Reincarnated as the Vampire Princess' Familiar
Chapter 40 - 39 - Traumas of a dark past

Chapter 40: 39 - Traumas of a dark past

«Even if you are not thirsty, drink some more. We don’t know when we will have the chance to feed again,» Ginevra urges me, handing me a glass bottle full of water.

Once we descended the steep staircase leading to the underground – with me on her shoulders, due to the sharp pain in my back caused by the recoil of Blood Word: Interius, which still prevents me from moving – we immediately locked ourselves inside a narrow and dark storage room, barely illuminated by the light of the few still-functioning lightbulbs filtering through the cracks in the door.

I am sitting with my back against the wall of the storage room, and Ginevra is sitting in the same way in front of me, but slightly shifted. We are tired, exhausted, our breaths short and heavy, as if we had just finished running the New York marathon. Our faces and clothes are blackened with dust and soaked in both human and non-human blood.

Beside us, part of the supplies meant to be prepared for the familiars: water, vegetables of dubious freshness and origin, and bread. Due to the predominant purplish color in most of Mildelar’s vegetation, almost all vegetables and their derivatives maintain that bizarre coloration: I still have not gotten used to eating bread with violet hues or fuchsia-colored lettuce.

Our plan is obviously to take advantage of this small momentary island of peace to recover our strength, then throw ourselves back into the chaos unfolding on the upper floors and save Luke, Gerard, and – of course – anyone else who can be saved. Ginevra, all things considered, is quite optimistic about the safety of our two friends; the high walls around the dormitory, as we had the chance to confirm by looking through the atrium’s window, are still intact – the vampires’ defense is holding, and it is truly ironic that, despite all the suffering and cruelty that the familiars endure from the vampires daily, everyone in here is cheering for them.

This means that – for now – only those annoying winged demons have managed to invade the dormitory, and – fortunately – their strength, according to my escape companion, is not enough to make her particularly worry about Luke’s life.

«My big brother is very strong, I’m sure he won’t let himself be killed so easily by those creatures,» that’s what she said, though – from her words – it seemed more like a phrase meant to convince herself rather than me.

Either way, Ginevra is right. I grab the bottle she is handing me, but as soon as I take it in my hand, the sharp pain intensifies, and I almost drop it to the ground.

«Can I ask you to show me your back?» Ginevra asks with a slight note of embarrassment, as if she had asked me something outrageous.

I agree, but taking off my tunic alone is a challenge, so, with complete naturalness, I delegate the task to her. Even this time, though – as she removes the upper part of my uniform – I notice a certain embarrassment in her, even more pronounced, a hesitation mixed with a slight tremor, almost as if she were scared.

Not that it surprises me, after all, I myself am beyond terrified by this absurd situation. Everyone reacts in their own way; she is probably processing it late.

I turn – with some difficulty – giving her my back.

«God...» she comments in a low voice.

That does not sound reassuring at all...

«Is it really that bad...?» I ask her uncertainly, intimidated by the concern in her voice.

«The muscles in your back have completely stiffened from the impact – not to mention the bruises and contusions – but fortunately, your spine still seems intact,» she replies, barely brushing my back with her fingertips.

At that touch – delicate and unexpected – I am struck by a shiver, a slight tremor, like a tickle.

«Did I hurt you?» she asks, worried, at the sight of my sudden jolt.

I shake my head, and she continues, «In cases like this, the only thing to do is a... a massage...» She pronounces that word with extreme effort. «...it won’t make the pain go away, but at least it will loosen the stiffened muscles, allowing you to move more easily.»

«I don’t want to be a killjoy,» I interrupt, doubtful. «But to perform massages in such delicate areas, one would need the proper knowledge to avoid making the situation worse.»

«Well, um... before dying, I was studying to become a doctor, and I often had internships in hospitals...» she responds, her voice now soft, timid, almost fearful, a far cry from the confident and determined Ginevra from earlier. «...I don’t consider myself an expert, but operations like this are not very difficult to perform...»

The hesitation in her voice does not particularly reassure me, but I have no choice but to trust her.

She has me lie face down – the storage room so small that my legs stick out through the door – and then, with a rather slow and careful movement, she straddles me, her knees resting at my sides, her bare thighs brushing against my ribs, making me shiver at every accidental touch – careful to keep herself raised and not press her body against my back.

«L-Lyon...» Ginevra murmurs. «I know this might seem like a ridiculous request, but... could you keep your eyes closed while I massage your back? I know it doesn’t make sense, but it’s important to me...»

In fact, it really is a ridiculous request. Right now, I am lying on my stomach, she is sitting behind me. From that position, she has no way of seeing whether my eyes are open or closed, so... why? But most importantly, why would it bother her if my eyes were open, considering that I can see nothing but water bottles and supply boxes in front of me?

«Alright, no problem,» I simply reply, avoiding showing the slightest perplexity and actually closing my eyes as she requested. For her to ask me to do such a thing, she must certainly have her reasons, and this is certainly not the time to meddle in her personal matters.

Then, her hands finally rest on my battered back, carefully pressing on different areas.

At that touch, I grit my teeth, trying to endure the pain as much as possible. Despite the lightness of her hands, the pain is sharp, coursing through my body at every slightest touch. But I must endure.

Finally, her touches turn into actual massages; slow, circular movements around my shoulder blades, then down along my spine, reaching my tailbone and then rising again to my shoulders, applying increasing but still controlled pressure.

Needless to say, throughout this process, the pain does not stop tormenting me for a single moment; it feels as if the entire musculature of my back is on fire, as if I were lying on burning embers. But it is a ridiculous suffering compared to what those outside are experiencing, and even daring to let out a single groan of complaint would undoubtedly be an indescribable shame and a grave disrespect to those truly suffering or – even worse – those who have already lost their lives in atrocious ways.

Through it all, Ginevra is immersed in absolute silence, certainly due to the concentration needed to correctly perform the muscle massage – a single mistake, and my motor functions could be severely compromised. But when the firmness in her hands begins to waver, when her slender yet hardened, calloused fingers, due to her harsh life devoted solely to combat, start tapping against my skin, almost as if seized by a sudden tremor, I realize that something is wrong.

A doubt that becomes certainty when her breathing – until now simply labored, like mine – turns irregular and forced, as if she were having an allergic reaction. And then...

PLIC. PLIC.

...small droplets begin to fall onto my back with increasing frequency.

«Ginevra... what’s happening...?» I ask her with evident concern, but she does not answer. Her heavy breathing turns into sobbing, as if holding back tears. Her trembling hands continue the massage for a few more seconds.

She does not answer, but her heavy breathing turns into sobbing, as if holding back tears. Her trembling hands continue the massage for a few more seconds, as if she were holding back from breaking into desperate sobs.

«T-This... should be enough to at least allow you to move...» she murmurs with difficulty – her words choked by sobs – then I feel her abruptly move off of me, like a sudden jerk backward.

At that point, I can no longer pretend not to notice.

I turn over, pushing myself up with my arms—now, after that miraculous massage, I can move with more ease, even though the pain is far from gone. And when I see her, my heart clenches; she is curled up in the corner of the storage room, knees pressed against her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them, while her face is a mask of terror and despair, as if she had been traumatized by something. Her wide, tear-filled eyes stare into nothingness.

Is it my fault...? Did I do something that scared her? And yet... I did exactly as she asked, I kept my eyes closed and barely even spoke. Why this reaction...?

I ask her that, but she shakes her head. «I-It’s not you, Lyon, you haven’t done anything...» she replies with a trembling voice, asking me—no, begging me—to put my clothes on again.

When I do, her anguish and incomprehensible fear seems to lessen slightly, as she closes her eyes and starts inhaling and exhaling deeply.

If I’m not the cause of this... maybe it’s due to some trauma inflicted by her cruel mistress—Countess Amelia Dulcar? Or maybe, a painful memory from before her death?

Whatever it is, I doubt she would tell me, and even if she wanted to, surely not at this moment.

After what feels like endless moments of absolute silence, interrupted only by distant, muffled screams and explosions echoing from above, Ginevra finally seems to regain her composure and determination.

«We’ve rested enough,» she states firmly, getting back on her feet as if nothing had happened. «Let’s go save them!»