Swan Grave - Chapter 3

As Anna bit down on her lips, racking her brain over what to do next, her sharpened ears caught the faint rustle of fabric. Then came the crumpling of cloth, followed by a man’s long sigh as if he had just eased his tension.

“Haa…”

The guttural rumble of his throat clung to her ears like the growl of a beast. Goosebumps prickled over her skin. The continued sound of friction, the sticky breaths, made Anna raise her head before she realized it. Through the narrow gap in the curtain, she caught a faint glimpse, one she could hardly believe.

Rothbart’s hand was caressing his own front. His fingers moved slowly over the bulge in his trousers, the meaning behind it shamelessly clear. Anna forgot even to avert her eyes, staring blankly at the sight.

She was not so dull as not to understand what he was doing. There he stood before the fireplace, rubbing his face into the Marchioness’s portrait while pleasuring himself.

Soon, with rough, hurried hands, he unfastened the buckle of his trousers. The ornate golden clasp shimmered faintly in the dark with every movement.

Then, from the loosened opening of his trousers, something emerged. Long, thick… a presence so blatant that even the darkness could not conceal it. For Anna, it was the first time seeing a man’s penis in reality.

At his obscene act, Anna nearly screamed, but she managed to smother the sound with her hand. Holding her breath, she crouched and quietly watched his actions. Her eyes, nailed in place, followed the movements of his hand as though entranced.

Then he spat crudely onto his palm. For someone whose appearance alone embodied nobility, whose manner in this room had been almost obsessively fastidious, this vulgar act was so out of place that Anna’s mouth went dry.

Using the spit as lubrication, he grasped his cock and pumped roughly. Even with his large hand, it took time for his palm to pass from tip to base.

With every stroke, precum oozed from the swollen tip and dripped to the floor. He pressed his large frame against the canvas, as though trying to pull the figure within out, or force himself into the painting, groaning all the while.

“You must be glad like this, aren’t you? Hm? You were always that way. Pretending as though you would give me everything, yet in the end, slipping away from me…”

His cracked voice was both desperate and furious, burning with passion and bitterness. Even knowing it was the Marchioness in the portrait he pleaded with, his voice clung to Anna’s ears like pounding on iron, sticky and inescapable.

Among the maids, some argued whether the Marquess still truly loved his dead wife, or whether he merely pretended to. But in this moment, Anna was certain of the truth: nothing could ever replace her for him.

To him, the woman beyond the portrait was, even without flesh, a temptress who bewitched his soul, a sanctuary intoxicating his mind.

The nobleman who prided himself more than anyone on his austerity was now masturbating to the memory of his dead wife. This act, at once tender and obscene, stirred something hidden deep in Anna’s own nature, awakening a voyeuristic thrill. Heat flushed through her body, her lower belly aching.

But she had never before felt such arousal. She convinced herself that this sudden pressure in her body was nothing more than the urge to relieve herself. She only wished Rothbart would finish soon and leave the room. Twisting her thighs together, she bit down hard on her lips.

At that moment, Rothbart let out a low, stifled moan.

“Haa, Ianna…”

The single word struck her like a bolt of lightning, piercing her head and slamming into her heart. Anna’s true name was “Ianna.” And strangely, it seemed the Marchioness had borne the same name.

Though uncommon, it was not entirely unique. Perhaps the foreign Marchioness had chosen it as a false name to suit this place. Just like how her boyfriend Sehyun was now called Joseph here…

Considering the possibilities, it was entirely plausible that the Marchioness had borne the same name as her. Anna clutched her pounding chest, startled by the sudden coincidence.

But every time Rothbart called out “Ianna” in that vulgar voice, she could not dismiss the illusion that he was fiercely desiring her instead. Calm composure was impossible.

Whether it was because she was inside the curtain or because her mouth remained pressed shut, her breathing became stifled. The sweet, seductive fragrance of the incense teased her nostrils. That scent, hovering just at the edge of her nose, seemed to paralyze her head into a daze.

“Damn it, the stench of a wench!”

Rothbart, absorbed in his hand’s motions, suddenly spat out a curse and stomped his foot irritably. He then violently hurled the item on the fireplace mantle. As soon as the lit incense fell to the floor, his boot stamped out the flame.

Anna, holding even her breath, focused solely on Rothbart’s movements beyond the curtain, praying desperately.

Please, please don’t let me be caught…

As though mocking her, a large pale hand suddenly thrust under the curtain and gripped her ankle savagely. The pain, like being caught in a trap, nearly made Anna scream. But as if her throat were sealed, no sound escaped.

She was caught. The shock left her mind blank, unable to think.

“Did you think you wouldn’t be discovered, reeking like this? Filthy, vile things. Without fail, such pests always show themselves regularly.”

Rothbart spoke incoherently, as if spitting out whatever came to mind.

Anna clung to the fireplace, trying to resist, but Rothbart pulled at her ankle with merciless strength. Pain throbbed as though her bones would shatter under his grip. Her body was dragged across the floor, little by little pulled out from behind the curtain.

“You dare enter this place? You rat-like creature. I must show you what becomes of those who step foot here.”

Rothbart’s sinister laugh chilled her blood. Whether intentionally or not, he dragged her slowly, terrifying her all the more.

She was not the first servant to sneak into this room. There had been others who coveted the Marchioness’s valuables and slipped inside… and Anna knew well their fate was always death. That was the punishment for approaching what bore the mark of taboo. Yet even knowing that, she had been forced to enter.

Tears welled and spilled down Anna’s face.

“Your base blood would never be welcomed by my wife either… It should be fed to pigs.”

Anna knew he was not only threatening with words. Though he had hold of her ankle, it felt as if his hand gripped her nape, choking her breath. Was this truly the end? In this foreign world, to die unknown… No. I can’t die like this…

“I-I am sorry, master… please forgive me…”

Anna stammered, trembling, forcing words past her lips, clinging to any plea that might persuade him. Thoughts scattered and reformed in her frantic mind, searching desperately for something that might sway him.

But Rothbart’s grip was ruthless. Anna’s body was completely pulled from behind the curtain. Only then did she finally face the massive figure looming over her.

The last flicker of candlelight that had faintly lit the room was extinguished, leaving only dense darkness. What she could see was nothing but a vague outline in the shadows and the piercing gleam of his red eyes.

Were they the eyes of a beast, or those of a demon?

Though they stood in the same darkness, their sight was not equal. Where Anna could see nothing, Rothbart stared unflinchingly into her face.