Over the top of a hill surrounded by dandelions, a town lies near the great city of Tulgey. This town was known for its peace—the townsfolk lived their day-to-day lives with no troubles, no worries about bandit attacks, no anxiety from war, and the crops grew healthily every year.
Tall houses with pale white roofs, stone-bricked roads, fields and fields of crops, and a very large market.
A perfect town.
Would you dare to dream of such a place? A place with no pain nor worry, a place where people can get whatever they want and still get along?
A catch? Why would it need to have a catch? Can't a utopia exist for the sake of being a utopia?
You see, a utopia is an impossible concept to comprehend. Even if we can understand and imagine what a utopia is—a perfect place with no problems—we can't help but think there's always something wrong.
It is because we are human that we can't comprehend a perfect utopia. And it is also because we are human that we could never achieve such a thing.
Because there is a catch.
In this beautiful town aptly named Dandelion Hills, there lies a deep, dark secret known only to the townsfolk.
At the town center, a large and ancient well exists. At the bottom of that well lives a girl, unrecognizable beneath the soot covering her skin and the dirty, disheveled hair that had grown longer than her own body.
Curled into a ball, her ribs were so sharply defined, it seemed they were trying to break free from their cage of skin.
"Has the Vileblood been fed yet, Mother?" asked a child, as an older woman quietly sewed a piece of clothing.
"She can live a day more. The festival is happening come morn. We must be patient for our Lord Harvester…"
The town bustled with anticipation. People whistled and danced. Some cooked, some drank ale at the tavern, others ran errands, while children played joyfully in scarlet butterfly costumes.
"I am the Grand General Krowe Redbane! Prepare to lose!" one child shouted, brandishing a wooden sword.
"Well, I am King Leon of Cameroth! Prepare to meet your end!" they yelled, laughing as the adults smiled fondly in passing.
Meanwhile, deep in the well, the girl looked upward. Her only source of light was a distant pinprick no larger than her thumb from where she sat.
Her eyes were gentle—beautiful beyond words. Azure, as if the sky had been poured into a pair of twin moons.
"Tomorrow…" Her voice was hoarse, like she hadn't tasted water in days. Yet there was still a trace of gentleness in her tone.
Morning came, and the town awoke beneath the golden sun. The townsfolk wore white garbs as they paraded across the streets, happily dancing and singing.
"Lord Harvester! Bless this year's harvest!"
"Lord Harvester! Us made by you—we are mud!"
"Lord Harvester! May the wretched be laid to rest!"
"Lord Harvester! Punish the Vileblood!"
Their voices echoed across the hills.
"Raise up the Vileblood!" shouted a man. Another pulled a lever near the well, and moments later, the girl was hoisted up on a stone platform.
They gathered around her, standing on the pale white bricks of the town square.
"Disgusting Vileblood!"
"That rotten stench!"
"You shall be punished!"
The crowd roared.
"Everybody line up!" commanded the man.
"Bring out Lord Harvester's blade."
Another man retrieved an ancient blackened blade, decaying from time itself—almost as rotten as the girl.
"Linda!"
"Yes, Mayor!" A woman stepped forward and accepted the blade. Her eyes were bloodshot, her teeth clenched with rage.
"Vileblood! You made me bed with another man!" she screamed, slashing the girl across her body. Blood spilled freely.
"How dare you coerce me to be unfaithful! You painted me a harlot!"
She kept slashing, again and again, blood now running through the grooves of the stone.
"Seven slashes. Enough, Linda." The mayor took the blade from her, stern and calm.
"Gilt!" he called.
The next man stepped forward.
"Wretched Vileblood! You'll pay for making me violate a young maiden!"
He drove the blade deep into the girl's body.
"I would never do such a thing of my own will! You made me do it! Vileblood!"
He stabbed again. And again. Down to the bone.
"Five piercings. Enough," the mayor declared, and Gilt returned the blade with a bow.
Throughout it all, the girl said nothing. Even as every villager slashed and pierced her, she remained composed, eyes closed.
Every month, they did this.
Every month, they cut her down until she was a pile of flesh, blood, and bone.
For this was how the townsfolk believed they could rid themselves of sin:
By punishing the one who made them commit it.
Through her suffering, the town lived in peace—free from hate, free from blame.
"Seven slashes. Enough!"
The final villager stepped back.
"Lower the Vileblood, Hreth," the mayor ordered.
The platform sank, carrying her mangled body back to the darkness.
Two men appeared, each carrying a barrel of foul-smelling liquid.
"A barrel short from last year… She'll survive with just this. It's enough."
They poured the barrels into the well—thick, dark blood soaking the girl and eventually submerging her.
"It's done, sir."
"Good. Head to the banquet hall and join the rest. I'll follow shortly." The mayor lit a cigar.
"Yes, sir."
They bowed and left.
He puffed quietly, leaning on a fence.
"It's been five years since that fool sold us the girl," he muttered with a grin.
"Sir?"
A man with a goatee approached.
"Hreth. Why aren't you at the banquet?"
"Just needed fresh air, sir." He lit a cigar of his own.
The mayor helped light it, then nodded.
"By the way, sir… have you heard about the Harpy attacks near Daisy Hills? That's not far."
"Aye. But fret not—we're protected by Lord Harvester."
"It's a windy night, isn't it?"
"Quite."
"I'll head back in. Don't stay too long, sir, or you'll catch a cold."
"Take care, Hreth."
As the mayor disappeared, Hreth watched, then softly sang under his breath.
"Oh fair maidens…"
Suddenly, his eyes widened. Figures in the distance. Blurry. Approaching.
"I-it can't be…"
He dropped his cigar and ran.
"Mayor! Mayor!"
Inside the banquet hall, the celebration was lively. Pale garbs swirled like milk stirred in a pot.
"Mr. Mayor, may I have this dance?" asked an older woman.
"Of course," he smiled, taking her hand.
The music swelled.
Then—CRASH.
The doors flew open. Hreth stood, breathless and blood-soaked.
"Hreth? What is it?" the mayor asked.
"Ma… Mayor! They're here! The Ha—"
THUNK.
Blood sprayed across the floor. Hreth fell, a hole blown through his chest. He collapsed, unmoving.
A moment of silence—
Then screams.
THUD!
The mayor collapsed.
"B-but how?! Lord Harvester… save u—"
His head rolled across the floor.
And then—
The Harpy stepped into view.
A monstrous bird-creature. Humanoid only in shape. Its head a mass of feathers, flesh, beaks, and hair. Grotesque and towering. Indescribable.
A nightmare made real.
The townspeople scattered. Screaming. Trampling one another.
One Harpy after another swooped through the streets, devouring all in their path.
At the well, the blood began to ripple.
Then—an arm breached the surface, reaching toward the sky.
"Mommy! Save me!"
A child clutched her mother's dress, sobbing.
The woman looked back—not with love, but fury—and slapped her down.
"M-Mommy…"
The child whimpered. The woman ran without looking back.
"There's no time for guilt! I can always make anoth—"
Her words ended in a wet crunch. Her torso was gone. Her entrails spilled onto the cobblestones.
"Mommy…?" the girl whispered.
The Harpy turned to her.
She couldn't run. Her legs wouldn't move. The creature lunged, beak wide open—
"I'm sorry…"
A voice.
The girl opened her eyes.
A figure stood before her.
A girl—no, a young woman—with long black and white hair, her body covered in blood. Her arm blocked the Harpy's attack.
"I took too long," she whispered.
Her azure eyes burned with light.
SLASH!
The Harpy's head fell, cleaved in two.
In her hand, she held the same blade that once cut her down.
But now, it burned with blue fire.
The girl looked at the child, gently—then turned and sprinted toward the next monster.
"By my blood and soul…
I call forth your power…
Kruella, the Blade of Cruelty."