The System Sent Me to Breed an All-Female Amazon Tribe-Chapter 173: Titania, I… Like You. And I

Want to Know Everything About You

[Understood, Benjamin Mark. If that is your wish, I shall no longer intervene.] [Vae]

Vaelora’s voice echoed once more in my head, calm and accepting.

A moment later, Titania’s eyes returned fully to their normal light violet hue.

With the possession lifted completely, she immediately folded her arms tightly across her chest and swung her head to the side in a classic pout, refusing to meet my eyes.

I breathed in deeply, then exhaled slowly, letting the tension drain out of my shoulders.

This was never supposed to be so easy as to walk in here and rape the queen...

Vaelora probably just wanted to momentarily please her queen, to push things forward in the only way she knew how after so many years of watching Titania suffer in silence.

But...

She’s deeply hurt. And I think if I’m given the chance, I can make her... smile for real.

Back in CH20 or so, when Elara was furious at Izra for sexually harassing the hell out of me, I remember seeing Titania’s eyes in that moment.

She had said, very quietly, "C... Come visit sometime, Elara."

But the angered Elara had shut her down immediately with a "no!" and slammed the door on the invitation.

At the time it had felt like Titania was just teasing Elara in her usual bratty way...

But what if that had been a rare and bold attempt to connect?

A small, vulnerable reach across the distance between them?

How did Titania know Elara in the first place, and what exactly was their relationship?

It seemed to go far deeper than simply being rulers of allied kingdoms.

How had Titania managed to cope with being seen as the ultimate evil of the world for thousands upon thousands of years by so many people?

How did she still feel about losing her husband after millions of years had passed?

Did the pain ever fade, or did it simply become part of her like a scar that never quite healed? Well, it certainly did.

Where were her children with the first god-touched now?

Did they still live?

Did they remember her fondly, or had time and distance turned them into strangers?

What did her husband look like?

What was his favorite thing in the world? What is HER favorite thing now...?

If we could tackle all of this—slowly, carefully, without forcing anything—Titania should feel a bit better.

At least enough to breathe easier, and to lower her guard just a fraction.

And besides... I’m now interested in her genuinely.

I want to know about her.

Not just the queen, not just the legend or the tragedy, but her; the person who’s been carrying all of this alone for longer than most civilizations have existed.

[Hehe... You are... very kind, Benjamin Mark] [Vae]

G... Gyahh! So embarrassing!

[S-Stop reading my mind like this!] [Ben]

[Eeeeh? But you are the one thinking so loudly. I can’t help but take a peek] [Vae]

What does thinking out loud and thinking quietly even mean? It’s all just thoughts.

How do you control the volume of your own inner monologue?

Anyway, let’s do this:

"Titania?" I said softly, smiling from the heart this time—no forced politeness nor hesitation.

I extended my hand toward her, open and steady. "I... like you. And I want to know everything about you. EVERYTHING. Can you tell me about yourself?"

She began to blush, the color rising slowly across her cheeks like spilled rosewater, while her small fingers squeezed the hem of her frilly skirt tightly, twisting the fabric back and forth as though it could anchor her sudden shyness.

Then she paid me a quick glance, her eyes flicking up to meet mine for just a heartbeat before darting away again.

And she asked in a soft, hesitant voice, "Who told you to ask me in that manner? It makes you sound like... Namadris..."

"Ah, I hear that name quite often these days," I replied, letting a soft, genuine smile spread across my face. "Is that the name of your husband?"

And she nodded once, a small, almost reluctant motion

Then she smiled brightly, as if a long-buried memory had surfaced all at once, warm and bittersweet, the kind of smile that carried the weight of a zoo visit from another lifetime.

"Mhm. Namadris... My... first love... My beloved," she said quietly, the words tasting sweet and painful at the same time. "You want to hear about it, right? About him, about us, and about everything that came before and after?"

She looked at me then, searching my face for any sign of boredom or impatience.

Then she glanced around the room at the scattered pillows, the plushies, the shelves of forgotten toys, as though making sure no one else could interrupt.

Finally, she reached out, grabbed my hand in both of hers—her grip surprisingly firm for a fairy and someone so small—and dragged me toward the massive bed without another word.

"Then you’d better listen to me properly," she warned, voice firming up again into that familiar bratty tone. "I hate being ignored. I hate it more than anything. So if your mind wanders even once, I’ll know. And I’ll stop talking forever."

Y-Yikes... Maybe she’s serious about that.

"Alright, alright," I said, letting out a quiet giggle despite myself as I let her pull me along. "I’m all ears, I promise. You’ve got my full attention."

And she began to talk.

And talk.

And talk.

And talk even some more.

The words poured out of her like a dam that had finally cracked after years of closure—stories of Namadris’s laugh, his terrible sense of direction and leadership, the way he’d hum off-key when he thought no one was listening, the battles they fought side by side, the quiet nights when he’d hold her and promise her eternity and beyond.

She spoke until her voice grew hoarse and then kept going anyway, as though afraid that stopping would make the memories slip away again.

And the time just flew past us, hours folding into one another without notice.

***

Outside the window, the artificial sun orb had begun turning a deep, warm orange, signaling it would turn off any minute now and plunge the realm into its magnificent artificial night.

But Titania?

She was still talking.

And somehow—through all the stories and pauses and quiet moments—I was now sitting at the head of her bed, my back resting comfortably against the flat branches that served as the headboard.

My legs were spread wide enough for her to fit between them.