My Wives Are A Divine Hive Mind-Chapter 102: Monochara, Monarcha

A soft voice broke the hush at the black and white streets of Monochara.

"Lady Monarcha!"

She turned. Her ornate umbrella unfurled in a slow arc, ivory lace brushing twilight air. As it swept shut, it revealed her beautiful and confident visage.

Her name was Vervendi Monarcha.

Her gown was black lace layered over charcoal satin, cut to cradle her form with delicate rigidity. Ribboned bows stitched into the corseted waist, ruffles cascading down her skirt in perfect tiers.

High collar framed her pale throat. Gothic lace gloves ended before fractured talon-blades—each finger a slender demonic claw, polished obsidian tipped with faint runic glow.

Thin chains of onyx beads draped from her shoulders to twin brooches etched with Monochara sigil, a winged wolf. Her hair, raven-dark and immaculately coiffed into twin loops, contrasted lips painted violet-black.

Her eyes flickered between indigo and onyx. At her feet were black heels that matches her gothic lolita style.

A servant held his breath as Vervendi looked down. She inclined her head, russet-stained curls on pale cheeks trembling beneath shadowed lids. "What’s the hold up?"

He stepped forward, hat in hand. "You are required at the Nox Clock, milady. Once the void‑lance array is pushed to activation, your position there must be ready as your authority is needed to let the array be utilized."

Vervendi tapped her abnormally long umbrella handle against the polished floor tile. "I am in no rush. Besides, Cayame is likely still briefing those visitors from that so-called Consortium."

The servant tilted his bowl hat. "Milady, may I ask your opinion of the New Vaingal Consortium?"

A playful arc of a talon across her lips. She considered. "What kind of opinion?"

"Your opinion, as Monochara’s royalty that is not formally aligned with the Karasu Association..." He swallowed. "Your opinion—of their leadership, as allies, as a rising power trusted by Cayame."

She smiled. Coldly. "I have heard that the Consortium’s leader is none other than a half‑divinity. A divine soul marked with lineage—and in Fathomi that means a noble."

The servant frowned. "Is being of noble soul a significant trait?"

Vervendi unfolded one claw slowly. "It does. Only those with noble souls understand the weight of legacy and responsibility. Such souls assume burdens others cannot. In that, the Consortium is promising. As long as their alliance with Karasu holds, Monochara benefits greatly from whatever deal they are making."

"You have certainly put a lot of trust in Lady Cayame," the servant pointed out. "Is it because of what happened five days ago?"

"The proposal?" Vervendi raised her eyebrow. "Well, we certainly interacted more after I didn’t reciprocate her feelings back then."

"Have you started to develop a feeling, then?"

"To a long time rival figure of mine who snatched my authority from this ancient and noble bastion?" Vervendi sneered. "Why yes, what a quaint conclusion that you ended up with."

"Regardless, of that matter, I nary dug much of the new faction that the Karasu have been greatly associated with for the past weeks." She swept her umbrella closed over her shoulder. "I haven’t given them much thought either. In the end, their value lies in that alliance. We are stronger together than apart."

The servant dared another. "When will you resume reign over Monochara, Lady Monarcha?" There seemed to be an underlying meaning behind this question. "Perhaps reclaim the title from current director Cayame?"

Vervendi laughed at the attempt to prod her. "Titles are dust when prosperity blooms. Besides, under Cayame, Monochara thrives more than under my rule. The past serves only as memory, not something I must reclaim unless it gives me enough wealth and freedom to do anything~

"Never ask me about that again, lest you want to be alleged with the calling of an usurper."

He bowed deeply. "As you wish. Shall I escort you to the Nox Clock?"

She exhaled softly. "No. I wish to see the city before that accursed Nihil arrives."

"Very well then—"

"But not on the platform. I intend to shop."

He blinked. "Shop, milady?"

She tilted her head, one sharp talon glinting as she adjusted the black velvet ribbon on her parasol. Evening light traced the silver filigree of her earrings, casting half-moons over her collar. "Yes," she said. "Something tasteful to mark this occasion."

She stepped off the paved promenade, black heels tapping like a harpsichord’s cadence as she approached the first stall of the old quarter.

Porcelain skin brushed against the edge of an ivory rack holding a line of delicate wares—plates etched with cloud-forged filigree, teacups rimmed in inked silver, boxes that hummed faintly when opened.

The vendor, a squat man with a monocle pressed to one eye, looked up and froze. He immediately bowed.

"Lady Monarcha," he said, voice controlled but reverent. "May I assist you in selecting something from our late-season pieces?"

"Show me your third shelf, leftmost corner," she said, scanning without looking directly. "I saw a ripple when I passed. Was it runic-layered"

He reached beneath the counter and lifted a circular plaque embedded with a three-ring ward, the markings subtle under black-lacquer glaze.

"This one is delivered from Buryan bastion, but it’s not sent in the most delightful state,"

"The shape is already powerful, however," Vervendi murmured, placing one clawed finger lightly over the center glyph. "It’s unfinished. I like that. When it comes to art, full completion is a myth anyway~"

The merchant chuckled nervously. "As you wish, Lady Monarcha."

"Send it to my spatial storage Curio." She referring to the floating triangular device that had just appeared from an inky smoke.

Her servants moved behind her, the chosen item folding instantly into an invisible ripple in the air as the storage Curio claimed it.

She drifted into a narrow stone hallway arched in brass lattice, where low lanterns buzzed quietly.

A boutique nestled beneath it bore a rotating sign shaped like a crystalline blossom. The moment she entered, the attendant adjusted his lapel and greeted her.

"Lady Monarcha, welcome to Astrilect Aromatics. May I interest you in a sachet prepared with our signature Night Resin blend?"

She gave him a quiet, faint smile. "Something less ceremonial. I want pockets of memory to savor for the morning. Select ones that evoke rain over old iron, forest smoke, and crimson silk if it is possible."

He blinked once before nodding. "Yes, of course." He reached into a lacquered case, lifting three ribbon-woven pouches, each tied with thread that shimmered faintly between light and shadow.

She ran a clawed fingertip across the seam, lightly sniffing it from afar. "As perfect as always."

The pouches were gone in an instant, whisked into the Curio behind her.

She exited through a side door that opened onto a small courtyard lined with narrow steps, flowerboxes of black-stemmed lilies perched on railings, and wrought-iron rails strung with tiny bells.

A few citizens bowed quietly from a distance. She nodded back with grace.

At a craftsman’s enclave nestled between two temple-archive towers, she entered a darkened stall filled with mechanical relics and timepieces in various states of assembly.

"Lady Monarcha," an old man greeted, hunched over a desk with a chisel of etched bone. "I did not expect the noble blood of Monochara to enter my humble quarters."

"I seek no audience," she said, eyes already trailing the brass-lined wall. "Only objects touched by obsession. Do you have any that resisted completion?"

The man’s hands trembled. He stepped aside and pulled a cloth from a small pedestal.

There it stood: a clockcrafted statuette shaped like a minute hand, anchored by a base of black coral and angelbone, surrounded by minute gothic cherubs—each carving circling the center, mouths open in silent dirges, wings warped asymmetrically, like the artist faltered halfway through understanding beauty.

"This one ticks in reverse," the man whispered.

Vervendi studied it for a long time.

She tilted her head as if listening to a sound no one else could hear. Her lips curled slightly. "Yes, it appeased me."

The piece lifted from the pedestal without her touching it.

The Curio tool pulled it in, and she let it disappear without a word.

From stall to stall, her procession continued. A rune-inlaid sewing kit that stitched by anticipating the mind’s silhouette. A scroll written in forgotten braille, pulsing gently with historical despair. A spoon forged from petrified screams—useless for eating, perfect for ceremony and overall decoration.

Each item was chosen without haste, but each selection was surprisingly deliberate.

Eventually, her steps slowed as she approached a half-circle gallery beneath an old skywalk bridge.

She leaned over the rail slightly, gazing at the spires of Monochara in the distance.

A moment of stillness.

"I have everything I wanted," she murmured.

"Shall we return to the Nox Clock, Lady Monarcha?" one of her servants asked from behind.

She looked back over her shoulder. "In a minute. I want to hear the bells ring one more time."

Then came a shift in air.

A shadow stretched too long, where none had been.

"You are?"

A man in a trenchcoat approached without footfall, his silhouette stark and unwavering beneath the hanging lights of the plaza.

Vervendi blinked once.

Her umbrella twitched in her hand.

He was in front of her all of a sudden, swinging a giant blade.

"Milady—!"

The blade sliced horizontal air so powerful, it flashed a white light as if a thunder had struck the ground.

And when it happened, a red streak glowed right in the middle intersection of Vervedi’s standing body.

A second later, the mysterious man was gone.

Leaving a splitted body standing for everyone to witness.