A Witch Lives In The Emperor’s Bedroom

“You nasty lass!”

Inside a damp, gloomy underground dungeon. Rosalie, who was kneeling on the moldy ground, yelled violently till her veins burst out. Isabella’s expression remained unchanged as she stood upright and gazed down at Rosalie. She silently glanced at the woman’s comical appearance: soiled clothes, unkempt hair, and a face strewn with dust and blood.

“You’ll rot in hell!! Nobody will grieve your death! Rather, everyone will bless God, relieved that the devil has finally expelled her last breath!” Rosalie spit out venomous slurs and shook her entire body in wrath.

Isabella wrinkled her brows slightly when she heard a shrill voice echoing through the dungeon.

“Rosalie. How can you be so cruel to your younger sister?

“Vicious bitch!”

Rosalie sprang towards Isabella, her teeth bared like a dog. However, her wrists and ankles, which were chained by chains attached to the wall, were yanked back, and she just tumbled backward.

“You f*cking bastard, go rot in hell!”

Isabella grinned as she heard Rosalie’s never-ending insults, unable to give up. She then gradually went down on one knee. Rosalie’s hate, rage, and crushed pride grew apparent as their gazes met up close.

Isabella was overjoyed with the view.

“How is it, Rosalie? How does it feel to be trapped hopelessly in a filthy basement?”

“Don’t be idiotic. Why would I be imprisoned here? Why should I? Don’t even try to look at me with those eyes! Die! Why don’t you f*cking die, Isabella!”

Rosalie jerked, and her tense body trembled violently. It was a waste to watch it alone because it was such a beautiful scenario.

‘Oh, I wish I could remember this moment for the rest of my life.’ 

Isabella took a deep breath, attempting to remember this moment, including the aroma. Her nose was stimulated by a familiar musty odor. She smiled sweetly and opened her lovely lips. She extended her palm and directed it towards Rosalie’s cheek after taking in enough air to satisfy her. Rosalie clenched her eyes firmly, expecting a blow to land on her cheek, but Isabella only touched her face tenderly. Then she gently whispered,

“I’m truly sorry, Rose, but–”

“. . .”

“I come from hell.”

Rosalie’s face became increasingly contorted with terror.

“Are you afraid of me going to hell?”

A breathtaking murderous intent shone on Isabella’s face. And blood-colored magic sprouted on her palms.

“Ahhhhhh!”

Rosalie screamed with despair.

Isabella’s smile only widened, as though Rosalie’s fright was amusing.

There was nothing that could stop Isabella at this point.