. No sign of him.
She slipped out, her footsteps utterly silent on the stone.
“Verso?” she called again, softer.
The groans had stopped.
She took a few hesitant steps forward, eyes darting between the massive glowing flowers and the dark corners of the orangery. The sweet, heavy scent in the air felt thicker now, almost suffocating.
Then he was on her.
Verso surged out from behind a corner like a predator, slamming her back against the glass wall with a dull thud. The breath left her lungs in a sharp gasp. He was burning hot, feverish, his bare chest pressing hard against her. He had torn off his shirt at some point; his skin was slick with sweat, muscles taut and trembling under the strain of whatever war was raging inside him. He had to bend down to cage her properly—she was so much smaller, and the difference in height only made the moment more overwhelming.
His face hovered inches from hers, eyes wild and glassy, pupils blown wide with lust and torment.
“I asked you not to go out, ma petite fleur…” he breathed against her lips, voice hoarse and broken.
Maelle froze, stunned. Her hands came up instinctively to press against his chest, but he was solid, unmovable.
“Verso… what are you doing?” she whispered, voice small and confused. “You’re scaring me.”
His answer was not in words.
His hands dropped to her hips, sliding down to grip her ass with blatant, hungry possession. He squeezed hard, fingers digging into the soft flesh through her clothes, pulling her flush against the thick, unmistakable ridge of his erection straining in his pants. One bold hand slipped lower, brushing deliberately between her legs, pressing the seam of her trousers right against her core.
Maelle gasped sharply and tried to twist away, panic flashing through her.
“Verso—stop!”
She pushed at his shoulders, but he only pinned her harder against the wall with his body, breathing heavily against her neck. For a few seconds his grip was almost bruising.
Then he saw the real fear in her eyes, the tears gathering at her lashes.
He froze.
His hands loosened slightly, and for a moment something like regret flickered across his face. His forehead dropped to her shoulder as he exhaled shakily.
“I… fuck,” he whispered.
But the relief was short-lived. Something dark and primal surged inside him — a raw, long-suppressed hunger that had been building for far too long. It pushed him forward, whispering that he should just take what he wanted, that he had waited enough.
Verso lifted his gaze to her face. His breathing was heavy, uneven. For a few heartbeats he seemed to be fighting himself. Then he slowly raised his hand and cupped her cheek, his touch almost gentle. His thumb brushed over her lower lip, lingering there, as if memorizing its softness.
His palm slid down — along the delicate line of her neck, over her collarbone, until it covered her small breast through the thin fabric of her blouse. He squeezed it possessively, his thumb stroking across her nipple.
Maelle’s voice shook with fear and anger.
“If you do this, I’ll fight you every second,” she hissed. “I swear I will.”
Verso let out a low, dark chuckle, his eyes hooded.
“You can fight all you want, little one. I’m immortal. You’d only tire yourself out.”
Without warning, he grabbed the front of her blouse and ripped it open with one brutal tug. The fabric tore loudly, exposing her breasts to the cool air.
Maelle cried out and immediately started struggling, pushing hard against his chest, twisting in his grip.
“Stop! Verso, let me go—!”
He tried to kiss her, capturing her face with both hands, but she frantically turned away, her lips brushing against his cheek instead of his mouth.
“Please… don’t do this,” she begged, voice breaking.
He pressed his forehead against her temple, breathing hard.
“I know you want me too.”
He finally said it, the words he had buried for so long.
“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice. The way your breath catches when I stand too close. You can lie to yourself… but not to me.”
“No, I don’t…” she whispered.
But Verso interrupted her, pushing his knee between her thighs and pressing it firmly up against her core. Maelle gasped sharply — a startled, involuntary sound that was far too close to a moan.
Verso stilled for half a second, feeling the sudden heat and slight tremble of her body against his leg. A dark, satisfied smile touched his lips.
“…See?” he murmured, voice thick with lust. “Your body doesn’t lie.”
He rocked his knee slowly against her, rubbing the seam of her trousers firmly against her clit. One hand kneaded her bare breast, pinching her nipple, as the other held her wrists above her head.
Despite herself, soft, humiliated whimpers began escaping Maelle’s lips. Each sound only seemed to fuel him more.
Verso pulled back slightly, looking at her flushed face. His hand released her wrists and gently caught her chin. This time, when he leaned in, she didn’t turn away. He kissed her — surprisingly soft at first, almost tender. His lips moved against hers with restrained hunger. Maelle didn’t kiss him back, but she also didn’t bite. She simply endured it, trembling.
The moment he deepened the kiss, distracted by the taste of her, Maelle’s knee jerked up sharply, slamming hard between his legs.
Verso grunted in pain and staggered back a step, releasing her. For a brief second, freedom flashed before her.
She bolted.
She barely made it three steps before his hand snapped out and caught her wrist. He yanked her back with brutal force. Maelle hissed and twisted like a wildcat, clawing at his face and arms, nails leaving red streaks on his skin.
“Get off me!”
But he was stronger. He spun her around and slammed her back against his chest, twisting her arms behind her and pinning them with one large hand. He shoved her forward until her hips hit the old wooden table. Several dusty vases wobbled and crashed to the floor, shattering loudly.
Verso pressed against her from behind, his hard, throbbing cock grinding against her ass through their clothes. Maelle froze, panic surging through her as she felt just how aroused he was.
“No… please, Verso—don’t—”
His free hand slid around her waist, popped the button of her trousers and shoved straight inside, beneath her underwear. His fingers found her immediately — slick, hot, and shamefully wet. But she was also incredibly tight, almost clenched shut from fear and tension.
He let out a low, guttural groan against her ear.
“Fuck… you’re soaked,” he breathed, voice dark with lust.
Maelle whimpered in humiliation. No one had ever touched her like this. The few times she had dared to touch herself, it had always been rushed and mechanical, and since the expedition began she hadn’t had a single moment of privacy. Now his fingers were sliding through her soaked folds, spreading her wetness, teasing her entrance, and she couldn’t suppress the shameful tremors running through her body.
Verso didn’t waste another second. Without warning, he pushed two fingers deep inside her, forcing his way into her tight, unwilling heat. Maelle cried out, but the sound was instantly muffled as he slid the fingers of his other hand between her lips, filling her mouth.
“Shh,” he growled against her ear.
She gagged slightly around his fingers, saliva already coating them. Though her hands were now free, she could only clutch desperately at his forearm, nails digging into his skin, but she no longer had the strength to fight. Her body had stopped thrashing. Tears streamed silently down her flushed cheeks.
He pressed his chest firmly against her back, almost embracing her, while his fingers pumped into her soaked pussy, stretching her. He curled them, stroking that sensitive spot inside her with ruthless precision. His mouth moved over her cheek, kissing away some of her tears, then trailed down to her neck, sucking and biting.
“I’m sorry…” he suddenly whispered hoarsely against her ear, voice raw. “Alicia…”
Maelle’s eyes widened slightly at the unfamiliar name. Alicia. He was delirious. The thought gave her a strange, detached hope — maybe if he finished, the fog in his mind would clear and he’d come back to himself. She just had to endure it. Just endure.
His fingers moved faster, wet sounds filling the small room with every thrust. Despite the humiliation and pain, unbearable pleasure began to coil tight in her belly. Her walls fluttered around his invading fingers, and soon her hips started moving involuntarily against his hand. A broken, muffled moan escaped around his fingers in her mouth as the orgasm crashed into her. Her whole body tensed, then trembled hard, fresh tears spilling from her eyes as she came.
Only when her spasms finally subsided did Verso pull his fingers from her dripping cunt. He yanked her trousers and underwear down roughly to her knees, then bent her forward over the table with a firm hand between her shoulder blades. Maelle’s chest pressed against the cold surface as he positioned himself behind her.
Freeing his heavy, aching cock, he stroked it once before dragging the thick head along her soaked folds. He repeated the motion slowly, teasingly — sliding up and down, coating himself in her slickness and brushing against her swollen clit with every pass. Maelle shivered and whimpered, her body still sensitive and trembling.
Then, without any further warning, he gripped her hips with bruising force and thrust forward, burying himself deep inside her in one brutal stroke. She cried out at the sudden, painful stretch — he was big, and she was still clenching from the aftershocks of her orgasm. But Verso didn’t stop. A deep, guttural groan tore from his throat as her tight heat enveloped him. Eyes half-lidded with raw lust, he began to move — hard, deep, and merciless, chasing his release with single-minded intensity.
Verso’s thrusts grew erratic, desperate. He knew this was wrong — catastrophically wrong. Somewhere deep inside his clouded mind a voice screamed at him to stop, but the fire in his blood was stronger. She was so tight, so warm, so devastatingly soft around him. He couldn’t hold back.
He slammed into her one last time and came hard, spilling deep inside her in thick, pulsing ropes. He pressed his chest tightly against her back, almost crushing her against the table, hips jerking as he emptied himself completely, as if trying to mark her from the inside.
Maelle kept her eyes squeezed shut the entire time, biting down hard on her lip until she tasted blood. The pain was sharp and burning, but she tried to disappear inside her own mind — anywhere but here. When she finally felt him throbbing and flooding her, reality crashed back in.
He really did it.
Nausea rose in her throat. Her ears began to ring. All those filthy words he had whispered, the way he had touched her, the way he had taken her… it all hit her at once.
Verso stayed buried inside her for a few long seconds, breathing like a wounded animal against her neck. Then he slowly pulled out and staggered back until his shoulders hit the wall. He slid down slightly, chest heaving, eyes unfocused.
Maelle remained bent over the table for a moment longer, trembling. Then she pushed herself up on shaky arms. Her torn blouse hung open, her trousers bunched around her ankles. She turned around slowly.
Thick streaks of his cum were already running down the inside of her thighs — obscene, glistening evidence of what he had done.
For several seconds she just stared at him, breathing shallow and ragged. Her eyes filled with fresh tears, but this time they weren’t just from fear.
“You…” her voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “How could you?”
The words came out small, broken, full of raw betrayal and disbelief. She looked down at the mess between her legs, then back at him. Her lower lip trembled.
“I trusted you…” she whispered, voice shaking with growing hysteria. “I was glad it was you. And you… you did this to me.”
She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to cover her exposed body, but it was useless. The shame, the violation, and the deep, aching hurt collided inside her chest. She looked so small, so devastated, standing there half-naked with his seed still leaking out of her.
Verso stared at her — at the tears, at the cum on her thighs, at the way she was shaking. The fog in his mind was slowly beginning to clear, and what replaced it was something far worse.
Horror.
“Maelle…” he whispered, his chest tightened painfully. “I’m sorry… Maelle.”
She didn’t answer. With trembling hands she tried to pull the torn edges of her blouse together, but the fabric was ruined. She managed only to cover herself partially, her movements jerky and humiliated. His cum continued to slowly trickle down her inner thighs.
Verso fastened his trousers with shaking fingers and took a hesitant step toward her, legs unsteady.
She lifted her gaze. Her eyes were red, wet, and filled with such raw pain that it felt like a knife twisting in his gut.
“I really did like you,” she said quietly, her voice cracking. “I trusted you. But not… not like this. It shouldn’t have happened like this.”
The words hit him harder than any blow. Something inside Verso shattered. For a moment he couldn’t breathe. All the long-suppressed feelings, the quiet affection he had carried for her, now lay in ruins between them.
He bent down and picked up his cloak from the floor, then approached her again, slowly, as if she were a wounded animal ready to bolt.
“Let me…” he started, wanting to drape the cloak over her shoulders.
But Maelle flinched violently and stepped back, shaking her head again and again. She raised her hands to cover her face, shoulders trembling.
“Don’t touch me,” she whispered through her fingers, voice muffled and broken. “Please… just don’t.”
Verso froze, the cloak hanging uselessly in his hands. The silence that followed was heavier than anything he had ever felt. He stood there, watching the woman he had wanted for so long now shrink away from him in disgust and pain — and knew, with cruel clarity, that he had just destroyed the only thing that had ever truly mattered to him.
He wanted to say a thousand things — that he hated himself, that he would give anything to take it back, that the pollen had poisoned him but he was the one who had failed her. But none of the words came. They all felt too small.
In the end, he simply lowered his head, the cloak slipping from his fingers to the floor.
“I know,” he whispered.
And for the first time in a very long time, Verso looked truly broken.