Chapter 127: Beatrix Morgan
There was something different about her. The way she looked at them deprived them of comfort, making them feel as if there were a heavy weight on each of their chests.
This was no ordinary young lady; this was someone whose identity in a certain game would rival the main villainess in terms of villainy. Her nickname would be the "Torture Witch."
Beatrix Morgan was the very soul of contrasts: a head crowned with waves of golden hair; eyes of clear blue, not as in the warm summer seas but more like the chilling depths of winter. Her expression, a hard-shelled mask of composure, gave her an air of fragile beauty, like a porcelain doll detached from all human emotions.
Once spoken to, she would tilt her head, but once she spoke, a voice unfitting that air of hers would emerge, and the deepest and darkest thoughts to everybody else were just simple conversational lines for her.
In all manner of words, she was unnerving.
"Unforgivable! Death by a thousand cuts! Choke on a surfeit of thrones! Gurgling blood boiling inside her, rising to her throat!"
Then she said that, and the reason Matilda was not very welcoming to the idea of inviting Beatrix to the party was clear to all.
She is unhinged!
One must not be fooled by the blonde hair and mesmerizing beauty of Beatrix Morgan, as all who interacted with her had to learn how unhinged she was the hard way.
In Valentine’s office, Beatrix stood over Ian, who was still recovering after receiving treatment from Matilda. She examined him and thoroughly inspected his body, tracing back every wound and harm he was subjected to while mumbling all sorts of scary invocations and curses with her hoarse and eerie voice.
"Dear Ian, sweet Ian, to think you were subjected to such torture. Oh, how I will avenge you! How will I make their suffering a hundredfold, a thousandfold?" she said as she was touching his face and moving it left and right, checking on his teeth, and using a light spell down his throat.