CHINESE ARYA STARK meets THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA.
*A Wattpad Featured story*
When everyone wears a mask, who do you trust?
In the unforgiving empire of Erden where the Imperials reign supreme, Sarna is a slave. After escaping the brothel where a m...
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"Influential, young, and prideful, Donghwa was Keeper of the Three Realms. But his greed led to his banishment, as he tried to lift the face of the Jade Emperor in his deep sleep. It's curious that humans would worship a High Immortal banished from his own home, as even the High Immortals knew, he could not be trusted."
Demise of the Facechanger—The Immortalist Tales
CHAPTER SIX
I wasn't sure how many hours had elapsed. I had screamed my throat sore, cradling Biyu's head in my arms, resting my forehead against his, pleading. My cheeks were sticky with trails of dried tears, and my makeup had smudged.
"Biyu," I whispered. "Please wake up. We need you. I need you."
He was always there to comfort me; the voice that soothed the pain and fear. Without him, fear grappled me, clawing up my throat and closed their sharp nails around my mind.
The guards had removed the flags from my back to prevent us from using them as weapons, and no amount of bars rattling, screaming, or head-bashing got me any answers.
It was such flimsy evidence, but it was enough to have us executed. Why would the assassin wear a Facechanging mask? Papa told me stories about Palace assassins—people dressed in black and their faces covered with veils. Bright colors attracted attention, and Facechanging masks were designed for that exact purpose.
Unless, that was the assassin's goal. But why?
I could try to prove our innocence, but the assassin had killed themselves, the most perfect way of eliminating witness. An assassination attempt was the highest level of treason—grave enough to call for the attention of the Imperial judge to interrogate us and trace back our history in order to exterminate the root of treachery. We would not be given a quick death. Instead, we would be cut and sliced in so many ways, we would be dead before our heads even rolled off the execution block.
My thumb stroked Biyu's soft face, tracing the curve of his eyebrows and down to his lips. His masks lay discarded around him, the once brilliant colors stained brown from the dirt and whatever smeared the hay.
Once again, the High Immortals had failed us. It was just a small request—give us their blessings and ensure safe passage in and out of the Jade Palace—and they couldn't grant it.
Footsteps thundered. Two soldiers approached the cell and unlocked the door. The set of iron chains holding the bars together pinged to the ground. I scrabbled backward, trying to find a piece of rock or nail, anything I could use as a weapon. But there was nothing on the ground except for flat bits of hay and dust.
"The boy is needed for interrogation," the first soldier said.
"Take me instead," I begged. "You've hurt him enough."
