Gasping for air, Sarang pushed through the heavy oak doors of the palace corridor, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
Her heels clicked frantically against the polished marble floor. She didn't dare look back, terrified that Jimin’s cold, golden eyes would be staring at her from the shadows, or that his blade would suddenly appear at her throat.
Sprinting blindly through the labyrinthine hallways, she sought any place that offered a moment of absolute isolation. She needed to think, to plan her escape from this gilded cage. Every corner she turned felt like a trap, every shadow a potential assassin waiting to strike.
Behind her, the distant murmurs of the palace guards faded, replaced by the gentle rustle of leaves blowing outside the grand arched windows. Twilight was settling over the empire, painting the sky in deep bruises of purple and orange.
Lungs burning, she spotted a massive iron-framed dome rising from the eastern wing of the courtyard. It was the imperial glasshouse, a structure of glittering crystal panes and dark, twisted wrought iron.
Reaching the heavy brass doors, she grabbed the cold handle and pulled with all her remaining strength. The door groaned open, just wide enough for her to slip inside before she let it click shut behind her.
---
Inside, the air was immediately different—warm, thick with humidity, and heavily scented with the fragrance of blooming night-jasmine and damp earth.
Glass panels stretched high overhead, curving into a massive dome that captured the last fading rays of the sun. Giant ferns, exotic vines, and foreign magical flora climbed the iron pillars, creating a lush, miniature jungle in the heart of the cold palace.
Quietly, she walked deeper into the green maze, her boots sinking slightly into the soft, moss-covered ground. She found a secluded path lined with white stone benches and thick, leafy bushes that offered perfect concealment.
Humid air clung to her skin, soothing the burning tightness in her throat. She closed her eyes, trying to erase the memory of the council meeting. Jimin’s icy blade, Yoongi’s silent, judging stare, and Namjoon’s heavy, analytical gaze—they were all burned into her mind.
Sweat beaded on her forehead as she recalled the sheer terror of having to display her magic. She had tried to fail, tried to act clumsy and incompetent, but Jimin’s reaction had been explosive.
If she couldn't convince them that she was harmless, her life expectancy in this world would be measured in days, not years. She had to run, to find a way out of the capital before they decided that executing her was safer than watching her.
Suddenly, the hair on the back of her neck stood on end. A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the glasshouse washed over her. The sweet, heavy scent of jasmine suddenly felt cloying, almost suffocating.
An airy, melodic chuckle echoed through the quiet greenery, sending a jolt of pure adrenaline straight down her spine.
Turning slowly, Sarang pressed her back against a sturdy wooden trellis. Her eyes widened as a figure materialized from the mist of a nearby artificial waterfall.
Leaning casually against a stone pillar was Taehyung, the notorious illusionist lord of the Bangtan. His silver-streaked hair fell messily over his eyes, and his silk robes of shifting lavender and charcoal seemed to ripple like liquid shadow.
His presence alone was a death sentence for her peace of mind. In the original novel, Taehyung was the one who took the most pleasure in breaking the villainess, using his terrifying illusions to drive her to the brink of madness before her final execution.
Fear threatened to paralyze her, but Sarang forced herself to take a deep, shaky breath. She had to play her part. She had to be the harmless, clumsy girl who posed absolutely no threat to them.
"Lord Taehyung," she stammered, curtsying so quickly and awkwardly that she nearly tripped over the hem of her gown.
Struggling to maintain his lazy smile, Taehyung took a slow, deliberate step toward her. The space between them shrank, and the air grew thick with the heavy pressure of his passive mana.
"Fresh air in a sealed glasshouse, Sarang?" he purred, his voice smooth and rich, like dark honey. "How wonderfully illogical. But then again, everything about you lately has been utterly baffling."
Desperately looking for an escape route, she realized she was completely cornered. The trellis was behind her, thick thorny vines blocking any sudden retreat.
Stretching her hand out to the side, her fingers brushed against a drooping, withered vine. Hanging from the dry stem was a single, dying rose. Its petals were a sickly, decayed black, shriveled and curling inward as it prepared to drop to the dirt.
Under his intense, predatory gaze, she forced her expression to soften into one of gentle, naive sorrow. "Oh, look at this poor thing," she murmured, her voice trembling slightly as she leaned closer to the dying flower.
Soft amusement flickered in Taehyung’s mismatched eyes. He took another step closer, his tall shadow falling completely over her. "Are we shedding tears for weeds now, little snake? I remember a time when you preferred to crush flowers under your expensive heels."
Instead of answering, Sarang focused entirely on the withered rose. She needed to show him something harmless, something that proved she was no longer the dark, power-hungry villainess of the past.
Sharp warmth flared in her palms, but it didn't feel like the cold, corrupt, and blood-soaked mana of the original Sarang. It felt warm, light, and incredibly pure, like the first rays of morning sun. She let that warmth flow down her arm, pooling at her fingertips.
Staring intently at the dead rose, she gently tapped the shriveled black petal.
Taehyung watched her, his posture relaxed but his muscles tense, ready to counter any dark curse she might try to weave. He expected a burst of black, toxic fog or the foul stench of corrupted magic that usually accompanied her spells. He was waiting for her to slip up, to reveal the venomous snake he knew was hiding beneath her clumsy facade.
Gone was the dark decay. As soon as Sarang’s finger touched the petal, a brilliant, blinding crimson light erupted from the point of contact. The dark, rotting texture dissolved, replaced by a smooth, translucent surface that caught the fading twilight.
Leaning closer in sheer disbelief, Taehyung watched as the decay retreated, replaced by solid, flawless crystal. The withered petals smoothed out, turning into a vibrant, glowing crimson glass that shimmied with an internal, radiant light. The entire flower hummed with a resonance of raw, pure mana—so clean and powerful that it made the surrounding air vibrate with a soft, melodic hum.
Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from the glass rose, Taehyung froze. His playful, predatory smirk faltered, completely vanishing from his face. His eyes widened, staring at the glowing creation with an expression of profound shock.
You could hear a pin drop in the silent glasshouse. The sheer purity of the magic was undeniable. It was the absolute antithesis of the dark, cursed energy Sarang had possessed her entire life. It was a magic that belonged to a holy maiden, not a ruthless villainess.
Taehyung reaches out, his fingers brushing her cheek, and murmurs that he has never seen a snake shed its skin so beautifully—or so fragrantly.