Asella spent most of her days confined to her room. Even when she ventured into the garden for brief walks, she moved like a ghost—quiet, unobtrusive, easily overlooked.
But not today.
Today she flew past the startled servants, clutching her skirt in both fists, her feet barely touching the floor. She didn't spare them a single thought. All that mattered was reaching the front entrance as quickly as her legs would carry her.
"*Mariel!*"
Asella gasped the name as she burst through the doorway.
And there she stood—the one Asella had missed even in her dreams.
"Sister?"
Asella swept the child into her arms and spun her around, laughing through tears that had already begun to fall. Mariel's silver hair flew out behind her like rain catching moonlight.
She set the girl down gently and stroked the head she hadn't touched in three long years. Those blue eyes. Those silver curls. Looking at Mariel was like gazing into a smaller, brighter mirror.
"Hello, little one." Asella's voice cracked on the words. "How have you been all this time?"
She tugged at the child's hand, desperate to spirit her away somewhere private—somewhere safe.
"Where is Father?"
"It's all right." Asella squeezed her sister's fingers reassuringly. "He's not here right now."
She led Mariel swiftly down the corridor.
They were fortunate. Had Philip and Anthony been at the estate, the sisters would never have been permitted a private moment. But both men had been absent for several days, attending to business matters. Judging by the length of their absence, whatever occupied them was serious indeed. And Mariel had arrived a day ahead of schedule—she wasn't expected until tomorrow morning.
For once, circumstances favored them.
"You've grown so much, Mariel." Asella's voice trembled with wonder. "It's been so terribly long since we've seen each other."
Philip had justified Mariel's banishment by citing poor health and the supposed need for treatment in the warm southern climate. She had been seven when they took her away.
She would be ten soon.
Asella reached out and gently stroked her sister's soft cheek, as though touching the petals of a precious flower. Mariel smiled—a pure, radiant expression that seemed to chase the shadows from the room.
Asella's heart lifted as she gazed into those innocent eyes. For this single moment, it felt as though they had never been separated at all. As though the painful three years had been nothing but a fever dream.
She suddenly remembered her sister's last letter.
"Mariel. Have you been keeping up with your studies?"
"Yes!" Mariel puffed up with pride. "And I'm doing *very* well!"
Then she cupped her small hands around her mouth and leaned close to Asella's ear, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Madame Etman says I'm the smartest child she's ever taught."
The villa to which Mariel had been sent belonged to the Charts family, situated in the picturesque resort town of Elphus. The region was famous for its stunning landscapes and mild climate—a pleasant destination that drew vacationers from across the Empire year-round. The steady stream of visitors provided excellent income, and the town flourished despite its modest size.
Thus, Mariel had found herself at the center of aristocratic attention. Knowing that society was keenly interested in the youngest daughter of the Marquis of Charts—the child who had arrived for "treatment"—Philip had been forced to maintain respectable appearances. He had placed her in the care of Viscountess Etman, a woman renowned throughout the Empire for her excellent education and pedagogical talents.
"If you study hard enough," Asella said, hope kindling in her chest, "you'll be able to enter the Academy."
The Academy was the dream of countless nobles. But gaining admission was extraordinarily difficult. This institution accepted only the most talented individuals in the Empire—titles meant little within its walls. If they possessed the necessary aptitude, even commoners could receive an excellent education there, while untalented nobles found themselves barred regardless of their lineage.
"It's wonderful that you study so diligently." Asella smiled, genuinely pleased for the first time in longer than she could remember.
*If the girl is truly gifted, perhaps I could arrange for her to attend the Academy. Entry age varies widely—it depends entirely on the individual. But the earliest age is ten.*
*If Mariel could pass the entrance examination...*
"Mariel, would you *like* to enter the Academy?"
The girl hesitated, her bright expression dimming slightly.
Asella patted her head reassuringly. "Tell me honestly."
Mariel raised her eyes—those honest, guileless blue eyes.
"Actually... I wrote to Father about it."
And before she could finish, Asella already knew the answer.
"He didn't give you permission."
"Even if I ask again, he'll just refuse again." Mariel's shoulders slumped. "Won't he?"
Asella's chest constricted as though a blade had been driven between her ribs. The sight of her younger sister's crestfallen face was almost more than she could bear.
"Mariel..." She stroked the girl's hair again, searching for words of comfort she didn't possess.
---
The door crashed open.
Philip burst into the room, his face contorted with rage. Asella's heart plummeted into her stomach. She instinctively pulled Mariel close, wrapping her arms around the trembling child.
The little girl's face went white as chalk at the sight of Philip's furious sneer.
"Get Mariel out of here. *Immediately!*" He barked the order at the maids who came rushing in behind him.
"Father! *Please!*" Asella's voice rose in desperate protest. "It's been so long since—"
"*Shut up!*"
Her lips trembled. The words died in her throat. She didn't dare open her mouth again.
"*Sister!*" Mariel cried, reaching for her.
Several maids surrounded the sisters, their hands closing around the child's arms. Asella tried weakly to hold on, to resist—but they paid her no mind.
"Asella Charts." Philip's voice dropped to a dangerous growl. "Apparently I didn't train you well enough. Do I need to repeat myself twice?"
The slender fingers clinging to Mariel's dress loosened. The maids led the sobbing girl away without a backward glance.
Asella stood frozen, her devastated face fixed on the closing door.
"I was *planning* to arrange a lovely family reunion after Mariel's arrival tomorrow." Philip's tone dripped with false disappointment. "But you, as always, had to ruin everything."
He turned to the remaining servants. "Don't allow her to take a single step outside this room."
Asella's face drained of all remaining color. Her legs buckled beneath her, and her slender body swayed, unable to maintain its balance.
"If you disobey me again—" Philip's lips twisted into a vicious grin. "—you will *never* see Mariel again."
He watched the girl helplessly clench her fists, watched the terror rise in her eyes, and felt a thrill of satisfaction.
"Bring the whip!"
His eyes glittered with cruel anticipation.
It was time, he decided, to put a final leash and muzzle on Adele's daughter—this stubborn creature he had spent so many years breaking.
---
## — The Dream —
In her dream, Asella was walking through a garden.
But something was wrong.
The familiar trees loomed impossibly large, their branches stretching toward a sky that seemed too far away. Without thinking, she reached upward—and saw not her own hand, but a small, plump one. Soft fingers. A child's fingers.
She looked down slowly. Tiny feet in black slippers.
*This is... me?*
Asella turned quickly—and the world flooded crimson.
"*Oh no!*"
A terrible certainty gripped her chest. Something horrible was happening. Something she needed to stop.
She spun and ran back down the garden path, retracing steps she couldn't quite remember taking. Her small feet pounded against the gravel. She didn't stop. *Couldn't* stop. Tears streamed down her round, childish cheeks as an unbearable sense of loss crashed over her like a wave.
"*Mama! Mommy!*"
Her noble, beautiful mother...
"*Ah!* Ahhh... What... then..."
When she finally found her, Adele was already dying.
The family crest embroidered near her mother's heart was so saturated with blood that the design had become unrecognizable. Asella's dress—white as fresh-fallen snow only moments before—was rapidly turning scarlet. She couldn't see her mother clearly. Everything swam in a fog of tears and terror.
She called the name again, wiping uselessly at the tears that continued to fall, smearing them across her palms and forearms. Delicate hands—hands covered in blood that was not her own—reached out and grasped Asella's small ones.
At that moment, the child felt something pressed into her palm. Something round. Metallic.
Asella swallowed her tears and looked down.
Adele's lips moved. Her voice emerged as a broken whisper:
"*Benvito... Take care of this... for me... Promise me...*"
A rattling breath.
"*Beware of Benvito...*"
Even in this dire moment, Adele managed a faint, flickering smile when Asella nodded in agreement.
But the smile lasted only a heartbeat. Blood gushed from the woman's mouth along with a final, dying cough.
"*Mother!*"
The precious hand went limp.
And Asella fell into deep, swallowing darkness.
---
She woke drenched in cold sweat.
Her breath came in ragged gasps as she pushed herself upright and stumbled toward the window. Outside, the world lay wrapped in midnight's embrace. She stood there for a long moment, waiting for her thundering heart to slow.
Slowly, she lowered her gaze and examined her body.
Beneath her thin nightgown, her skin was visible—pale, unblemished, unmarked by wounds. The priest Philip had summoned the previous day had done his work well. Her body was still damp with perspiration, but the hem of her garment was clean.
Not a single stain of blood.
*Why this dream? Why now?*
This was something Asella had wanted to erase from her memory forever. As a child, the nightmare had plagued her constantly—she would wake screaming, reaching for a mother who would never come. But at some point, the visions had stopped.
*And now? After so many years?*
"Mother..."
Those words—her mother's final, desperate words—returned with sudden, terrible clarity. Words Asella had worked so hard to forget.
*I'm not sure I understood.*
She had promised to remember. But the weight of it had been too heavy for a child to carry. She had tried to bury it deep, to pretend she had never heard.
Shame washed over her now—hot and bitter.
*I couldn't keep my promise.*
"What should I do?" she whispered into the darkness, her voice barely audible.
But the night offered no answer.
And the dead could not speak.
---