Floating through the afterimages of memory as if drifting on clouds, Thalia slowly returned to reality.
When she lifted her heavy eyelids, a flickering candle came into view.
As she stared blankly at it, her blurred senses gradually became clear.
Wrapped in a strange emptiness, she slowly raised her upper body.
For a while, she could not recognize where she was.
Only after a few seconds did she realize that she was lying in an unfamiliar room, on an unfamiliar bed.
Thalia slowly looked around the luxuriously decorated bedroom with empty eyes, then suddenly felt a foreign sensation and lowered her gaze.
Below her short underpants, her two legs were fully exposed.
No. They were not her legs.
There was no way something this hideous could be attached to her body.
With trembling hands, she touched her bumpy knees, which looked as if candle wax had clumped onto them.
The shape of her legs was somehow strange.
The direction of her shins and kneecaps was subtly twisted, and across her pale skin, stiff, rough scars spread widely like tree bark.
As she traced the long scar that ran from her calves to her knees and thighs like cracks in broken porcelain, Thalia soon began scratching it with her fingertips.
If she could cleanly peel away these bumpy stains covering her skin, she felt as though her original flesh, which had once shone like pearls, would be revealed.
Ignoring the burning pain, she persistently tore at the dark red marks that had swollen reddish. Then red blood streamed down.
As she looked down at it in utter despair, a creaking sound came from somewhere.
Thalia snapped her head up and widened her eyes when she found Senevier sitting obliquely on a chair covered with velvet sheets.
The Empress, who had been silently watching her with blue eyes that shone clearly even in the darkness, parted her red lips, which looked as if they held blood, and let out a sweet, beautiful voice.
“Must you really tear open a wound that we went through the trouble of healing? It is troublesome to call the healer again, you know.”
She placed the small booklet she had been holding onto the table and furrowed her fine brows.
Thalia, who had been watching her without even blinking, moved her parched lips.
“What… did you do to my body?”
At that question full of distrust, the Empress’s eyes widened slightly, then curved into crescents.
As if she had heard an amusing joke, Senevier let out a soft laugh, shook her head, and said,
“I do not think those are the words you should say to your mother, who even summoned the ‘Eternal Clan’ to try to treat you.”
“……”
“Do not look at me like that. I know you distrust me, but… this time, even I did everything I could for you. As for the result being only this much, I am disappointed as well.”
Her snake-like gaze slowly crawled down Thalia’s body and stopped on the scar where blood had gathered.
Thalia hurriedly pulled up the blanket and covered her legs. Her fingertips trembled at that gaze, as if Senevier were looking at something disgusting.
Senevier let out a small sigh and continued.
“I considered taking it up with them, but it seems they did their best in their own way. They passionately insisted that, given that not only the bones but also the muscles and nerves were partially damaged, recovering this much was already a miracle.”
Toward her daughter, who was on the verge of collapsing from shock, the Empress continued speaking with a calmness chilling enough to be frightening.
“It seems there was nothing they could do about the scars either. They said they cut open the wounded areas several times and tried casting magic again, but even that scar regenerated exactly as it was. Most likely, the skin tissue changed because the wound was left untreated for a long time.”
A shallow sigh flowed from her mouth.
“Still, I do not think we can blame the healers of the Imperial Palace either. If they had healed the wound immediately, your skin might have been cleaner than it is now, but you would have lost the use of your legs forever. Even so, now they say you can at least walk, so we must take comfort in that much.”
The words pouring out so calmly felt as though they had become iron skewers, stirring violently inside her stomach.
Toward Thalia, who had frozen in a daze, Senevier spoke as if driving in the final wedge.
“I am truly sorry.”
Thalia slowly lowered her head.
Senevier, who had been looking at her with a thoughtful gaze, rose from the chair and approached her. Soft fingers scented with flowers touched her cheek.
“Thalia. Do you remember what I told you before? That beautiful and weak things become targets of plunder?”
Thalia struggled to meet her eyes through her blurred vision.
A face that looked as though it had been delicately sculpted from pearls, gold, and sapphires distorted through her tears.
As if telling an old tale, Senevier continued gently.
“Then what do you think happens to weak and ugly things?”
“……”
“Ugly things, you see, become targets of mockery and contempt. Such things cannot even become targets of plunder. They are merely trampled meaninglessly, ridiculed, and rejected. Because people have a habit of constantly searching for something to hate and despise in order to prove their own superiority. Having a flaw means becoming good prey for people like that.”
She struggled not to cry, but rough sobs finally forced their way through her throat.
The words Senevier poured out felt more painful than her bleeding legs.
Looking down at her daughter’s face twisted with tears, Senevier clicked her tongue as if pitying her.
“But there is no need to worry. I have no intention of allowing my daughter to end up in such a position.”
Cold fingers like insect legs brushed the tangled hair away from Thalia’s cheek.
She saw those swamp-like eyes curve narrowly.
It was a smile that seemed to promise an even greater despair.
***
Inside the enormous temple located within the Imperial Palace, thirty-four coffins were laid out neatly.
While priests circled around them, pouring holy water and murmuring prayers, the mourners placed flowers on the coffins one after another.
Sitting in the pews and watching that long and tedious procedure, Asros rolled his eyes and spied on his half-siblings.
His elder brother was sitting in the seat of honor with an arrogant expression as always, acting haughty, while Ayla Roem Ghirta was mourning the dead with an elegant appearance worthy of her nickname, the “perfect Princess.”
It was a scene no different from usual. However, he felt a strange sense of discomfort.
After thinking carefully about the reason, Asros soon realized that his half-sister was firmly angry about something.
Although she was putting on a fairly convincing sad expression, her eyes were cold as ice, and the line of her mouth was visibly stiff.
What was she so angry about?
Unlike his elder brother, who expressed all his emotions exactly as they were, she was someone who always hid herself behind a calm smile.
The fact that his older sister, who never showed an opening under any circumstances, was revealing emotion in front of this many people was quite interesting.
Was she that upset that the wedding had been postponed?
Asros’s gaze naturally turned toward her fiancé.
Varkas Raedgo Siarkan was standing beside the altar with his back straight, quietly observing the funeral ceremony. He looked closer to a statue erected in a cathedral than a living person.
Interested in his excessively still appearance, Asros slowly examined him from head to toe.
The future Grand Duke of Siarkan was dressed in a doublet sharply tailored from shoulder to waist without any unnecessary looseness, breeches that fit his body as tightly as armor, and a long navy-blue cape draped over his left shoulder.
It was an outfit that could even be called rather plain, but in Asros’s eyes, his attire looked far more splendid than that of the nobles dressed to the nines. To the point that he could understand, just a little, the feelings of his half-sister who was upset that the wedding had been postponed.
Since this accident happened, they will probably only be able to leave on the pilgrimage again next year.
Then did that mean the wedding of Ayla Roem Ghirta and the future Grand Duke of Siarkan would also be postponed until next year?
Having thought that far, Asros suddenly scowled deeply.
His chest suddenly felt stuffy.
He wished that his half-sister, who always looked at him as if he made her uncomfortable, would hurry up and leave for the Grand Duchy.
Perhaps they might break imperial tradition and proceed with the wedding as scheduled.
He looked at Sir Siarkan with an earnest wish.
Please take Ayla Roem Ghirta to the East.
At that moment, as if the man had heard his ridiculous prayer, he turned his head.
Asros flinched and lowered his eyes.
His heart sank at that gaze, which felt as though it could see straight through his mind.
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