Vengeance Through Passion

Aricia had barely reached the entrance of the brothel when the quiet clatter of hooves caught her attention.

A carriage, unlike any other she had ever seen, came to a graceful halt just feet away from where she stood. It was a sight to behold—opulent, with sculpted designs that exuded wealth and privilege. The mahogany walls gleamed under the faint lamplight, every inch polished to perfection, and thick golden ropes adorned the sides, intricately woven like threads of sunlight.

Her eyes lingered on the horses, magnificent creatures trained to an unsettling precision. They didn’t merely stop; they knelt, their front legs dipping to the ground in a practiced show of elegance, as though even they understood the importance of the passenger they were carrying. The air felt heavier, tinged with the distinct scent of luxury that seemed foreign in this part of town.

Then, the door of the carriage opened. Aricia's breath caught in her throat as a figure emerged.

The woman who stepped out was nothing short of ethereal, like someone carved from the whispers of the gods themselves. Her long, cascading hair fell in soft waves to her knees, each curl perfectly formed, shimmering with a warm chestnut hue that caught the light. Her eyes—Aricia had never seen anything like them—burned orange, reminiscent of the setting sun dipping below the horizon, and they seemed to glow with an otherworldly warmth.

But there was no kindness in them, only a cold, detached serenity.

Her skin was like the moon itself, pale and radiant, glowing faintly as if touched by the night sky. Every movement she made was fluid, graceful, and yet calculated, her presence commanding the attention of everyone nearby.

The woman didn’t just walk; she seemed to glide toward the gate with a posture so refined that it made everything around her appear mundane in comparison.

Aricia’s gaze followed her, entranced, unable to pull away. There was a stillness to the woman’s face, an almost stoic quality that made her seem untouchable.

She wore her beauty, like armor, every feature perfectly in place, her expression indifferent to the world around her. An embodiment of poise and power, moving through the air as though she belonged to a higher realm altogether.

As the woman approached the gate of the brothel, her eyes fell on Aricia, but only briefly. It wasn’t a look of acknowledgment—more of disdain, as though Aricia’s very presence was a nuisance, an unfortunate obstacle in her otherwise flawless path.

“Get out of the way,” the woman said, her voice like silk, smooth yet cold. She raised one delicate hand, motioning at Aricia as though she were nothing more than an insect hovering too close to her food.

It wasn’t even a command, more of a dismissal, a subtle flick of her wrist that made Aricia feel smaller than she ever had before.

Aricia snapped out of her daze, the spell broken by the woman’s curt words.

She instinctively took a step back, her face flushing with embarrassment as she realized she had been standing in the way. But as fate would have it, her body, still exhausted from the day’s work, betrayed her.

Her foot caught on a loose stone, and in an instant, everything spiraled out of control.

Her arms flailed, trying to catch her balance, but it was too late. She slipped, her body tipping forward, and before she could even process what was happening, she collided with the woman—her weight crashing into her like a landslide.

The world seemed to slow down in that brief, horrifying moment. Aricia's heart pounded in her ears as she tumbled, dragging the ethereal woman down with her.

They both hit the ground hard. Aricia’s eyes widened in disbelief as she realized what had just happened. Flour—still clinging to her clothes from the bakery—puffed into the air, a cloud of white dust settling over the woman’s pristine form.

The delicate fabric of the woman’s elegant dress was now smeared with flour, her once-glowing appearance marred by the mess.

For a long, agonizing second, neither of them moved. Aricia’s body was frozen in place, her face hovering inches from the woman's, who lay beneath her in a tangled mess of flour and fabric.

The contrast between them was almost comical—Aricia, disheveled and dusted with flour, and the woman, who moments ago had been the epitome of perfection, now lying in the dirt, her beauty tarnished.

‘Oh no,’ Aricia thought, panic surging through her veins as she stared into the woman's orange eyes, which now flickered with a burning rage.

The silence was unbearable. The air around them seemed to thicken as bystanders, having witnessed the spectacle, fell into a hushed murmur of disbelief. The horses, sensing the disruption, snorted restlessly, shifting on their feet as if even they understood the gravity of the situation.

Aricia scrambled off the woman as quickly as she could, her heart racing with a mix of terror and shame. "I—I’m so sorry!" she stammered, her hands fumbling uselessly as she tried to brush the flour from the woman’s dress, only succeeding in making it worse.

The woman’s face remained unreadable for a moment, her lips pressed into a thin line as she slowly, gracefully, rose from the ground, dusting herself off with a deliberate, measured motion. Her eyes locked onto Aricia with a fury so controlled it was terrifying.

The woman said nothing. She simply looked at Aricia, her orange eyes glowing with a cold, fiery intensity that made Aricia’s blood run cold. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she spoke, her voice low and deadly calm.

"Who's is this unmistakable whore's bastard!"

She demanded.

"It would have been better to shove my face in a sea of garbage water. At least then, I would know its worth more ."

In that moment, Aricia grasped the gravity of Madame Freya's impeccable description. This was no ordinary noble; this was the infamous Ice Queen, the heir of the Air Element Clan. Her reputation loomed large, and Aricia now felt the full weight of just how formidable she truly was.

***

The next thing Aricia knew, rough hands gripped her arms and she was being dragged across the coarse stone floor of the brothel. Her legs scraped painfully against the ground, but her body was too exhausted to resist.

Within moments, she was unceremoniously tossed into the center of the grand hall, landing hard on the cold floor like discarded rubbish.

The room around her was nothing short of opulent. Gilded chandeliers hung from the ceiling, casting a golden glow over finely dressed nobles lounging in velvet chairs and sipping from crystal goblets. The air was thick with the smell of incense and rich perfume, but Aricia had no time to take it in. She could feel every eye in the room on her, like daggers aimed at her chest.

Above her, the Ice Queen’s voice sliced through the silence like a blade.

“This lowly miscreant dared to dirty my clothes—clothes that could buy her entire family—with her filthy self.”

Her words radiated with icy disdain, each one dripping with venom. The hall fell completely silent, the usual chatter and laughter dying in an instant as the nobles turned their attention to the spectacle unfolding before them.

Aricia’s hands balled into fists, her knuckles white against the stone floor. Her heart pounded in her chest, rage bubbling up beneath her skin at the mention of her family. And yet, Aricia remained still, biting down hard on her tongue to suppress the rising anger.

But to her surprise, the Ice Queen could really silence an entire room with a sentence. The tension in the air was tangible, everyone waiting for what was to come next.

Soon, whispers broke out among the gathered nobles. Their gazes flicked between Aricia and the woman towering above her, as if assessing whether she was worth their attention.

Some snickered behind raised hands, while others leaned in close to one another, murmuring about how foolish she was to provoke someone of such standing. Aricia could feel the weight of their judgment pressing down on her, suffocating in its cruelty.

The Ice Queen wasn’t finished. Her lips twisted into a cruel smile as she stepped forward, her long cloak sweeping the floor behind her.

“I ought to silence her for eternity,” she continued, her voice dripping with malice. “But I do not want to dirty my hands. I ask that one of you do the honors. I couldn’t care less, the manner in which the task is done.”

At once, the room buzzed with energy. Nobles who had moments ago been lounging lazily in their seats now leapt to their feet, eager to prove their loyalty to the Ice Queen. Volunteers erupted from the crowd like eager hounds at the scent of blood.

Of course, they would clamor for the chance to kill someone like her—someone from the lower class, someone without status or wealth. It was a game to them, a sport in which her life was just a pawn.

Merchants, soldiers, and sycophants alike—people who had nothing to lose but everything to gain by currying favor with the powerful—began to draw their swords, their eyes gleaming with bloodlust. Aricia’s heart pounded in her chest.

The sound of blades being unsheathed echoed throughout the hall, a chilling symphony of metal against leather. Yet, the Ice Queen wasn’t done with her cruelty. She looked down at Aricia, her orange eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

“That reminds me,” she said softly, her voice like a winter breeze, deceptively calm yet dangerous. “You did not bow before me when I stood just inches from you. Not only are you filthy, but you are also disrespectful, a loathsome combination.”

Her words stung, each one a lash against Aricia’s pride. She hissed under her breath, her expression hardening with anger.

Before Aricia could respond, the Ice Queen’s hand shot out, gripping her by the collar and yanking her to her feet. The woman’s strength was surprising, her slender frame belying the force behind her actions. Aricia staggered, barely able to find her footing, and just as quickly, her legs buckled. She collapsed back to the ground, her knees striking the hard stone with a painful thud.

“Idiot!” the Ice Queen spat, her patience clearly wearing thin. “I said, BOW BEFORE ME!”

Her voice reverberated through the room, the sheer command behind it making the walls seem to tremble. The nobles watched with rapt attention, their faces twisted in malicious glee as the scene unfolded before them. The tension in the air was suffocating, a mixture of fear and morbid fascination.

Aricia gritted her teeth, her body aching from the abuse, but she refused to bow.

She was even more captivated than her audience, a mixture of fascination and disbelief coursing through her. Aricia hadn’t realized her pride could be so threatening. She understood the value of self-respect, but in this moment, it felt like sheer folly.

The realization struck her—there was a fine line between dignity and recklessness, and she was dancing dangerously close to the edge.

The Ice Queen’s eyes flashed with fury. Her hand rose into the air, poised to strike Aricia across the face, the raised hand hovering in the air like a pendulum about to drop. Aricia braced herself, ready for the impact, her heart pounding in her chest.

Time seemed to blur. But before the blow could land, another voice rang out, cutting through the room like a crack of thunder, a voice, far more powerful, cut through the tension, each word laced with sharp, effortless authority. It snapped through the room with

an undercurrent of metaphoric contempt so palpable, it silenced everything in an instant. Two words.

“Shut it.”