Mythos Of Narcissus: Reborn As An NPC In A Horror VRMMO

Chapter 124: We Paint The World A Bit Redder

The knight, as always, obeyed without hesitation. He unsheathed the blade and placed it into her outstretched hands. Daffodil's fingers curled around the hilt, her grip tight and steady. For a moment, she stared at the weapon, her eyes tracing its edge, her expression unreadable.

Then, with a small nod to herself, she turned and began to walk toward the garden.

She moved slowly, deliberately, each step measured as if this walk held great significance. The knights and servants followed her at a distance, their soulless eyes watching her without emotion. I trailed behind, helpless to stop her, though I already knew what she intended.

In the center of the garden, beneath the grand marble fountain that had long since been overgrown by the paper flowers, Daffodil stopped. She stood amidst the endless sea of canvas.

And now, her face felt serene, her eyes bright with purpose.

"This is for you, Mama," Daffodil whispered, her voice soft but filled with a strange, almost joyous conviction.

With a trembling smile, she raised the knight's sword to her neck. The blade, still cold and glinting in the light of the sun, seemed to shudder as if resisting what it was about to do.

But Daffodil's grip was firm, her resolve unshaken. In one swift motion, she drew the blade across her skin, cutting deep into her artery.

A spurt of blood followed—a dark, vivid red that arced through the air like a painter's brush stroke. The droplets splattered across the paper flowers, staining their pale crimson surfaces.

The color, once dull and lifeless, now seemed to pulse with a new vibrancy as Daffodil's blood soaked into the fragile paper petals. The flowers seemed to bloom in her sacrifice, as though her blood had brought them to life.

The very same red began to stain her golden locks as the blood trickled down her neck, turning the strands into streaks of deep scarlet.

"This is... not a bad feeling~!" Daffodil laughed, her voice suddenly bright and full of energy, as though the act of giving her life away had lifted some great burden from her soul.

She spun around, watching the crimson splashes rain down across the garden and mansion floor, her face lit with a wild, childlike glee that hadn't been there for so long.

She started to run, lifting the edges of her gown as she twirled and danced. Her laughter echoed through the empty halls of the mansion, her blood spraying from the wound with each movement, painting everything in her path.

The paper flowers bent beneath the weight of her blood, but they didn't crumple. Instead, they seemed to absorb the life she was giving them, becoming rich and full, like real flowers made of flesh and petals.

"Red!" she giggled, spinning in circles, her arms stretched wide. "Red is Mama's favorite color now! Isn't it beautiful? So much more beautiful than yellow!"

She reached down, running her bloodied fingers through the mass of paper flowers, trailing them across the stone walls and tapestries as she went.

She pressed her hands into the delicate patterns embroidered into the tapestries, smearing red handprints like child's play.

Her steps grew wilder, more frantic as she moved, her blood staining the statues of the knights who stood motionless, their blank eyes following her with eerie detachment.

"Red," she whispered again, her voice soft now, almost reverent, as though she were praying. "This is the most beautiful color… the color of life… the color of Mama's love..."

Her breathing quickened as she rushed back toward the entrance of the estate, passing by a mute maid standing in one of the halls. For a moment, Daffodil paused. Her wide, scarlet eyes focused on the maid's expressionless face.

A sudden burst of energy gripped her. She seized the maid's hand, pulling her into the center of the hall. The maid didn't resist, her lifeless limbs moving in response to Daffodil's frantic commands. Daffodil twirled the maid around as if in a ballroom dance, laughing as she did so. Blood splattered the maid's uniform, but the servant didn't flinch or react—just moved as Daffodil guided her.

"Come, dance with me!" Daffodil cried out, pulling the maid closer. "It's a celebration! I'm painting everything red for Mama! Aren't you happy too?"

The maid remained silent, her eyes glassy and unseeing, but Daffodil didn't care. She spun the maid again and again, their dance becoming more erratic, the trail of blood growing longer and messier with each step. It was as if Daffodil was trying to force life into this silent, soulless figure through the sheer force of her own madness.

Eventually, she released the maid, letting her stumble back into the shadows as Daffodil continued her rampage of color through the halls.

She tore through room after room, slashing at her wrists as she went, deep cuts spilling even more blood.

She pressed her forearms to the walls, dragging her limbs through the mansion, marking the estate with the dark crimson paint of her life. The ornate furniture, the grand staircase, the delicate chandeliers overhead—everything was soon drenched in her blood, the vibrant red staining every inch of the grand home.

The mansion, once pristine and elegant, had been transformed into a macabre masterpiece of chaos.

It was no longer a place of nobility or order, but a shrine to Daffodil's madness, a temple of her twisted devotion to the mother she longed to bring back.

At one point, she reached the chapel-like place of her estate, as its high ceilings and beautiful stained glass windows cast colored light across the room. She had actually visited and painted this place a couple of times in her wake.

She collapsed to her knees in the center of the room, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

Her once-white gown was soaked through, dripping with blood. Her hands, slick and trembling, reached out to touch the nearest paper flowers. They were all red now, every single one. Her blood had painted them perfectly.

"Red..." she whispered again, her voice cracking. "Mama... look at what I've done… I've made them all red… just like you wanted."

Her vision blurred, but she didn't stop. She picked up the blood-soaked flowers, cradling them in her arms like a child.

"I've been a good girl, haven't I?" she asked, though there was no one to answer. She rocked back and forth, clutching the paper flowers tightly. "I've been such a good girl, Mama. I made everything just the way you wanted…"

She closed her eyes, and maybe, for a moment, she was a child again, sitting at her mother's bedside, watching as she was praised for her little paper creations.

But as reality came crashing back, Daffodil's expression shifted. The weight of everything—of years lost, of the hollow promises, of the world that had abandoned her—bore down on her in that final moment.

She struggled to stand, her legs shaking beneath her. She reached for the sword again, her hands still slick with blood. Her body swayed as she made her way back into the grand hall, where the sun continued to cast crimson shadows through the bloodstained windows.

With a final, determined breath, Daffodil raised the sword and plunged it into her chest. The blade sank deep, but her eyes remained wide open, filled with the same desperate hope she had clung to for so long.

As her body crumpled to the ground, surrounded by the billion paper flowers she had created, Daffodil let out one last breath, a question whispered into the silence of the hall.

"Have I been… a good girl?"

And then, with her final exhale, the mansion fell silent once more. The flowers—now red, vibrant, and soaked in the blood of their creator—lay scattered around her lifeless form.

A billion fragile symbols of a love that had been twisted into madness.

Outside, the sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the blood-soaked estate. A breeze swept through the open windows, rustling the paper flowers as if they, too, mourned the tragic end of the girl who had spent her life chasing an impossible dream.