I Revived My Maid, Now She Hungers for My Blood

Hearing this, Poppy’s previously regretful expression instantly transformed, and a distinct light sparked in her eyes.

“That’s great to hear!” Her tone lightened noticeably. “So... this means the experiments on potion ingredient substitution can officially begin?”

“The basic prerequisites are all met,” Pandora confirmed with a slight nod. “We can start in a few days. Though, today may not offer the time.”

At that, she turned her head to look at the Miss Anomaly she was holding by the hand. The girl was standing quietly beside her, her curious eyes studying the instruments in the observation room, as well-behaved as any ordinary child.

“Today, I’m taking her to see a psychoanalyst.”

That was right. The “specialist” she had booked for the girl a few days prior was, in fact, a psychoanalyst. In this era, the term “psychologist” wasn’t yet common; “psychoanalysis” was the more fashionable term, favored by high society and academia alike.

Pandora was intensely curious about the inner nature of Miss Anomaly.

But at this stage, physical dissection—a crude and irreversible method—wasn’t necessary.

A more suitable approach was to probe the construction of her psyche and the boundaries of her anomalous nature through verbal guidance and the excavation of the subconscious.

“Fair enough.” Poppy clearly had far less interest in psychoanalysts. What she cared about more was the progress of the potion experiments. “I hope the substitution experiments succeed soon.”

With that, she stood up, adjusted the hem of her jacket, and picked up her hookah flask, making ready to leave.

“Here’s hoping.” Pandora watched her exit the observation room, then withdrew her gaze and gently took the girl’s hand once more. “Come on, it’s nearly time for our appointment. We should be going.”

………………

Before long, the party of three arrived in front of a high-end office building in the city center.

The stone facade gleamed with a cold, hard luster under the late morning sun, its surface meticulously polished, its grain clear and solemn.

A revolving door framed in brass spun tirelessly, swallowing and disgorging well-dressed men and women, the click of leather shoes on marble mixing with the rumble of motor cars.

The psychoanalyst’s office was on one of the building’s upper floors.

Pandora led the anomalous girl, with Elsa trailing close behind, through the revolving door and into the lofty lobby.

The interior was paved in marble polished to a mirror shine, crystal chandeliers hanging from the domed ceiling casting a soft glow even in the daytime.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

At the front desk, a young woman in a crisp navy uniform, her hair pinned up in an immaculate bun, smiled professionally as she saw the three approach.

“Do you have an appointment?”

“Pandora Douglas. An appointment with Dr. Elias M. Brenner on the 22nd floor.” Elsa stepped forward and answered calmly.

The receptionist bent to flip through a thick register, her finger halting on a particular line. Her smile immediately became warmer.

She took a stiff cardboard visitor’s pass from the counter, clipped a brass holder to it, and offered it to Pandora with both hands.

“Good morning, ladies. To reach the doctor’s office, please use Elevator B on the left. The operator will take you up.”

“Thank you.” Pandora accepted the pass and led the girl and Elsa toward the left-hand elevator bay.

The elevator wasn’t far. Constrained by the technological level of this Fragment World, such elevators still required manual operation.

An operator in a deep crimson cap and a crisp, double-breasted uniform stood rigidly by the control lever, his white gloves stark against the brass.

The three stepped into the car, which already held a few people, making it somewhat cramped.

The operator pulled the outer wooden folding door shut, then forcefully closed the inner semi-automatic brass accordion gate. A soft click—the latch snapped shut.

As the operator pushed the brass lever, a dull, grinding sound of gears engaging rumbled from overhead and below. The car shuddered faintly and began its slow ascent.

This purely mechanical drive made the elevator’s movement feel somewhat sluggish.

The slight sway, combined with the faint creak of steel cables over pulleys, gave it a unique, retro charm belonging to this era.

To Pandora, this sense of cleverness, reliant entirely on mechanical structures, was almost more interesting than some of the twisted anomalies she’d encountered.

The car was a bit crowded. The air held a mix of lingering cigar smoke, the powdery scent of perfume, and a faint trace of mechanical lubricating oil.

In front of Pandora stood two men dressed in white lab coats covered by gray trench coats—researchers, by the look of them. One was slightly plump, wearing round spectacles; the other was tall and lean.

They spoke in lowered voices, but the unmistakable anxiety in their tones wasn’t much diminished by the reduced volume.

“…If this keeps up, forget the rare orchid species—we won’t even be able to pay the heating bill for the greenhouse,” the bespectacled, rounder man on the left grumbled, his voice brimming with frustration and agitation.

“That old fossil in management keeps insisting on ‘pure academic research,’ refuses any commercial investment… and meanwhile, the bank’s already plastered the payment notices on the door!”

“Shh, keep it down,” the tall man on the right warned, casting a wary glance around the elevator. His eyes paused briefly on Pandora’s group, then quickly moved on.

But he, too, had clearly been holding it in for too long and couldn’t help but add,

“A cash flow disruption is a death sentence. No investor’s going to step in now—unless that old fossil is actually willing to dig up the rare orchids he spent years cultivating and sell them off!”

The tall man sighed, his voice dropping even lower. “But those are his life’s work…”

The two exchanged a look, then said nothing more, merely staring up at the floor indicator in silence. The atmosphere in the elevator had grown somewhat oppressive from their exchange.

Pandora lowered her eyes, her gaze seeming to rest casually on the brass accordion gate, but her ears had clearly caught those key words.

At first, she hadn’t paid any mind—idle elevator chatter was none of her concern.

But when the phrases “rare plants,” “greenhouse,” “cash flow disruption,” and “bankrupt,” laced with that tone of despair and helplessness, drifted unmistakably into her ears… a light flickered, very briefly, in her eyes.

Subtle and fleeting, it was like a puzzle piece had silently clicked into place in some unremarkable corner of her mind.

Without any visible reaction, she studied the two despondent researchers from the corner of her eye.

The round glasses, the white coats, the gray trench coats, the worn leather shoes—and that unique air of grudging frustration and helplessness, the kind only found in ground-level researchers who’d been struggling under funding pressures for far too long.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!