I remember the moment I was born.

I was the second daughter of the distinguished Silcania family, a lineage of renowned magicians. And yet, when I came into this world, there were no blessings—no congratulations, no warmth of any kind. No one welcomed my birth.

The first things I heard were cries steeped in grief. A maid’s scream. And—

“Lord Roland, you mustn’t!”
“Step aside.”

My father’s cold voice.

His silver blade was pointed at me—at the fragile infant, cradled in the midwife’s arms, letting out faint, helpless cries.

My father’s tear-streaked eyes burned with a chilling, bloodshot fury.

“She died because of that thing.”

His voice trembled with hatred and resentment.

The story itself was simple enough. My parents had shared a loving marriage, but my mother died giving birth to me. Having lost the one he loved most, my father’s fury reached its peak.

Those around him tried desperately to stop him, but he cut them down without hesitation—and in the end, he reached for me.

His blade flashed.

Just as it was about to strike me down, Blanche—my mother’s nurse—threw herself in front of him.

Perhaps he could not bring himself to kill someone who had once cared for the woman he loved. For a brief moment, my father diverted the path of his blade.

His cold gaze fell upon Blanche.

“What do you think you’re doing? Move aside at once.”
“Lord Roland, please—calm yourself.”
“Blanche!”
“Did you not know this day would come? She is the one Lady Ripe protected with her very life! This is what she wished for—so desperately!”

At that plea, my father hesitated.

Blanche looked up at him, her face drenched in tears.

“I will raise the young lady myself. I will live quietly, hidden away in some corner of the estate. Please, for my sake… do not sever the bonds of blood. Do not erase the last trace that Lady Ripe left behind in this world.”

Clang.

The bloodstained sword slipped from his hand and struck the ground.

My father turned away, his steps heavy as he left.

“My lady…”

Blanche lifted me from the arms of the lifeless midwife. Her aged face was wet with sorrowful tears.

‘Don’t cry. I’m alright.’

I wanted to tell her—desperately.

But all that left my lips was a weak, helpless wail.

And yet… perhaps my feelings reached her.

“That’s right… I must protect you, my lady… I mustn’t be like this…”

Blanche wiped her tearful eyes and looked at me, her expression softening into a gentle smile.

“Our young lady… your eyes are such a beautiful violet.”

She smiled brightly, as though trying to chase away her grief.

“It may be lacking, but from now on, I will call you Violette.”

Violette.
A small violet flower, or a soft shade of purple.

That was the name given to me, the child abandoned by her father the moment she was born.

Blanche raised me with utmost care.

To me, Blanche was my entire world. I loved her more than anything—but deep within my heart, there remained a quiet longing for the love I had never fully received.

And so, when I turned five. On the anniversary of my mother’s death, which was also my birthday, I met my father again.

As I reached out to him, he struck my hand away without hesitation.

My small hand flew back, grasping helplessly at empty air.

“Who do you think you’re reaching out to?”

The words he spoke that day drove into my chest like nails.

“You devoured the one I loved.”

Frozen in place, I could only stare at him in silence.

My older sister, holding a large doll in her arms, watched me and laughed.

“I don’t understand what kind of nerve you have, showing your face here.”

Even my older sister—the heir of the family—couldn’t stand the sight of me.

Locking eyes with me in a threatening glare, she spoke in a chilling voice.

“Because of you, Father and I will never see Mother again. If you have any conscience at all, don’t ever appear before us. You should be grateful we didn’t kill you.”

With the master’s family treating me that way, the servants followed suit.

In the Silcania household, I was as good as nonexistent.

In my small, fragile world, the only person who ever loved me was Blanche.

She was my only pillar. I believed that as long as I had her, it wouldn’t matter if the entire world despised me.

But at the sorrowful age of twelve, Blanche left my side forever.

They said it was old age.

In the somber atmosphere of the funeral hall, I sat quietly in black mourning clothes. Watching me, my father clicked his tongue.

“You don’t even shed a tear.”

…Even if I cried, would this pain and grief lessen?
Was there anyone who would comfort me?

Back then, foolish as I was, I reached out to him—holding onto the faintest hope. But my father stepped back, as if rejecting my hand outright.

It was clearly deliberate.

My lips trembled faintly, but the words I wanted to say crumbled dryly inside my mouth, never making it out.

“….”

“You are an ill-fated existence.”

All that came in response to my desperate gaze was a cold look.

In his indifference, my father uttered something far crueler than anger.

“Everyone I have ever loved disappeared because of you.”

…I never wanted Blanche to die. Who could have wished for her to leave this world—leave my side—more than I did?

The words I couldn’t say shattered silently in my throat.

My body gave out beneath me.

Collapsed on the ground, I wept in silence—and my father, looking down at me, spat out his final words.

“You must be cursed.”

Step. Step.

Leaving behind only a chilling presence, my father walked away.

…If I disappeared, would everyone finally be happy?
Would Mother and Blanche still be alive?
Would Father have loved me instead?

I had always wanted to be loved.

But no one ever loved me.

No—no one even bothered to look back at me.

I no longer had the will to keep living.

If that was the case, then I would rather die.

With that resolve, I ran out of the estate.

At the edge of the deserted village, I twisted the hem of my dress into a noose. I looped it over the branch of an old tree, ready to abandon my sorrowful life—

“Don’t.”

A firm voice fell over me, cutting through my endless tears.

A stranger’s hand shot out and seized my wrist just as it reached toward the empty air.

My trembling head turned.

He was there.

Through my blurred vision, the man looked unbearably beautiful. There was something about him—an air as though he carried all the darkness in the world. And within his eyes flickered a deep, long-held longing.

When he spoke again, his voice was unexpectedly gentle… warm.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

It was the first time anyone had ever stopped me—asked me why.

To someone who had been treated as though she didn’t exist, it felt unfamiliar.

When I didn’t answer, he asked again.

“Why are you trying to give up on life already?”

“…Because I don’t know why I should live.”

At my words, he looked momentarily taken aback.

It wasn’t something a child would normally say.

And yet, he didn’t laugh.

He simply asked, quietly—

“Why?”

“…Because they left.”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“…Because the person who loved me… left my side.”

At my trembling voice, the man watched me in silence for a long moment.

As if choosing his words with great care, he finally spoke.

“You went through something painful.”

A warm hand came to rest on my head.

That warmth—something I had lost forever, a kindness I thought I would never feel again—made my heart drop as though it had sunk to the ground.

“Even so… this isn’t the choice you should make.”

His hand gently pulled me closer.

And before I could resist, I was drawn into an embrace—wide and unfamiliar—one I had never experienced even once in my life.

The warmth of that embrace—something I had never known before—grew damp with tears I hadn’t even realized were falling.

“I don’t know if this will comfort you, but… I understand what it feels like to be left alone in this world. It hurts. It’s unbearable. The grief must be swallowing you whole, making everything seem small and meaningless… making you want to do nothing at all. But even so…”

He let out a deep breath, heavy with something unspoken, before continuing—

“No matter what happens, you must never give up on your life.”

“Why…? I don’t even know why I should keep living.”

The one who gave me life, who brought me into this world, had called me an ill-fated existence. Said that the ones he loved were taken from him because of me. That I was cursed.

That I was someone who should not exist. That if I were gone, everyone would finally be happy.

No one stood by me. They only followed my father’s lead, casting stones in silence.

In this vast world, I was utterly alone.

“People say that everyone is on a journey toward death. We all know that one day, we’ll die… and yet, we still struggle to keep living. Why do you think that is?”

It was a story Blanche used to tell me.

His voice answered quietly.

“Why?”

“Because of love.”

At my reply, the man—still holding me—seemed to falter.

“People live because of love. So…”

I lifted my head, pleading, and met his red eyes as they looked down at me.

“If I’ve lost that love… then it’s only natural that I can’t go on living.”

At my faint murmur, he reached out, his touch almost wistful.

“Then I’ll become your love.”

His crimson gaze, fixed on me, was beautiful.

And his lips spoke with quiet certainty—

“So… live.”

That warm voice—something I had never heard before—made the lonely me break down in tears.

The world that had once collapsed around me began, piece by piece, to rebuild itself—all because of a single sentence he had spoken.

After returning to the estate, I once again lived my days as the unwanted child.

Enduring each day, I waited—desperately—for the moment I might see him again.

It wasn’t that it didn’t hurt.

Whenever things became too difficult, I would recall his words.

“No matter what happens, you must never give up on your life.”
“I’ll become your love.”

If I were to meet him again someday, I wanted to tell him this:

‘Thank you for saving me. Because of you… I was able to keep living.’

But then—

The very next year, when I turned thirteen, people from the royal palace came.

“Roland Silcania.”

Clad in resplendent armor, they addressed my father with arrogant authority.

“It is time to send Psyche.”

A decree—to offer a bride to the monster.