Had Kanna really seen the cat's eyes too?
Hena turned around, fearing her sister was frightened, but Kanna wasn't looking at the cat at all. She was staring into empty space, her gaze unfocused and distant.
"Kanna?"
"It's fine, sister." Kanna blinked, and her expression cleared. "Oh—what kind of cat is this?"
She seemed to have only just noticed Pudding. Her eyes lit up with curiosity as she examined his embroidered collar, then she bounded over to Lady Evangeline, her face beaming.
"Is this your cat, my lady? So *this* is where you were hiding!"
Kanna reached out and scratched beneath the cat's chin. The monster purred like any ordinary pet, leaning into her touch with half-lidded eyes.
Hena wanted to immediately pull Kanna away—to hide her sister behind her back, to put distance between them and that *thing*. But the idyllic picture before her made intervention feel impossible. They looked so peaceful together.
The cat was feigning harmlessness because Kanna remained unaware of its true nature. Fear coiled tight in Hena's chest: *What if the creature revealed itself the moment she made a single wrong move?*
Oblivious to her sister's concern, Kanna followed Lady Evangeline through the estate's front doors.
"Sister? Are you coming?"
Kanna paused on the threshold and called back to her. Hena felt awkward standing there beside her carefree sister, paralyzed by fears she couldn't voice—but she entered the house anyway.
Lady Evangeline announced she was tired and didn't need to be shown around; she would retire upstairs immediately. Hena, terrified that Kanna might follow her, seized her sister's hand and led her up the staircase to the third floor. Recalling the layout from her work, she opened the door to the room positioned directly beneath the lady's chambers.
As she'd remembered, this was the late Countess's room.
Hena had taken her position at the estate after the Countess's death, so she'd never been inside before. The Count had forbidden anyone from approaching his late wife's quarters—yet someone had clearly been maintaining them in secret. The room was in surprisingly good condition, dust-free and orderly. It even felt as though someone had been *living* there.
While Hena surveyed the space, Kanna had already changed into her nightclothes and thrown herself onto the enormous bed. At home, she always insisted on sitting up rather than lying down, but tonight exhaustion seemed to have claimed her entirely.
*She had only just begun walking again, and now she's been injured once more...*
In her thin pajamas, the wound on Kanna's neck stood out starkly—a thin red line like a crimson thread. The rope marks encircling her wrists were equally visible, angry red bands against her pale skin.
"Sister, I can hear the lady moving around upstairs," Kanna said suddenly, though she'd appeared to be half-asleep.
*Sounds?* Hena listened intently but heard nothing. The Rohanson estate was especially silent at night, almost unnaturally so. The lady's room had thick carpets, and she herself moved with barely a whisper. How could Kanna possibly hear anything?
Hena glanced up at the ceiling—and noticed the chandelier swaying gently, its crystals catching the candlelight.
"Perhaps it's just the chandelier moving?"
"Really? I suppose so." Kanna shrugged at her sister's words and immediately changed the subject. "Anyway, I'm glad I chose this room. I like it here. The bed is so big that we can both fit easily."
Lady Evangeline had wanted to give Hena her own separate quarters, but she had flatly refused, unwilling to leave her sister alone. The Countess's room was larger than their entire house had been, so there was more than enough space for two. And as Kanna had noted, the bed was certainly spacious enough.
Hena changed into her nightgown and lay down beside her sister. They hadn't slept together in a long time—not since Kanna's illness had worsened, not since Hena had started working nights. In the darkness, they turned to face each other and intertwined their fingers, palm pressed against palm.
The long day was finally taking its toll. Sleep crept over them like a gentle tide. But just before unconsciousness claimed her, Kanna spoke softly:
"Thank you for coming for me today, sister. I was really scared."
Hena squeezed her sister's hand tightly, guilt washing over her in a cold wave.
For a moment—just a moment—she had doubted Kanna. She had watched her sister's strange behavior and wondered. But here was the truth: Kanna had been terrified, and she had hidden it, pretending everything was fine to spare Hena from worry.
No matter how Kanna behaved, no matter what strangeness surrounded them now, she would always be Hena's beloved little sister.
Nothing would change that.
---
## — Evangeline's New Strategy —
*My new goal is to befriend Kanna.*
If I tried to get close to the knight commander, I would inevitably become a villain obsessed with the male lead. I had absolutely no desire to romance a book character—especially one who already looked at me with such undisguised hostility. The safest path to avoiding a villain's fate was obvious: *win the affections of the protagonist herself*.
*I'm betting everything on Kanna!*
Judging by the fact that she'd been kidnapped almost immediately after meeting the male lead, this world was considerably harsher than typical romance novels. Evangeline was certain Kanna would face many more trials in the chapters ahead.
*I'll be there to protect her, and in the process, I'll become her trusted friend.*
That was precisely why I'd invited Kanna and Hena to stay at the estate—to keep them close. Thanks to my apparently high 好感度 rating, Kanna had happily accepted. And Hena had agreed to come along!
*Progress!*
I went to inform the Count that the sisters would be residing on the third floor, but was told he was away on business.
*Strange. The light was on in his room last night. Did he work through the night and oversleep?*
I stared silently at the butler, who bowed apologetically under my gaze.
*Eh, what's the point of being angry at the butler? This is all the Count's fault.*
"If you wish to convey something to the Count, my lady, I can deliver the message."
Hena had said she would speak to the butler herself, but I didn't want to relinquish control of the situation. If I backed down now, I'd lose all the goodwill points I'd earned with the sisters.
The butler suggested I write a letter instead. Having no other choice, I composed a formal request expressing my desire to use the empty rooms on the third floor.
*Thank goodness for the language patch!*
Fearing the Count might simply refuse out of spite, I tore a page from the late Countess's diary and enclosed it with the letter. The page contained a bitter curse the Countess had laid upon her husband—accusations of deception, betrayal, cruelty.
*What a scoundrel he was. Let his conscience torment him, and he'll agree to anything just to make the guilt stop.*
I handed the sealed letter to the butler.
"Don't even think about opening it. Simply deliver it to the Count. I'll be keeping an eye on you."
I employed the classic "teacher has eyes in the back of her head" intimidation technique. Just in case the butler decided to read the enclosed curse and remove the damning page before delivery. That absolutely could not be allowed.
I expected a response within a day, but the Count's reply took three full days to arrive. His message was dismissive: I could do whatever I wanted with the rooms, but the next time he was away, I should simply speak to the butler rather than bothering him with letters.
*Then let him come talk to me himself!*
The following night, the light came on again in the Count's study. It seemed he had returned to the estate. I didn't bother going to greet him—I knew I would simply be turned away at the door.
Instead, I brought the good news to Hena and Kanna, who had been living in uncomfortable uncertainty for the past four days.
Kanna was delighted, bouncing on her heels with genuine excitement. Hena still looked somewhat uneasy, but Kanna—as befitting a true protagonist—adapted quickly to any situation.
---
## — The Artist —
"Jim, *please* eat something. You've been locked in your room for three days. What are you doing in there?"
A knock at the door. A pleading voice, thin with worry.
I paid no attention. Who was that knocking? My wife? My mother? Was I even married? The details felt distant, irrelevant, as though they belonged to someone else's life.
The only thing that mattered now was completing my mission.
I dipped my brush in paint and drew another line. Flames danced across the canvas like clouds of ash, writhing and alive. I was painting a holy angel—or what remained of one. Only a charred silhouette survived the fire that consumed him.
I was an artist. At the beginning of my career, critics had hailed me as a genius, a rising star destined for greatness. But my paintings weren't to the aristocracy's taste—too dark, too strange, too *honest*—and I'd quickly lost my fame. Now I lived off my wife's income, a burden she carried without complaint.
I needed to finish my masterpiece. I needed to prove I was still capable of greatness.
Searching for inspiration, I had wandered the streets aimlessly. Then I'd stumbled upon a strange fire.
When the sun-bright flames finally died down, most of the knights departed, leaving only a handful of men to guard the smoking ruins. As the crowd lost interest and began to disperse, someone peered through a gap in the debris and cried out: "*I saw an angel!*"
The remaining knights couldn't hold back the surge of bodies. I managed to push my way inside.
And there, in the heart of the burned-out building, I beheld what the crowd had been shouting about.
I saw an angel.
Wings of ash spread outward from scorched shoulders. A halo of unmarked ground gleamed behind the ruined skull. The corpse itself was barely recognizable as human—twisted, blackened, broken—but the *image* it created was unmistakable.
In that moment, I knew with absolute certainty: *I had to paint this picture.*
I returned home immediately and seized my brushes.
I didn't bother with sketches. I had to capture what I'd witnessed before the memory faded, before the vision lost its terrible clarity. I didn't want to eat. I was prepared to starve to death if it meant finishing the painting.
I don't know how many days have passed. A week? A month? Or merely a handful of hours?
The painting was nearly complete, but something remained *wrong*. Something was missing—some essential element I couldn't identify. Was I truly incapable of conveying what I'd seen? What a failure. What a disappointment.
I bit nervously at the hangnails on my fingers. One tore too deep, and blood welled up, hot and sudden. I stuck the finger in my mouth and tasted the metallic tang.
And then—*revelation*.
*Hands are needed for painting.*
I grabbed a palette knife from my workstation and slashed it across my thigh. Sharp pain lanced up my leg. Drops of crimson bloomed on my trousers, spreading like flowers.
I dipped my brush in the blood and returned to the canvas.
The angel's halo was finally *perfect*.
---
## — Letters and Plans —
"Ready!"
I gazed down at the completed page with pride—two full days of careful thought, finally organized into a coherent strategy.
Then Kanna appeared behind me without warning.
"My lady, what are you writing? I can't read it."
"Nothing special."
*Yikes! You scared me half to death!* I'd been so absorbed in my work that I hadn't heard her approaching at all. Fortunately, I'd written everything in Korean; otherwise she would have understood every word.
*No one must know about this. Especially Kanna.*
I calmly closed the notebook over the page. This was my meticulously constructed plan to escape the villain's fate—a detailed analysis of how I should act to survive, based on everything I could deduce about this world's original plot.
"Kanna, don't be rude to Lady Evangeline."
Hena had returned with food for two and immediately began scolding her sister, who was practically clinging to my sleeve.
"Everything is fine, sister. The lady loves me."
*She's not wrong about that.*
I didn't want to go down to the dining room and eat alone—the massive table felt far too empty, and the servants' nervous stares ruined my appetite. So I'd decided to take my meals in Kanna's room instead, using the opportunity to strengthen our bond.
"Sister, come eat with us!"
"I find it more comfortable to eat in the servants' hall."
I invited Hena to join us, but she seemed uncomfortable with the idea and complained of indigestion. In the end, Kanna and I dined together while Hena busied herself elsewhere.
"Thank you—it was delicious."
I finished my lunch quickly and washed it down with tea. Kanna ate with genuine enthusiasm, her appetite seemingly boundless, and somehow food tasted better when she was nearby.
*She makes me hungry just watching her... That's the power of a leading lady! In the real world, she'd be a cooking show star for certain.*
*Wait—does that mean all popular food bloggers are actually romance novel heroines?*
While I was busy constructing this absurd theory, Hena's voice interrupted my thoughts:
"Lady Evangeline, you have a letter."
---