Drifting through fragments of memory as though floating on a cloud, Talia slowly surfaced back to reality.
As she forced her heavy eyelids open, the flickering light of a candle came into view.
She stared blankly at the flame until her dull senses gradually sharpened.
Weighted down by a strange hollow ache, she pushed herself upright.
For a while, she could not tell where she was.
Only after several seconds did she realize she was sitting in an unfamiliar room, upon an unfamiliar bed.
As Talia took in the opulent chamber with vacant eyes, an alien sensation drew her gaze downward.
Both of her legs lay bare beneath her short undergarment.
No. Those could not be her legs.
There was no way something so grotesque could belong to her body.
Trembling, she reached out and touched her knees. The flesh was lumpy and irregular, as though dripped over with hardened candle wax.
The shape of the limbs was wrong.
Her shins and kneecaps were slightly twisted, and across her pale skin, thick, rough scars spread wide like tree bark.
Talia traced the jagged lines running from her calves over her knees to her thighs—fractures like cracked porcelain—and then began tearing at them with her nails.
She felt that if she could only peel away these swollen, disfigured patches, her smooth, pearl-pale flesh would show through again.
Blind to the stinging pain, she clawed obsessively at the dark red welts until crimson droplets welled and began to trickle down.
As she stared at the blood in mute horror, a floorboard creaked nearby.
Talia snapped her head up, her eyes going wide as she spotted Senevier seated diagonally across from the bed in a velvet armchair.
The Empress, who had been studying her intently with blue eyes that gleamed even in the dim light, parted her crimson lips to speak in a sweet, lilting tone.
“Must you go out of your way to tear open wounds I took such pains to heal? It is no small trouble summoning the healers back.”
Setting the small booklet she had been reading onto the table, she knit her delicate brows.
Talia stared back without blinking, her parched lips parting.
“What… what did you do to my body?”
At the suspicious demand, the Empress’s eyes widened slightly before curling into slender crescents.
Letting out a soft laugh as if she had heard an amusing joke, Senevier shook her head.
“Hardly the words one expects from a daughter to the mother who went so far as to call upon the Eternal Clan to treat her.”
· · ·
“Do not look at me like that. I know you do not trust me… but for once, even I did everything in my power for you. It is disappointing to me as well that this was the best that could be done.”
Her cold, snakelike gaze slid slowly down Talia’s body until it rested on the bleeding scars.
Talia hurriedly pulled the blanket over herself to hide her legs, her fingers quivering beneath that gaze, which regarded her like something repulsive.
The Empress let out a faint sigh.
“I considered calling them to account, but it seems they did the best they could. They insisted it was a miracle you recovered this much, given that not only the bone, but parts of the muscle and nerves were ruined.”
To her daughter, who was trembling on the verge of collapse, the Empress continued in an eerily serene voice.
“It seems nothing could be done for the scarring, either. They claimed they incised the area multiple times and worked their magic again, but those hideous marks simply regenerated in the very same shape. Leaving the wound unattended for so long must have altered the tissue beneath.”
A shallow sigh slipped from her lips.
“Still, one can hardly blame the imperial physicians. Had they closed the wound immediately, your skin might have looked cleaner, but you would have lost the use of your legs forever. At least you will be able to walk, so we must take comfort in that.”
The casual indifference of her words felt like hot skewers raking through Talia’s chest.
As Talia sat frozen in a daze, Senevier drove the final nail home.
“It truly is a pity.”
Talia slowly bowed her head.
Watching her with measured eyes, Senevier rose from the chair and stepped closer. Soft, flower-scented fingers touched Talia’s cheek.
“Talia. Do you remember what I once told you about the beautiful and weak being prey for the taking?”
Talia struggled to meet her eyes through blurred vision.
That face, sculpted as if from pearls, gold, and sapphires, warped and fractured through her gathering tears.
The Empress went on softly, as though recounting an old fairy tale.
“Then what do you suppose becomes of the weak and hideous?”
· · ·
“The hideous become objects of ridicule and contempt. They do not even qualify as prizes to be stolen. They are simply trampled, mocked, and cast aside for no reason at all. People are creatures that constantly search for something to despise just to assure themselves of their own worth. To have a flaw is to become prime quarry for such vermin.”
Talia fought with all her might to hold back her tears, but a ragged sob tore from her throat.
The cruel words inflicted far sharper agony than her bleeding legs.
Looking down at her daughter’s tear-streaked, contorted face, Senevier clicked her tongue in mock pity.
“There is no need to despair, however. I have no intention of leaving my daughter in such a state.”
Cold, slender fingers brushed the damp hair away from Talia’s cheek.
Talia saw those abyssal eyes narrow into a thin arc.
It was a smile that seemed to promise an even deeper ruin.
Inside the grand temple within the imperial palace grounds, thirty-four coffins lay aligned in a solemn row.
As priests circled them sprinkling holy water and chanting prayers, the mourners stepped forward one by one to lay white blossoms upon the wood.
Sitting among the pews and watching the long, dreary rite unfold, Asros shifted his eyes to observe his half-siblings.
His elder brother occupied the seat of honor, putting on airs with his usual arrogant expression, while Ayla Roem Guirta mourned the fallen with a poise befitting her title as the Perfect Princess.
On the surface, nothing differed from any other day. Yet a strange discord hung in the air.
As he puzzled over it, Asros soon realized his half-sister was seething with rage.
Though she wore a plausible mask of sorrow, her eyes were frozen cold, and the corners of her mouth were set with noticeable stiffness.
‘What could have made her so angry?’
Unlike their brother, who wore every whim on his sleeve, she was someone who kept herself concealed behind an untroubled smile.
It was striking to see her composure slip in the presence of so many observers.
‘Is she that upset about the wedding being postponed?’
Asros’s gaze drifted naturally toward her fiancé.
Varkas Raedgo Shearkan stood by the altar with an unyielding posture, looking on at the funeral rites in silence. He resembled a cathedral statue far more than a living man.
Fascinated by that stillness, Asros took him in from head to toe.
The heir of House Shearkan wore a doublet cut sharply from the shoulders down to the waist and breeches that clung like plate armor, with a deep navy cape slung over his left shoulder.
It was an understated ensemble, yet in Asros’s eyes, he carried a far more commanding presence than any of the nobles preening in their finest dress. He could understand, if only a little, why his half-sister was so aggrieved by the delay of their vows.
‘…After an incident like this, they won’t be able to depart on the pilgrimage until next year.’
Did that mean the union between Ayla Roem Guirta and the future Duke Shearkan would also be pushed back an entire year?
Following that thought, Asros’s face darkened.
A heavy knot tightened in his chest.
He had wanted nothing more than for this half-sister, who looked upon him like vermin, to leave for the duchy as quickly as possible.
‘Perhaps they might flout imperial custom and proceed with the ceremony as planned.’
He cast a desperate prayer toward Lord Shearkan.
Please, take Ayla Roem Guirta away to the East.
At that very moment, as though he had caught the silent plea, the man turned his head.
Asros flinched, quickly dropping his eyes.
His heart plummeted beneath a gaze that felt as though it had pierced right through to his thoughts.
END