Kafka's hands twitched in hers, his mind reeling, his heart hammering. He couldn't speak, couldn't even think, as her confession echoed in his head.
And Vanitas who watching...expected him to panic.
She expected him to pull away, to demand answers, to recoil in horror at what she had just admitted. She braced herself for outrage. For disgust. For him to scream,
"What the hell is wrong with you!?"
But none of that came.
He just...stared.
Completely still. Completely silent. Eyes locked to hers like he was reading something far beyond the surface.
But that very silence, his unreadable calm, was what made Vanitas' heart race in fear. She couldn't tell what he was thinking. And the longer he said nothing, the more terrified she became.
Her gaze darted toward Evangeline, silently begging for help, but even she looked nervous, lips tight, arms crossed. This was something not even she could predict.
Then, suddenly, Kafka leaned forward, his body swaying as if the ground beneath him had tilted—and nearly collapsed.
Seeing her son looking like he was about to faint, Vanitas lunged forward, catching him in her arms.
"Kafka?!" She cried, holding him tightly. "Kafka, are you alright?!"
Evangeline appeared at his side in a flash, but before either of them could do more, Kafka chuckled hoarsely.
"Not really." He said, voice low and strained. "I need a chair...and some water."
Without hesitation, Vanitas waved her hand, and in a shimmer of divine magic, a lavish golden throne erupted behind him, encrusted with rubies, sapphires, and opal inlays. A throne fit for a god, but more importantly, a throne for her son.
Kafka collapsed into it with a grunt, breathing heavily. Another flick of Vanitas's hand summoned a goblet—pure gold, etched with holy script, and filled it with the clearest, coldest water the heavens could conjure.
Kafka downed it in one go. Then asked for more.
And again.
And again.
Cup after cup. Eight in total. And still he said nothing.
Vanitas and Evangeline exchanged glances, both of them on edge. But then, Kafka sighed, long and deep, setting the cup down. He leaned back, wiped his mouth, and finally looked at Vanitas.
"Okay." He said slowly, cracking a wry, disbelieving smile. "First off...if this is a joke, now's the time to say it. Just tell me it was a prank, Mom. That you were just messing with me. That none of this is real."
But her expression didn't change. She didn't speak.
"...Yeah." Kafka muttered. "Didn't think so."
He leaned his head back, eyes staring at the sky.
"So...you love me. Not just as a mother. But as a man too. That's what you said."
Vanitas nodded slowly, silent to which Kafka ran a hand through his hair and let out another long breath.
"God, I honestly don't know what to say to that."
Vanitas lowered her head. She had no words either.
Kafka sat in silence again. Then said quietly,
"There's so much I want to ask. But I know if I start, I'll never stop. So instead...I want to know how. How did this happen? How the hell did my mother fall in love with me?"
He looked up at her. "I get Abigaille. I get Olivia. I seduced them. Played into their weaknesses. Flipped their maternal instincts. They raised me, but they adopted me. And I made them see me as a man...That was on me.
"But you? You're my real blood mother. And we just met again today. I didn't do anything. Nothing seductive, nothing manipulative. So...what the hell happened?"
Vanitas looked away, wringing her hands like a child caught in guilt.
"I...I don't know." She whispered. "I really don't. I wish I could tell you. But even I don't understand it. I don't know when it started, or why, or how it turned into this. I'm not even good at explaining how I feel...Especially something like this."
Kafka stared at her.
And yet...he believed her.
Because that was the thing about love—sometimes, there wasn't a clear answer. Sometimes, feelings bloomed in silence, without warning, without logic.
But still. He needed clarity. He needed something.
He was about to speak again, until Vanitas suddenly looked toward Evangeline.
"She should know." She said quickly. "Evangeline...I told you everything, didn't I? I shared everything I felt. All the memories. All the times I watched him grow. All the moments I—" Her voice caught.
Evangeline raised a brow. "You want me to explain it for you?"
Vanitas nodded desperately. "Please. If anyone knows how it all happened, it's you. You were there. You listened."
Kafka turned to her too, eyes narrowed. "Do you? Do you know how this all happened?"
Evangeline looked at them both, and for the first time in a long while, she looked genuinely tired. She pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Yeah...I know. I've heard enough from her over the years to figure it out."
Vanitas looked hopeful. Kafka leaned forward.
But Evangeline raised a hand, her tone flat.
"Let me make this clear, I don't want to be involved in this. This is between the two of you, not me. But..." She glanced at Vanitas, who now looked more like a lost, pleading girl than the proud deity she had served for millennia. And with a groan, Evangeline gave in.
"Fine. But don't make me say it twice."
She turned to Kafka, her tone serious. "It all comes down to four things. Four aspects that led to all this. Four reasons why your mother didn't just fall back into your life as a parent, but ended up falling for you."
Kafka blinked, and then...chuckled.
"Wow." He said, raising an eyebrow. "You already mapped it out so precisely that you numbered and categorized the exact causes? I swear, you're frighteningly observant."
"Of course I am." Evangeline said proudly, brushing back a lock of hair. "I'm the God of Order, remember? My entire existence revolves around maintaining balance, clarity, structure. Naturally, I'd articulate things in a way even an idiot could understand."
Then she tilted her head and cast a pointed glance at Vanitas, voice sharpening.
"Unlike a certain someone here, who despite being the most powerful deity in the heavens, is fumbling like a toddler when asked to explain basic emotions."
Vanitas flinched.
In the past, that jab would have ignited a divine argument, thunder and lightning flying everywhere, but now, she just looked down, lips trembling. She didn't fight it. She accepted it.
She was the one at fault here. She had lost control. And right now, she couldn't even defend herself.
Evangeline sighed.
She'd never thought she'd see Lady Vanitas, the feared creator, the all-seeing eye of the cosmos, reduced to a guilty, blushing mess. Today really is insane, she thought.
"I don't want to drag this out." She said finally. "So listen carefully, Kafka. These four things...they're the truth. They're the pieces that led to what you heard just now."
She lifted a finger. "First."
"One of the key factors was obsession. Your mother is...how do I put this delicately..." She shot Vanitas a side glance. "A total stalker."
Kafka blinked.
Vanitas flushed red.
Evangeline continued, merciless.
"Ever since she abandoned you, and realized what she'd done, she fell into despair. She regretted it, every moment of it...So what did she do? She turned all her focus to you. Watching. Guarding. Breathing in your every movement from the heavens."
Her gaze hardened as she spoke.
"She dedicated her entire life to it, Kafka. Years upon years, watching your face, your smile, your struggles. Even when you slept, she stared at you. She said it herself, her eyes never left you...Almost like a stalker."
Vanitas's cheeks flushed, her lips twitching as she looked away, while Kafka blinked, startled, then laughed under his breath.
"A stalker, huh? Mom, that's one way to put it..."
But Evangeline continued coldly.
"Obsession warps. It deepens, festers, evolves. And she's not the first. Think of Evangeline, the leader of the Assassin's Church. She shadowed you for so long that even her cold heart cracked, and she fell for you."
Kafka's head snapped up. "Wait, what? Evangeline? You're saying she...loves me?"
"Yes." Evangeline said simply. "She does. She just doesn't know how to say it."
Kafka ran his hand down his face. "What in the world...I thought she hated me now you're saying that she actually loves me?"
"That's for you to deal with later." Evangeline cut him off. "Right now, focus."
"Your mother watched you more than anyone else. Her obsession reached a point where it went beyond maternal love.She loved you so much she couldn't handle it, and the boundaries of that love, between mother and son, started to blur."
"It turned into something more."
Evangeline paused, then added,
"The second factor is that halo you carry, the fact that you're the incarnation of lust. It gives you a subtle effect on women, making you more likable, more approachable, even to those who've just met you."
"It's not something you've fully unlocked, but it's there, faint but undeniable. And it doesn't just affect mortals, it can influence true gods—including your mother
Her eyes shifted to Vanitas, who lowered her head, shame painted on her face as she then went on to say while Kafka carefully listened,
"Just think about it Kafka, just looking at you for a moment makes you seem approachable, likable. Now imagine what kind of effect that has when someone like Vanitas has been watching you since you were born, keeping her eyes on you at all times."
"That constant exposure, combined with her obsession, turned her maternal love into something romantic. As the incarnation of lust, you couldn't help but draw her in, even her, and make her see you as more than just her son."
Kafka froze, realization dawning. "...Holy shit. It's that strong? Strong enough to even pull in my own mother?"
Evangeline's silence was answer enough.
And hearing, Kafka's voice dropped, quiet but filled with dread as a horrifying thought popped into his mind.
"Then what about the future? What happens if...when I have daughters of my own? Will they—"
He stopped, his face paling.
"...will they...fall for me too if they stay with me too long?"
For once, even Evangeline faltered. Her composure cracked just slightly. She looked away, her lips tightening before saying,
"...I don't know."
Kafka's heart thudded in his chest, as Evangeline continued after a long pause.
"If your aura is strong enough to affect Vanitas—the strongest of the True Gods even then, then yes. It may not spare anyone. Even your own daughters."
He stared at her in horror.
"But..." She added quickly. "That is a bridge you'll cross when you come to it. Right now, you must deal with the reality in front of you, your mother, her confession, and what it means. Not what might happen years from now."
Kafka sat frozen in place, the weight of Evangeline's words crashing down on him like a tidal wave. His thoughts spiraled as his gaze dropped to the floor.
He already had his hands full with his current situation, his mother had just confessed her romantic love for him, not as a son, but as a man.
That alone was enough to send his sanity teetering on the edge. He didn't know how to handle it, didn't even know where to begin. The emotional chaos, the impossibility of it, the sheer awkwardness and the surreal absurdity, it was already more than he could bear.
But now?...Now he had to process the possibility that this cursed aura of his might someday extend even further, to his future daughters. That one day, they too might find themselves falling for him...
The thought was so jarring, so disturbing, that it sent an icy chill down his spine. His head throbbed instantly, the dull thrum of a headache blooming behind his temples. It was the kind of mental overload that made him feel like his skull might split open.
He imagined it, one of his daughters, one day, blushing, trembling, confessing her love for him the way his mother had just done. That look in Vanitas's eyes. That fragile, tortured affection.
He shivered.
Nope....He didn't even want to think about it. Not now. Not ever.
Just thinking about it made him feel like he was going to pass out.
And he realised in that moment, that this was without a doubt, the biggest headache of his entire life...