The child was dead.

Ophelia swept her dry, hollow gaze across the room. Every piece of furniture had been replaced with something new, as if the child had never existed there.

This was at her husband Renoir’s command.

“Renoir, please… don’t do this. Please, I’m begging you…”

Ophelia fell to her knees and begged him not to, but he erased every trace of Veronica in the end.

She no longer had the strength to resent him. He had always been that kind of man.

The image of Veronica’s small, charred body flashed through her mind, wrenching her heart as though it were being torn apart.

The doorknob had broken, preventing her from escaping. How terrified must Veronica have been, trapped inside that burning room?

Her five-year-old’s life had been cut short forever.

‘…That.’

On the desk lay Veronica’s diary.

Ophelia rushed forward and opened it. The edges were faintly singed. The crooked handwriting and smeared ink took her breath away.

Her chest tightened painfully, and she pressed her lips together. Tears slid down her cheeks and fell onto the diary.

[Quilche Kingdom Calendar, May 2nd, 1816
If I become a good girl, will Mama love Bebe? If Mama likes Bebe, I can do good things every day, no matter how many times.]

It took Ophelia a long time to read even that short entry.

The loneliness her child must have experienced weighed heavily on her heart, and she couldn’t bring herself to turn another page.

Holding the diary to her chest with trembling hands, she slumped onto the bed. She didn’t have the strength to stand.

Her lowered gaze caught sight of something: a small box tucked beneath the bed.

She bent down, pulled it out, and opened it.

Inside lay a withered violet flower crown. The pocket watch that she had thought she had lost. And the pearl brooch that she had given her for her birthday the previous year.

The entire box was filled with items connected to her.

‘I thought she didn’t like the brooch because she never wore it…’

Why did Veronica cherish such a poorly made, clumsily woven flower crown? Why did she take an old pocket watch whose hands no longer moved? If she had wanted a new one, Ophelia would have bought her one at any time.

Even if she had wanted to ask, there would have been no answer. She knew so little about her daughter that she could not guess her reasons.

She wanted to go to Veronica. She wanted to meet her alone in the afterlife as soon as possible.

Ophelia intended to die quietly, without causing a commotion. That way, they would find her too late to save her.

‘…Should I cut my wrist? No… maybe I should just swallow all the sleeping pills I have left.’

Through her blurred and fading vision, she could make out the outline of a young girl with black hair tied in two plaits, and eyes the color of fully bloomed violets.

“…Veronica?”

Her voice trembled and cracked.

A wave of despair overwhelmed her. She knew it was only an illusion, but she still reached out to her daughter.

“…My baby.”

She couldn’t tell if it was a sob or a moan. It escaped with her last breath, trapped in her throat.

Before she knew it, Veronica had disappeared.

“A… ah… A-ah… baby… where… where did you go…?”

She pressed her face into the empty air, swallowing her grief.

Ophelia, the illegitimate princess of Quilche, had cost her mother her life at birth.

She grew up enduring the relentless cruelty of Queen Agnes. Even her father, King Alfonso, never showed her any interest. Her childhood was nothing but misfortune.

The moment she turned eighteen, she was married off by royal decree to Renoir, a naval officer. That same year, she gave birth to Veronica.

After that came her husband’s affairs and her mother-in-law’s torment.

Life was suffocating, but she endured it for her daughter’s sake.

However—

Ophelia had suffered from depression for so long that she could hardly sleep without sedatives. Her nerves were worn thin and her reactions were sharp and brittle. Because of this, she could barely spend time with Veronica.

Then, when she overheard the governess quietly admitting that the child was afraid of her, Ophelia began to avoid her altogether.

She convinced herself it was for the child’s own good.

Even something as simple as sharing a meal or measuring her daughter’s growth became terrifying. She had done nothing for her. Nothing at all.

She shouldn’t have been like that.

She should have held her on her lap, kissed her cheeks whenever she grew taller, sung her lullabies and stayed by her side. She should have been her mother.

But she hadn’t.

Ultimately, the only warm memory Ophelia had of her daughter was the afternoon they made a flower crown together.

It was too small and fragile a memory to hold onto when searching for her child.

Creak—

‘…Who is that?’

When she heard the door open, Ophelia instinctively crawled under the desk to hide. If they found her alive, there was a chance they might be able to save her.

“……No one is here, Your Highness the Crown Princess.”

Lady Margaret. Veronica’s governess.

“There were marks on her legs when I saw the body. I told you to be more careful with the beatings. What if someone noticed?”

“She said the princess often tripped due to her clumsy nature, so she didn’t suspect anything. Please don’t worry.”

A familiar voice followed, and Ophelia froze.

It was the Crown Princess of Quilche. Cassandra — the Queen’s only child and Ophelia’s half-sister.

They stepped out onto the balcony and began to speak in hushed tones.

“Make Ophelia barren when the time comes. We went through all the trouble of k＊lling Veronica, another child would be troublesome.”

What was she hearing?

Killed… Veronica?

Why?

“There won’t be any trouble with the marquis. Their relationship is poor, they don’t even share a bedroom.”

“I’m glad forging those letters worked. Making it look like he was having an affair really paid off.”

“It was her own child, yet the Marquis is truly heartless. I never imagined he wouldn’t even grieve.”

“He has no affection for Ophelia. Why would he care about Veronica? Look—Veronica died, and he hasn’t shed a single tear.”

Ophelia could hear the merciless laughter of Cassandra and Lady Margaret growing louder and louder in her ears until it drowned out everything else.

The woman she had trusted, her own sister, had killed Veronica. She had entrusted her child to someone like that.

How could she have been so blind?

Sick with revulsion, Ophelia dug her jagged nails into her skin. A searing ache tore through her chest, deep, raw and unbearable.

It felt as if the flames Veronica must have suffered were licking at her flesh, burning her until she could barely breathe.

The fact that she had known nothing — absolutely nothing — was so nauseating that her hands trembled uncontrollably.

Her entire body felt as if it were locked in chains, rigid and trembling. And still, Ophelia bit down on the inside of her cheek with all her might.

‘I’ll kill her. No matter what. I’ll make her feel exactly what Veronica felt… the same pain…’

Rage twisted her insides as she slowly rose from beneath the desk and walked towards the balcony.

“What—kyaaah!”

Lady Margaret screamed in shock when she turned around.

Without hesitating for a moment, Ophelia lunged at Cassandra.

“You should have killed me instead! What did my child ever do wrong?!”

With a boiling cry, she wrapped her hands around Cassandra’s throat.

“K-Kugh… O… Ophel… lia—”

In the confined space in front of the railing, their bodies became tangled up and lurched wildly.

Lady Margaret rushed forward and pushed Ophelia away.

Her foot slipped.

She lost her balance.

Her upper body tilted backwards and her waist scraped against the balcony railing.

Ophelia’s body fell.

Cold air pierced her skin. She flailed and reached out, but nothing caught her grasp.

The sky spun upside down violently.

Then—

Crash!

“…Ah.”

Warm bl＊＊d trickled thickly from the back of her head. A bone-deep pain ripped through her entire body.

Above her, Cassandra rubbed her reddened neck and glared down at her.

“Tch. I didn’t expect her to be in the room.”

“This works even better. They’ll think Her Highness jumped herself. She’s suffered from depression for years, no one will question it.”

Through her bloodshot eyes, Ophelia looked up at the sky.

At that moment, she felt a warm presence approach her. A small, gentle weight settled on her. Tiny arms wrapped around her gently.

Veronica was smiling quietly.

“…Baby… I’m sorry…”

She remembered the day Veronica was born and those violet eyes that were the same shade as hers looking at her as if they recognized her.

“M-Mama… did… wrong…”

It was a moment she could never help but love.

Her painful breaths became shallower and her body felt heavier.

‘It’s… better this way.’

The approach of death brought a sense of relief.

Gradually, Ophelia’s consciousness sank into an all-consuming darkness.

***

“…Huh—!”

Ophelia gasped and opened her eyes.

Her body jerked upwards. She exhaled and looked around. She was in the bedroom.

‘Did someone find me in the garden and bring me back…?’

The realization that she had survived left her speechless. Cold sweat gathered on her brow.

She quickly got out of bed and started moving around. There was no pain at all.

Confused, she turned towards the mirror and saw that her reflection was completely unharmed.

‘…Impossible.’

She ran her trembling fingers through her hair. No wounds. Not a single scar.

How could this be?

As she stood by the door, she heard someone approaching and turned towards the sound instinctively.

“Your Highness, the weather is lovely today. How about taking a walk?”

A familiar face appeared. Brown hair, brown eyes, and cheeks dotted with freckles.

“…Meryl?”

It was Meryl, the maid who had served her at the palace and whom she had later brought to the Marquisate of Wilhelmir.

She went into the burning room to save Veronica and died alongside her.

‘…How is Meryl here?’

Was this another illusion born from longing?

“Her Highness Veronica said she would like to have tea time with you. What shall I tell her?”

“…What did you just say?”

“Pardon?”

“Veronica is dead. No—Meryl, you too…”

Ophelia grabbed Meryl by the shoulders.

Why was she talking about Veronica as though she were still alive?

Meryl laughed awkwardly and tilted her head.

“Your Highness, did you have a nightmare?”

“……”

“Her Highness Veronica is in the dining room. I heard she’s having breakfast now, she overslept a little today.”