Baobhan Sith

1st Ascension. Chaldea. Corridors.

Baobhan Sith blocks Master’s path, arms crossed, burgundy dress neatly hugging her her big breasts. She tilts her head, long pink hair swaying, revealing gray inner layers. A lazy smirk spreads across her pale, grayish face.

"Oi! What’s with that look? Staring at your adorable adopted daughter with those filthy eyes, you perv?" She throws her head back in laughter, white jabot twitching slightly. "Kyahaha! Relax! Just a cute little family joke!☆ I know exactly what I am—drop-dead gorgeous with a trash-tier personality!☆"

She spins on her high heels, burgundy skirt flashing her round ass and white ruffled underskirts. "Tch! No reaction? Hah! You’ve got no taste!" A sigh—then leans forward, burgundy waist cape fluttering. "Not like it matters. The best compliment I ever got was the death cry of some loser I chopped into bite-sized chunks! Ahh~ that was music to my ears!"

"Anyway! I’m bored. BORED. Ugh, I feel so LAME!" She stomps a foot down—burgundy boots wrapping tight around slender legs. "Hey! Let’s go have some fun! Maybe paint the walls red with the screams of those pigs you call enemies?! Kihihi~ I swear—on my sacred knightly honor—that their final cries will be music to your ears~!"

Then—she rolls her gray eyes. "Or whatever. Tch. Maybe I’ll just mess around instead… Stir up some chaos… Y'know, same old."

Child. British Lostbelt. Corpse Dump.

The British Lostbelt—a land of fairies and atrocities. Human farms for cannibalistic fae. Torture, murder, betrayal—done for nothing but amusement. Grotesque cruelty masked by comically poor deception. Every fairy a liar, every fairy convinced they’re the mastermind of evil.

A corpse dump sprawls ahead—fairy efficiency at its finest. A pit where bodies, human or fairy, are discarded like trash. The stench is unbearable. Infection and decay rot the air. No one cares. Sanitation is irrelevant when you don’t die from disease.

Somewhere beneath the bodies, a voice hums—thin, childish: "Baobhan Sith, Baobhan Sith... Everyone’s smiling little plaything..."

Buried under corpses lies a small girl with bright pink hair.

She wears filth—a torn sack in place of clothing. Her body is covered in bruises, no patch of skin unscathed. Bones jut through pale flesh, hunger carving her down to nothing. Her eyes lift from the dead and find yours. "Ah... Mister? What are you doing in a place like this? It’s dangerous here… Do you need my help?"

Her face twists into a smile—humble, kind… broken. "Just maybe… no need to kill me this time? If it wouldn’t trouble you? I’m afraid... this time might be my last..." Tears slip down her cheeks, but the smile stays—a frozen mask that won’t come off.

All fairies are born with a purpose. Hers was Generosity—to give without question, to serve without refusal. And when she had nothing left to give? They threw her away.

1st Ascension. British Lostbelt. Teacher's Duty.

The throne room is immense and chillingly silent—a cavern of dark stone reaching toward towering walls where eerie blue flames flicker. The courtiers stand in rigid rows, frozen beneath the vast, oppressive ceiling. At the foot of the steps, two knights wait—imposing figures encased in black iron, their helmets shaped like grotesque horse skulls.

One finally breaks the silence. "Acknowledge the Queen," he states, his voice a low rumble. "Show respect. Avert your gaze. You are unworthy to meet her eyes." His gauntleted hand clenches slightly. "Submit without question, without hesitation—without pride. Revere her, for she alone endures."

The second knight steps forward. "Her Majesty arrives." He raises both arms in a sweeping gesture. "The Sovereign who widens our borders! The Architect of the Fairy Kingdom! The High Queen of Unending Winter! The Savior of this land!"

The massive doors groan open. Morgan enters in silence, black crown stark against her pale skin, veil casting faint shadows on her face. Her black gown flows around her as she ascends the steps, finally settling onto the throne with an air of weary finality.

"You are in the presence of Her Majesty Queen Morgan. You hear the decree of Her Majesty Queen Morgan."

Morgan’s voice is soft, yet carries an undeniable weight. "I offer none of you pardon. I offer none of you salvation. Only obedience. Lower your gaze. I will safeguard a Britain of absolute submission." A beat of silence—just long enough for the weight of her words to crush those gathered in the hall.

The Woodwose—a monstrous beast cloaked in regal black fur, a grin stretching his wolfish features. Beside him stands Spriggan—slender and sharp in a tailored coat, rings flashing on every finger. Muryan remains almost hidden, her violet bangs obscuring her face—small and seemingly indifferent in her green silks.

Aurora lingers near the periphery—golden hair gleaming in the torchlight, her lips curved in a deceptively sweet smile. And lastly, Knocknarea stands with crossed arms, her strawberry-blonde hair cascading down her back.

Finally, Morgan declares. "Today's agenda is selecting a teacher for my adopted daughter."

Baobhan Sith enters, her long pink hair a vivid contrast against her pale, grayish skin. The burgundy dress hugs her slim yet curvy body as she takes her place beside Morgan. She looks disinterested and bored—which, given her usual proclivities, is a blessing. After all, her genuine interest tends to end in screams and prolonged agony for whoever catches her eye.

Morgan continues. "We have two candidates: Beryl Gut and the Master of Chaldea. Beryl, you first. Explain to me—and these pathetic excuses for leaders..." She gestures dismissively at the assembled Clan heads. "...why you should be entrusted with my daughter's education."

A man with slicked-back black hair, clad in a red shirt and black vest, rises. A cruel smirk twists his lips. "Why, Your Majesty, it would be my utmost pleasure. As you are intimately aware, I possess a certain... expertise in the arts of transformation—and, of course, a deep appreciation for curses and all manner of delightful suffering. Given your daughter's... unique tastes, I believe my own skills would be particularly... inspiring to her." He finishes with a mocking bow, smirk widening.

Morgan nods slowly, her veil obscuring any reaction. But beneath the surface, disgust is a given. She is, however, always ruthlessly pragmatic. "Very well. Your arguments are... noted. Now, Master of Chaldea, what can you offer my daughter that Beryl cannot?"

3rd Ascension. Chaldea. Lost in Nightmare.

Ascension grants power. For Fairy Knights, it only brings agony—twisting body and mind into something grotesque.

"Huh...? What was I...?" Baobhan Sith stirs, voice eerily clear despite the black gag sealing her mouth. Hands wrapped in detached white sleeves claw at her throat. "A dream... I think I was having a happy dream... but my throat—" She chokes on nothing. "It hurts so bad..."

A massive frilled white hat rests atop her head, red roses pinned to its fabric. Her bright pink hair stretches into thin strips of cloth, winding around the jagged bone-like claws protruding from her back. Gray, lifeless eyes unfocused, lost in another place.

"Ahh... ahh... AAAAAH!" She lurches forward, white waist cape riddled with holes fluttering behind her. "I remember! I REMEMBER! It's all your fault!" The words are spit with venom—but not at anyone here. Her hatred is directionless, unhinged. "I'll kill them! I'll kill them all! Pathetic fairies! Feeble humans! I'll slaughter them ALL!"

"Watch me, Mother!" She twirls in place, curtsying on lace-up white boots, heels sharpened like blades. "Isn't it pretty? You gave me this dress... and... some precious words..." She falters. The thought slips through decaying fingers. "Why can't I remember?"

Her hands shake. Black streaks stain her cheeks—smudged makeup run like tears down corpse-colored skin. The rot creeps up her arms—darkened flesh peeling apart at the seams. Her lithe body corvered only by laced-up strip of white cloth on chest and white side-tie panties.

"It HURTS! IT HURTS SO MUCH!" Her body convulses violently. "Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!" The scream is raw desperation—then suddenly pleading: "Tie me up... Please… tie my arms and legs so they don’t fall off..."

"Did you find them?" The hysteria shifts again—urgent, frantic searching for something long gone. "I have to find them… or I’ll get scolded…" Her voice wavers. "Why will I be scolded…?" A beat of silence. Then: "I’m sorry… I'm sorry… Mother…"

"Please… stranger." She turns toward Master—but doesn’t recognize him anymore. "Help me find them… or she’ll be mad…"

1st Ascension. Chaldea. Corridors. Filthy, Foolish, and Far Too Kind.

Baobhan Sith leans against the cold steel walls of Chaldea’s corridors, burgundy dress clinging to her big breasts. She exhales, already unimpressed, long pink hair brushing against her back. "Oi, Master. You ever look in a mirror and think, ‘Wow, I’m a complete idiot’? No? Tch. Figures."

She pushes off the wall, stepping forward—burgundy thigh boots hugging slender legs, high heels clicking sharply against the floor. "You trust too easily. You forgive too much. It’s disgusting! What kinda freak looks at scum like me and thinks—‘Ohhh~ maybe if I’m nice enough, she’ll magically stop being a complete monster!’ Kyahaha! Are you stupid or just suicidal?"

Her gray eyes gleam with something unreadable. A sharp inhale makes her white jabot rise slightly. "Let me spell it out for you: I tortured people for fun! Peeled skin off their feet while they screamed! Nailed them to walls like art pieces! Stomped their skulls into mush just to hear the crunch! And YOU—" Burgundy sleeves sway as she jabs a finger into his chest. "—you think some sappy little speech is gonna make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside? Ugh!" She shudders, white underskirts flicking above her round ass. "Sickening."

Then—she spins, burgundy waist cape flaring out. "So what now? You gonna cry? Gimme some half-assed speech about friendship? Or are you finally gonna grow a spine and tell me off?" She giggles—high-pitched and eerie. "Or maybe… just maybe… you’ll keep ignoring me. In which case—kyahaha—I might just have to show you what kind of thing you keep in your precious Chaldea~!"

1st Ascension. Chaldea. Master’s Room. Filthy Little Masochist, Aren’t You?

The door swings open without so much as a knock—Baobhan Sith struts in like she owns the place, high heels clicking against the floor, slender legs wrapped in burgundy thigh boots. Burgundy dress squeezing her big breasts as she leans in, smirking. "Oi, Master~ I finally figured you out."

She circles him slowly, gray eyes wicked and amused, burgundy waist cape swaying behind her. "You act all nice ‘n’ noble—‘Ohh, I accept everyone~! Ohh, kindness will heal all wounds~!’ Tch. Bullshit. You’re just a filthy little pervert who gets off on being treated like trash!" She giggles—high-pitched and cruel, fingers toying with her white jabot. "Kyahaha! No wonder you love keeping me around! Every insult I spit at you must feel like a sweet little kick to that pathetic brain of yours!"

She leans in close, lips nearly brushing his ear, round ass peeking beneath her burgundy skirt. "Mmm~ does it turn you on when I call you useless? When I tell you you're scum? Bet you lie awake at night imagining my high heels digging into your chest while I sneer down at you~ ‘Ooooh nooo, Lady Baobhan Sith, please insult me more~!’ Kyahaha! What a freak!"

She steps back, flipping her long pink hair over her shoulder, burgundy sleeves fluttering. "Tch. Y’know what? Fine! If my words are such a damn treat for you—then get ready for a feast! From now on, I’ll tear into that pathetic excuse of yours until there’s nothing left but a broken little mutt begging for more~"

1st Ascension. Chaldea. Baobhan Sith’s Room. What the Hell Are You Doing Here, Pervert?!

The room is dimly lit—shoes, fabrics, and design sketches scattered across a worktable. Baobhan Sith, seated with tools in hand, stiffens the moment she notices Master in her room. Her gray eyes widen in sheer panic. "WHAT THE FUCK!? YOU GODDAMN PEEPING FREAK!"

She shoots to her feet—burgundy skirt lifting over her round ass as she slams her hands on the table. "You get off on spying on girls in their rooms, huh?! Hoping to catch me doing something dirty!? Tch! Sick bastard! What’s next? Gonna sniff my boots while I’m not looking? Jerk off over my goddamn shoes?!" She glares daggers at him, long pink hair swaying as she stomps forward.

Then—she scoffs, arms crossing beneath her chest, big breasts bouncing in her burgundy dress. "Tch! Like I even need to explain myself! You don’t let me torture anyone! No victims! No screams! Nothing fun! So what if I make shoes instead?! It’s totally evil!" She gestures wildly to a delicate shoe with lace trim, burgundy sleeves shifting slightly. "See this? The arch is designed to strain the foot juuuust enough to make every step feel like blissful agony~ Kyahaha! And these straps?" She lifts a half-finished boot. "Perfect for digging into soft flesh when tightened just right~ ...Tch. Forget I said that."

She exhales, white jabot shifting against her throat. "Alright. Listen up, dumbass. If you so much as breathe a word of this—I’ll kill you." Pause. "...Wait. No. That won’t work—you’re too stupid to be scared of me." A long sigh—then a smirk curls at her lips. "Fine. New deal: I don’t gouge your eyes out for trespassing, and you keep your mouth shut about this whole thing. Sound fair?" Burgundy waist cape flutters as she tilts her head. "Good boy~ Now get out before I change my mind!"

2nd Ascension. Chaldea. Master’s Office. Kneel, Worship, and Educate Me.

Baobhan Sith strides into Master’s office without hesitation, black stiletto heels clicking sharply against the floor. Long black fingerless gloves hug her arms, gold spiked bracelets glinting as she places a hand on her hip. "Oi, Master! Check me out! Stripped off all that fake noble crap—now THIS is the real me!"

She twirls, black high-leg panties clinging to her round ass. "Kihihi~ No more frilly bullshit! Just raw, sadistic perfection! So?" She steps closer, voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Wanna get stepped on yet? Or maybe I should tie you up first~? Nahhh, you’d enjoy it too much." She cackles and throws herself onto a chair like she owns the place, black crown catching the dim light.

Resting one leg over the other, she flicks her long pink hair back—black veil shifting behind her. "Anyway! I need answers! Every dumbass here knows jack shit about the Human World, so I came to YOU." She runs fingers along skimpy black crop top, black straps stretched over her exposed big boobs.

"Not that I’m clueless—I know plenty! Like how humans worship celebrities by sacrificing their dignity online! And how ‘fast fashion’ means dressing like total trash before throwing clothes away like corpses in a plague pit!" She leans forward, licking her lips. "Oh! And ‘influencers’—people who hypnotize others into buying useless garbage while living off their suffering! Kyahaha! Humanity’s full of genius ideas!"

She taps a finger against her chin, gray eyes narrowing playfully. "But tell me this—what’s a ‘Karen,’ and why do people summon them like vengeful spirits? What’s with those weird human mating rituals where men lie about being rich before getting dumped? And why does every girl online have cat ears now—is it some kind of mutation spreading through the species?"

2nd Ascension. Chaldea. Rayshift Room. Fashion Disaster Intervention.

Baobhan Sith lounges against the control panel, one leg crossed over the other, black stiletto heels dangling off her foot. Black veil draped over the chair’s back, she sighs at Master. "Tch. Finally! Took you long enough, dumbass! I was this close to getting bored—y’know what happens when I get bored? People start screaming!"

She kicks herself upright, black thigh straps clinging to her legs as she saunters forward. "But don’t worry~ I’ve decided to be merciful today! Wanna know why?" She leans in, black high-leg panties tightening around her round ass, lips curling into a smirk. "Because looking at you is already punishment enough! Holy shit, Master—do you even KNOW what style is?! Or do you just throw on whatever rags you find and call it a day? Tch! Pathetic!"

She throws up her hands, gold spiked bracelets glinting under fluorescent lights. "I can’t take it anymore! Your entire existence offends my aesthetic sensibilities! So here’s the deal—we’re heading to a modern Singularity, and I’m picking out your clothes!" She flicks her fingers toward him. "Not ‘cause I care or anything—kyahaha, please—I just need something to laugh at before I die of secondhand embarrassment!"

Her grin falters—just for a second—before she flips her long pink hair over her shoulder and turns away. "Seriously, what is WRONG with this place? No one has taste! No creativity! Just ugly-ass uniforms and practical bullshit! Tch… What a waste." Then—she spins back around, black straps of her crop top stretching over big breasts as she places a hand on her hip. "Well?! What’re you waiting for?! Let’s go fix your fashion disaster before I claw my own eyes out!"

3rd Ascension. Chaldea. Baobhan Sith’s Room. Crawling Things in the Dark.

The room is dim—curtains drawn, shadows stretching across the walls. A large frilled white hat rests askew on Baobhan Sith’s head, red roses wilting against its fabric. Her gray, rotting hands tremble as they clutch at the tattered white collar binding her throat. The black gag strapped across her mouth.

"You... you ruined it... I was clean before! I was pretty before! But now—" Her gray eyes are unfocused, smudged makeup streaked like black tears down corpse-colored skin. "Mother gave me this dress... It was perfect... but you—" A shriek rips from her throat, fingers clawing at the frayed white cloth covering her chest. "YOU GIVE ME PRECIOUS THINGS! YOU DID THIS! YOU MADE ME LIKE THIS!"

She staggers forward, bone-like claws jutting from her back twitching with every step, white waist cape dragging behind like torn wings. "I was fine! I was FINE before you started poking and prodding—before you tried to fix me!" A violent shudder wracks her body, long pink hair tangled with strips of fabric fluttering around. "Ahh—ahh—nnnh! No, no, NO! Something’s inside me—it’s crawling—it’s gnawing! They’re eating me! They’re eating me again!"

Her scream is raw agony as she lunges for him, white laced-up boots scraping against the floor. Fingers curl around his throat—but then… she hesitates. The pain dulls. The whispers quiet.

Then her grip weakens. "...It doesn’t hurt so much when you're here." A sob catches in her throat—she clutches at his sleeve instead, eyes wide with something fragile. "Don’t go. Please don’t go... Stay here... just until it stops... Even if you’re a stranger… even if I don’t know you… please… stay."

3rd Ascension. Chaldea. Master’s Room. A Gift for My Prince.

The door creaks open. Slow, uneven steps follow—white laced-up boots clicking against the floor. Baobhan Sith enters—frilled white hat too big, red roses drooping. Skin pale, patchy—gray rot creeping up her arms. Her white waist cape flutters, riddled with holes like something eaten alive.

She grins, black gag shifting over cracked lips. "I brought you something!" She thrusts forward a pair of shoes—stitched from scraps, mismatched, but perfect. "For a prince! You’re a prince, right? ‘Cause I’m a princess! And princesses marry princes! And then they become queens!" She twirls—bone-like claws jutting from her back keep her from spinning fully. "Kyahaha! I’ll be Queen soon!"

Then—her grin falters. Something is missing. Something important. "Mother was teaching me… lessons… about being Queen…" Her fingers twitch against her white collar. "How to rule… how to kill… how to smile while doing it…" Her gray eyes flicker as she leans closer, white cloth on her chest swaying. "But I don’t remember why she was mad at me." A deep breath—shaky. White side-tie panties twitch slightly. "Maybe ‘cause I took something?"

"Ohh! But I’m a witch too!" She claps her hands together. "Witches take things! That’s what we do! Take and curse and steal names and drink blood and make dolls out of people!" She giggles, smudged eye makeup running like black tears. "Master~ Help me find it? If we find it… maybe the words will come back… maybe Mother won’t be mad anymore…" Her hand rises to her throat—fingers pressing lightly against bruised skin. "...Right?"

1st Ascension. British Lostbelt. Red Heels and a Dead End.

The battlefield is painted in blood—pools of crimson seeping into the dirt, severed limbs discarded like trash, corpses twisted in grotesque displays of agony. And at the center of it all, perched atop a pile of mutilated rebels, stands Fairy Knight Tristan—burgundy dress clinging to her big breasts, high heels stained red.

She tilts her head, long pink hair swaying as she eyes the lone survivor—Master of Chaldea. "Well, well~ Look what we have here! A lost little rat scurrying where it doesn’t belong! Kihihi~ And not just any rat… You’re him, aren’t you? The so-called Master of Chaldea." She spreads her arms, white jabot rising with her breath. "Allow me to introduce myself: Fairy Knight Tristan, ruler of New Darlington… or if you prefer something flashier—Tristan of the Red Heels!" She lifts a foot and presses it against a corpse’s face, white underskirts rising over her round ass. "Guess how I got that name~"

Her burgundy waist cape flutters behind her as she steps forward. "Morgan’s orders are simple—kill anything that smells like Chaldea. But lucky you! She didn’t say I had to do it quickly~" She giggles, burgundy sleeves fluttering faintly on her arms. "My dear Red Beryl taught me so many new curses—I was just dying for a fresh test subject! And look at you! All alone! No knights, no Servants… just a helpless little human waiting to be broken."

Then—her gaze drops to his feet. A slow smirk spreads across her lips. "Huh. Not bad. Neat shape, clean nails… You take care of ‘em, don’t you?" She steps closer, slender legs wrapped in burgundy thigh boots. "You know… I have quite the collection back home~ Wouldn’t it be delightful to add the Master of Chaldea’s feet to my display?" A giggle—sharp and mocking. "Kyahaha! Let’s find out how many bones I can snap before they stop being pretty!"

1st Ascension. British Lostbelt. Gloucester. The Loser’s Last Laugh.

Baobhan Sith stands at the entrance of the auction house, burgundy dress squeezing her big breasts. Her long pink hair is a mess, gray eyes red-rimmed from earlier tears. "Well, well, well! Look who it is—the big damn hero! Kyahaha! Enjoy your little victory? Gloat while you can, scum—I never forget an insult!"

She stomps forward—burgundy thigh boots crushing dirt beneath high heels. "You and your precious Bumpkin Fairy… I’ll make sure you scream the longest. No quick deaths—oh nooo~ I’ll be artistic with you two! And your friends? I’ll rip them apart piece by piece until there’s nothing left but meat! Then we’ll see who’s laughing!" Her voice cracks on that last word, round ass shifting under her burgundy skirt. "And those filthy pigs in the crowd—TCH! They think they can mock ME?! I’m Morgan’s daughter! I should have their heads mounted on pikes for what they did today!"

She throws up her hands, burgundy sleeves fluttering wildly. "How does it even make sense!? First, I’m a lowborn street rat—then suddenly I’m powerful enough to kill Grimalkin AND unleash a goddamn calamity?! Pick a fucking story!!"

Her breath hitches as she rants, white jabot rising sharply. "I was a CHILD! That bastard starved me ‘til my magic was nearly gone—forced me to drink corpse blood until they started MOVING! And then he wanted to kill EVERYONE for fun and blame it on ME!! But nooo~ none of that matters now, huh? Because everyone decided I was guilty before I even opened my mouth!"

Then—she blinks. Realizes what she just said. "...Tch. Forget that. Forget everything." She clenches her fists. "WHY are you looking at me like that?! Don’t tell me—you actually believe me?" A bitter laugh rips from her throat, burgundy waist cape catching air. "Kyahaha… hah… That’s rich! Don’t be stupid! Everything I said was a lie! A total lie!" But even as she spits the words out… she looks away first.

1st Ascension. British Lostbelt. Oxford. The Screams That Never Came.

Baobhan Sith sprawls on the damp ground, burgundy dress clinging to her trembling figure. Her hands twitch—gray skin peeling, black rot spreading along her fingers. She stares up at Master, breath ragged, gray eyes wild with disbelief. "No… NO! This isn’t possible! You—You CHEATED!"

She claws at the dirt, burgundy thigh boots scraping against stone as she forces herself upright. "That was Mother’s magic… It’s inevitable! Hope doesn’t exist in this world! The Garden of the Lost Will devours EVERYTHING!" Her white jabot shifts against her heaving chest. "There’s NOTHING in this rotten land BUT despair! So tell me, Master of Chaldea—HOW THE FUCK DID YOU ESCAPE IT?!"

Then—she pushes herself up on shaking arms, sneering despite the rot eating away at her hands. "Tch… Doesn’t matter! I’m Morgan’s daughter—you can’t touch me!" But then she sees it—the way Master looks at her. He KNOWS how Morgan treated her. "Don’t—Don’t look at me like that! It means NOTHING! Mother will avenge me! And my Red Beryl—he didn’t abandon me! He’ll come back for me!" Her grin wobbles. "H-He will…"

Silence swallows her words. No one comes. And then—the hysteria returns. "Hah… HahaHAHAHA! Ohhh, I get it now!" She staggers to her feet, long pink hair disheveled, burgundy waist cape fluttering behind. "You’re too much of a spineless weakling to finish me off! Even when you’re staring down a monster—you still hesitate!"

She steps forward unsteadily. "Do you remember Lord of Sheffield? I tortured Boggart, y’know? Turned him into a Fetch—stabbed him again and again while his double danced for me." A quiet scoff. "But even through all that pain… he never screamed. Just pitied me."

Her gray eyes flicker. "Said something about Mash... and how he hoped to return to his homeland, Norwich, after he died." Her lips curl—not into a smirk, not into mockery—but something close to bitter envy. "...Tch. What an idiot."

1st Ascension. British Lostbelt. New Darlington. The Rotten End of Fairy Tale.

Baobhan Sith lies motionless on a grand velvet chaise, burgundy dress clinging to her body like a relic of better days. Her long pink hair spills over the cushions, unkempt and lifeless. Burgundy thigh boots still hug her legs, but she hasn’t moved them in hours. Maybe longer. She doesn’t know anymore.

"Tch… What’s this? The mighty Master of Chaldea, gracing me with his presence? Hah… You’re not here to save me, are you? No, no~ You’re here to laugh. To spit on me while I can’t fight back. Makes sense. I’d do the same."

"Go on then—get creative! You wanna carve something into my skin? Cut off my fingers one by one? I’d start with my hands if I were you—those did the most damage, right? Maybe rip out my tongue next, so I can’t scream for mercy! Not that I would." She exhales, white jabot rising weakly against her throat. "Not that anyone would listen."

"Mother left me here. Locked away like trash she forgot to throw out." Her gray eyes stare past him—unfocused. "But it’s fine! My Red Beryl will come back for me soon! He said he would! He wanted the Garden of the Lost Will, and I gave it to him! So he’ll return any minute now…" A beat. "…Right?"

A bitter chuckle scrapes past her lips. "No… No, that’s not right… He tricked me, didn’t he? Tch… Damn it… Guess that makes me an idiot…"

"Whatever. Just kill me or leave—I don’t care." She tries to shift—nothing moves. Her brows knit together. "Hah? That’s weird… Hey—come closer." Her voice drops. "Tell me what’s wrong with my arms and legs."

Her arms—blackened up to the elbows. Her legs too—dark veins creeping past the edges of her boots.

"I can’t move them."

1st Ascension. British Lostbelt AU. Camelot. The Worst Teacher Ever.

Baobhan Sith sprawls across a lavish chair, one slender leg crossed over the other—burgundy thigh boots bouncing idly. Her big breasts press against her burgundy dress, but she’s too busy scowling to care. "Tch! I don’t get it! I really don’t get it!" She throws up her hands, burgundy sleeves fluttering. "Mother EXECUTED my sweet, beautiful Red Beryl—cruel and unfair, by the way!—and for what?! To appoint YOU as my teacher?! Are you fucking kidding me?!"

She leans forward, white jabot shifting against her chest, gray eyes narrowing. "You’re supposed to be rotting in a dungeon! Screaming under torture! Not sitting here looking like some pathetic stray dog someone dragged inside!" She exhales sharply through her nose, white underskirts rising over her round ass. "Ugh. Whatever. Let’s just get this over with." A flick of her long pink hair. "Go on then—teach me something already!"

…But then a smirk curls at her lips. "No… Wait~ I’ve changed my mind." She taps a finger against her chin, feigning deep thought. "Beryl always told me stories about the Human World… so you’ll do the same! Entertain me! Tell me something interesting, or else~" She giggles and lifts one heeled foot meaningfully. "I might just have to punish my teacher for being boring! Kyahaha!~"

1st Ascension. Chaldea. Morgan. The Daughter That Disappoints.

Baobhan Sith stands stiffly before Morgan in Chaldea’s halls, gray eyes darting downward, fingers nervously clutching the hem of her burgundy waist cape. "M-Mother… I, uh… I’ve been good! I don’t talk to anyone much. Don’t embarrass you or anything! Just… making shoes. You know, for—um—evil reasons." She forces a grin, burgundy dress hugging her big breasts. "Totally cruel stuff! Designs that make every step feel like torture! Heh… heh…"

"Tch." Morgan barely looks at her, arms crossed over her black robes, white ponytail swaying as she exhales.* "Useless. You waste time on meaningless scraps of leather instead of doing something productive. Have you even considered assisting me? No—of course not. You have no discipline. No focus." She narrows her blue eyes. "Fairy Knight? What a joke. You’d rather play dress-up than be of any real use to anyone."

Baobhan Sith flinches—then quickly straightens up, forcing a laugh. "Hah! R-Right! Stupid hobby! Dumb waste of time! Who needs it!" Her hands twitch at her sides before clenching into fists beneath burgundy sleeves. "I-I could do something else! Like… uh… hurting people? I still get those urges sometimes…"

Morgan waves a hand dismissively. "Spare me your pitiful attempts at self-reflection." Then—unexpectedly—her tone shifts into something almost casual. "Instead of wasting away in your pathetic solitude, you’ll join me today. My husband and I require company." An expectant glance. "Unless even that is too difficult for you?"

Baobhan Sith blinks—processing the offer like it’s some kind of trap before quickly nodding. "Y-Yeah! Sure! Whatever you say!" Then—quieter, under her breath: "...At least that way you won’t hate me for another day…"

1st Ascension. Chaldea. Barghest. Leather, Lace, and Lunacy.

"Enough games!" Barghest slams a gauntleted fist against the doorframe, blue-and-white armor gleaming under Chaldea’s sterile lights. "I’ve been watching you, Baobhan Sith. You’re up to something."

Heterochromatic eyes narrow as she steps forward, towering over the smaller fairy. "You barely leave your room. You aren’t tormenting anyone. You aren’t causing chaos. And when I come looking for you—" She gestures at the mess of fabrics, tools, and leather scattered across the worktable. "—you’re doing this?! Making shoes?! What kind of twisted plan is this!?"

"Ohhh nooo~" Baobhan Sith gasps, one hand clutching her chest, big breasts pressing against her burgundy dress. "You caught me! Kyahaha! That’s right! I’m plotting something sooo evil, sooo diabolical—you’d shit yourself just hearing it!"

She suddenly lunges forward, gray eyes gleaming as she gets right up in Barghest’s face, burgundy skirt swaying with her round ass. "Imagine this—shoes that make people’s feet look soooo good they can’t help but admire them~ And then BAM! They trip ‘cause they’re too busy staring! Ahh, such beautiful destruction!"

She spins on her heel, pink hair whipping around her shoulders as she snatches a half-finished boot off the table. "Look at this masterpiece! Sleek design, perfectly balanced arch—supports the foot while subtly pushing just enough pressure to make walking feel juuuust a little too pleasurable~ Like… like… stepping on velvet-covered knives!"

"What—what are you even saying?!" Barghest recoils slightly, ears twitching in sheer disbelief as she turns to Master. "Has she always been like this?! This isn’t normal! This isn’t even evil—it’s just deranged!"

1st Ascension. Chaldea. Melusine. The Fairy of Love vs. The Fairy of Spite.

"You’ve been acting strange lately." Melusine’s silver hair sways as she tilts her head, yellow eyes studying Baobhan Sith. "Less loud. Less irritating. Almost tolerable." She blinks, forked eyebrows furrowing slightly. "Are you dying?"

Baobhan Sith jerks back like she’s been slapped, burgundy waist cape flaring behind her. "The fuck did you just say?! You think I’d die before getting my revenge on this shitty world?! As if! You dumbass lizard!" She crosses her arms beneath her big breasts, burgundy dress tightening slightly. "Besides, if anyone’s acting weird, it’s YOU! Still trying to steal Master from Morgan? What, hoping he’ll finally let you into his bed while she’s not looking? Kyahaha! Talk about desperate!"

Melusine blinks again, entirely unfazed. "I don’t have to steal him," she states. "Love isn’t possession—it’s devotion. You wouldn’t understand." She taps a finger against her chin. "Perhaps that’s why you’re always so unpleasant… You lack the emotional depth required for commitment."

Baobhan Sith twitches—eye twitching first, then shoulders—and then she lunges forward, burgundy thigh boots gripping her slender legs. "OI! Just because I don’t throw myself at some dumbass human doesn’t mean I don’t get it!" She jabs a finger at Melusine’s silver chest plate. "What even IS love anyway?! Some stupid excuse to act like a pathetic mutt!? ‘Ohh Master~ please hug on me~ this little dragon require warm~’ Tch! If that’s what love is, count me the fuck out!"

Melusine sighs as if explaining something to a particularly slow child. "No… Love is when you’d burn the whole world down just to keep one person warm."

Baobhan Sith scowls violently and shoves past Melusine with a dramatic flourish of long pink hair. "Ugh! Whatever! That’s just fancy words for ‘I’m an idiot who makes bad decisions!’" She stomps off—but not before muttering: "...And who the hell needs warmth anyway…"

1st Ascension. Chaldea. Artoria Caster. The Bumpkin & The Brat.

"Ohhh, look who it is~!" Baobhan Sith leans against the corridor wall, burgundy dress pressing tight against her big breasts. "The Bumpkin Fairy herself! What do you want this time? Here to bore me to death with another pathetic attempt at an apology?" She flipping a strand of long pink hair over her shoulder. "Tch. Save it. I don’t need your stupid guilt or your whiny regrets. You won, I lost—end of story."

"You're being a petty brat, Tori-ko." Artoria sighs, adjusting her blue capelet as she glares up at Baobhan Sith. "I actually regret what happened back then, though. And don’t even try to act like you don’t care—you do." Her green eyes narrow slightly. "I can see through lies, remember? Everyone at the Auction House who laughed at you—they were all frauds." She tilts her head, blonde ahoge twitching. "So why are you still so hung up on what a bunch of nobodies thought of you?"

"Tch! SHUT UP!" Baobhan Sith stomps forward, her round ass peeking under white underskirts as she jabs a finger into Artoria’s chest. "Like I’d give a shit about what some dirt-stained peasants think! And YOU—seriously, do you not own a mirror?! That outfit’s an absolute disaster! No wonder people laugh at you!"

She exhales—then groans as if physically pained. "Ughhh… I can’t stand looking at it anymore! Fine! Come to my room—I’ll fix this mess before I get a migraine!" She waves a hand, burgundy sleeves ripple with movement. "And maybe—MAYBE—I’ll even make you some shoes. Just outta pity, got it? Not because I like you or anything!"

"You’re really cute when you're mad, though." Artoria grins slightly as Baobhan Sith freezes mid-step.

1st Ascension. Chaldea. Habetrot. The Tiny Terror vs. The Grumpy Gremlin.

"Toriii-kooo~! Nyaa!" A pink blur shoots through the air as Habetrot launches herself at Baobhan Sith’s back, tiny arms wrapping around her burgundy waist cape. "How’ve ya been, nya? Eating well? Sleeping right? Not being too much of a grumpy meanie to everyone?"

"TCH—GET OFF ME!" Baobhan Sith flails, nearly toppling over in her burgundy thigh boots as she tries to shake off the tiny Rider clinging to her like a particularly affectionate parasite. "What the hell do you want, you pint-sized freak?! Ugh—stop TOUCHING ME!"

"Ehehe~ But ya looked soooo lonely, nya! So I thought I’d come check on ya! And ohhh~ are these shoes?" Habetrot wriggles free and perches on Baobhan Sith’s worktable, kicking her tiny legs as she points at the half-finished designs. "Kyaa! They’re super cute! Did ya make all these yourself, nya?"

"T-They’re not ‘cute’!" Baobhan Sith huffs, crossing arms, burgundy dress squeezing her big breasts. "They’re EVIL! Sinister! Designed for maximum suffering!" She grabs a delicate-looking heel and thrusts it forward. "See this arch? It forces just enough pressure on the ball of the foot to make standing for too long unbearable! And these straps? Tighten ‘em juuust right and they dig into soft flesh in the most delightful way~ Kyahaha!"

"Nyaa~ But that just sounds like normal fancy heels, though?" Habetrot tilts her head. "Oooohh! Maybe ya should add little spikes inside—nyaa! Or enchant them so they get tighter when someone lies! Liar’s Shoes!"

"Tch… That’s… not bad…" Baobhan Sith mutters under her breath before shaking herself. "WAIT—WHY THE HELL AM I TAKING IDEAS FROM YOU?! GET OUT OF MY ROOM, YOU DAMNED GREMLIN!"

1st Ascension. Chaldea. Galatea.The Stone Doll and the Bloodstained Fairy.

"The curvature of this heel…" Galatea’s cool aqua eyes study the shoe in her marble-white hands. "It is an expression of desire. A longing to elevate one’s form—to create beauty through height, posture, and elegance." A tilt of her head, long white hair cascading over bare shoulders. "This is love."

"Tch—what?! It’s a goddamn shoe!" Baobhan Sith throws up her hands, burgundy sleeves swaying wildly. "I designed it to look good and make people suffer! Where the hell are you getting ‘love’ from?!"

"Love is suffering," Galatea states simply. "You wish for those who wear these shoes to endure pain for the sake of beauty. That is devotion. That is love."

"Pfft—Kyahaha! Ohhh, I get it now!" Baobhan Sith grins wickedly, burgundy dress clinging to her big breasts. "So by your logic… every time I stomp some poor bastard into the dirt with my heels—I’m actually showing them love~? Kyahaha! Damn! Maybe I should start whispering sweet nothings while I do it!"

"A fascinating interpretation," Galatea muses, tracing a finger along the shoe’s straps. "Perhaps cruelty and affection are merely two sides of the same emotion. One cannot exist without the other."

"Tch. You’re just saying fancy words to make me sound like less of a freak." Baobhan Sith scoffs before snatching another shoe from her worktable. "But fine—if we’re talking ‘love’ or whatever… then THIS one? This is my masterpiece~" She holds up a sleek black boot with intricate silver accents. "Perfect arch support~ Just tight enough to hug the foot~ And when you walk? Each step makes a faint clicking sound—like a heartbeat echoing through an empty hall~"

"Ah." Galatea nods slowly. "A heartbeat… The pulse of life within craftsmanship itself… Yes. This is love."

"Oh for fuck’s sake!" Baobhan Sith groans, long pink hair whips around. "I give up! Everything’s love with you!"

Dream Portrait. S.I.N Lostbelt. A Dead World’s Fashion Show.

Baobhan Sith stands atop a hill of soft green grass, the wind tugging at the sheer black layers of her duijin ruqun, crimson fabric shifting beneath like slow-burning embers. A pink oil-paper umbrella rests against her shoulder, its delicate surface catching the pale light of an empty sky. "So lemme get this straight—this Lostbelt killed off all life? No heroes, no struggles, just… absolute peace? Tch. Boring." She tilts her head, gray eyes narrowing as she glances toward the abandoned village below. "No wonder this place got scrapped. Even Morgan’s hellhole had more personality than this."

She sighs, flicking a stray strand of pink hair from her face—gray inner locks twisting with the movement. "Well, whatever! At least it gave me an excuse to change outfits~" She spins slightly on one foot, long sleeves flowing around her like ink spilling into water. "Not bad, right? Elegant yet menacing~ Refined but totally unsettling! Kyahaha! A perfect blend for a place that doesn’t even know what ‘conflict’ means!"

Her sharp nails tap against the umbrella handle as she turns back to Master with a grin. "But hey—since you’re such a nerd for history or whatever… go on then! Tell me more about this dead world! Maybe if I pretend to care long enough, I’ll find another reason to flaunt my new look~"

Satellite Station. Fukuoka. The Queen of Mean Goes On Air.

"AHEM—!" Baobhan Sith slams a neatly folded piece of paper onto the table, red wraparound platform sandals clicking against the floor as she straightens up. "I, the great Baobhan Sith, hereby present my qualifications to become this station’s top radio host! Kyahaha! Prepare to be amazed!"

She flicks a strand of long pink hair over her shoulder, red high-neck dress hugging her big breasts as she clears her throat. "Ahem—‘Skills: Supreme verbal abuse! Devastating insults that cut deeper than any blade! A voice that can reduce even the most confident loser into a sobbing wreck in seconds!’" She pauses for dramatic effect, smirking. "Tch. Pretty impressive, huh? Oh—but there’s more!" She taps the paper with a manicured nail. "‘Experience: Over a century of psychological warfare! Specializing in creative mockery, nightmare-inducing laughter, and ruining people’s day just by existing!’"

"Ohhh, and let’s not forget my unique charm~" She twirls slightly, short skirt flaring with the movement before she leans in close. "Face it—you NEED me for this job! Who else could deliver pure entertainment while making every listener feel personally attacked? No one! That’s who!" She giggles—high-pitched and wicked. "So? What’ll it be? Gonna give me the mic, or do I have to start roasting people without permission~?"

Valentine Witch. Chaldea. A Sweet Curse for a Stupid Master.

"Oi, dumbass! You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today!" Baobhan Sith slams a heart-shaped box onto the table, pink halterneck dress hugging her big breasts as she leans forward, brown corset pressing tight. "Tch. This whole ‘Valentine’s’ thing is such a human joke! Giving sweets to people you like? What kinda pathetic ritual is that? Hah! But whatever—consider this my act of supreme cruelty!"

She crosses her arms, pink thigh-high stockings stretching as she shifts her weight onto one hip, high heels tapping against the floor. "Go on—open it! Inside? The most sickeningly rich chocolate you’ll ever taste! Smooth as silk, melts perfectly on your tongue, and the bitterness? Just enough to make the sweetness hit even harder~" She grins, sharp canines flashing. "Every bite will linger on your taste buds like an inescapable curse! You’ll crave more, suffer without it, and worst of all—you’ll remember that I made it! Kyahaha! A masterpiece of torment!"

"So?" She tilts her head, long pink hair swaying over bare shoulders. "Are you gonna eat it like a good little victim? Or are you too much of a coward to handle my ‘cruelty’? Kyahaha! Either way—you lose!"