Chapter 107 Mother of Cursed Wombs
Iris fell asleep under the shield of a protective spell, as always. But that night... the sky held no stars. Instead, there stretched a vast white expanse, cold and sterile like the walls of a hospital, casting a bleak and terrifying aura—an unnatural presence in a magical world meant to burst with color and wonder.
She sat perched on a cold metal chair, its surface biting like ice against her skin. Her small hands clutched a faceless cloth doll with desperate tightness, a painful reminder of a lost reality. Opposite her sat a woman with long, wet black hair, as if freshly drawn from a river of death, radiating an eerie and unsettling presence.
The air around them was thick and heavy, as though trapped within an invisible, unbreakable bubble. Every soft breath the woman exhaled carried a trembling resonance, like whispered shadows imprisoned in the darkness, slipping and crawling into Iris's soul, causing her own breath to falter.
In the darkened corners, shadows flickered and swayed like dust caught in a chilling breeze, deepening the cold and biting atmosphere, as if unseen eyes were watching their every move. The woman's voice was gentle yet sharp, flowing like a serene river concealing dangerous undercurrents beneath its surface. Each word she spoke exploded softly in the oppressive silence, echoing inside Iris's heart and amplifying every beat steeped in burning fear and doubt.
Beyond Iris's sight, the pristine white room began to dissolve into a deepening abyss, the colors bleeding away as if swallowed by encroaching shadows that mirrored the creeping fears nestling within her soul. A sickly-sweet scent hung heavy in the air, thick and cloying, stirring painful memories Iris desperately tried to bury—memories that clung to her mind like an unyielding stain, impossible to wash away. Though no figure was visible, a palpable presence lingered, as tangible as a soft caress of an invisible hand tracing her spine, pulling her back into forgotten, haunting recollections. The room grew increasingly oppressive, the walls vibrating with murmurs—whispered voices weaving a haunting rhythm that squeezed her lungs with every breath. "Are you afraid of becoming a mother, Iris?" The question arrived as a silent scream from a remote corner of her mind, where need and fear entwined in a dark, unsettling dance.
Iris planted her feet firmly, defiant in the face of the unseen torment. "You are nobody."
"Oh, I may be nobody. But the children who never cried know me well. They all call me... Mother."
From the cold, monotonous white walls, pale, delicate hands emerged, their fingertips grazing the air with tentative longing—not to wound, but seeming to plead for warmth, for an embrace. A surge of panic coursed through Iris, urging her to flee, yet the floor beneath her feet liquefied as if she were sinking into a merciless sea, trapping her in this inhospitable realm. Here, magic held no sway. Here, there was no place for a leader.
The surrounding walls seemed to tremble with soft whispers—intangible voices slipping into her ears, heavy with despair, like the hollow laughter of children trapped in eternal sadness. Shadows lurking in the dark corners quivered as if bearing witness to an unspoken drama, patiently waiting for the perfect moment to emerge from the depths of darkness. The air was thick and suffocating, a heavy anxiety tightening like a noose around her neck, pressing her down as if she were sinking into an endless ocean of fear.