Stella asked gently, her cheeks blooming with a faint, shy flush. Only then did Tilda take in the state of the room. The bed was still tangled in dishevelled sheets, her torn clothes had been discarded nearby, and the marks on her skin were still visible.

‘O Goddess Vallinea, please forgive this sinner.’

Without another word, she slipped out of bed and moved quickly, as though she could wash the night away and erase all memory of it.

“It’ll take a little while to heat the water. I’ll tidy up the bed in the meantime.”

She moved with surprising efficiency for someone so young, even fluffing up the cushion on the armchair so that Tilda could sit comfortably while she waited.

Despite her delicate appearance, Stella’s hands were steady and practised — meticulous without being overbearing, and respectful without being distant.

When the bath was finally ready, she was skilful and composed, attending to Tilda with a gentleness that asked nothing in return.

Before long, Tilda was clean, dressed, and seated at the table. Her body felt lighter, and while her mind was far from calm, it was at least less clouded.

“I wasn’t sure what you would like, so the chef has prepared one of his specialties.”

For the main course, we enjoyed smooth corn soup, fragrant brioche with a hint of butter, and a cup of warm milk. For dessert, we had perfectly ripe apricots.

Although Tilda hadn’t felt particularly hungry beforehand, the moment she saw the food, her appetite returned.

Come to think of it…

Just as she reached for her spoon, she remembered hearing Stella talking to another child outside the door earlier.

“Who’s waiting outside?”

“Ah…”

Stella let out a small, awkward sound and looked slightly embarrassed.

“Actually, it’s my younger brother. It’s already past lunchtime.”

‘Her younger brother?’

Having a young boy in the High Priest’s residence who was neither a maid nor a servant was unusual.

As Tilda considered this, she realised that, since she had woken up late, the child had probably been waiting for her and might have gone hungry.

“Go on, you should eat with your brother now.”

At this command, Stella quickly waved her hands.

“I couldn’t possibly! It’s my job to stay by your side and make sure you’re comfortable while you eat, Lady Tilda.”

Tilda looked at her steadily and said—

“I still don’t understand your people. For now, I feel more at ease on my own.”

“Ah…”

Stella’s face turned red with flustered embarrassment.

Although the girl in front of her looked young, Tilda couldn’t afford to let her guard down.

The Turin were born different from ordinary humans — most of them possessed special abilities.

This meant that even someone as delicate-looking as Stella could press a blade to Tilda’s throat in an instant.

The wariness that Tilda had been holding back finally slipped through.

“Then please call for me once you’ve finished your meal.”

Tilda had intended to give her the chance to eat with her younger brother. But she didn’t soften her words with an explanation. Her nerves were too frayed for that.

“Wait.”

At the sound of Tilda’s voice, Stella paused mid-step.

“Yes?”

“Is it all right if I go for a short walk nearby? Staying in this room all day is suffocating.”

“The back garden should be fine. No one goes there.”

With a graceful bow, Stella quietly left the room.

Left alone, Tilda began to eat the meal that Stella had brought her. She took small, careful bites. Her empty stomach welcomed the food, accepting it as something long overdue.

As her stomach filled and warmth gradually returned to her limbs, Tilda realised that she had survived. She was struck by a quiet, undeniable truth: she had survived.

She had pulled herself back from the brink of death. Even after everything — the betrayal, the pain, the humiliation — she had clung to life with trembling hands.

The fragile flame of her existence had flickered back to life… and yet her body still felt unbearably heavy, as if her soul hadn’t quite caught up.

Aklaire’s words echoed in her mind like a curse, and the pain of Windsor’s betrayal still cut deep.

‘How long had they been laughing behind my back?’

The thought alone made her skin crawl.

It was almost too much to bear — the realisation that the man she had once called her husband, the man she had trusted with her heart, was capable of such a thing.

What kind of man would try to marry the woman who had once been his ex-wife’s stepmother?

To be consumed so wholly by lust… It was worse than beastly. It was obscene.

If she could tear the shame of ever having loved him from her chest, she would claw at her own skin until it bled and every trace of him was gone.

At some point, lost in those thoughts, she had finished her meal. Her spoon now rested quietly in her hand. Still, she had eaten.

Perhaps not out of desire, but out of sheer willpower. She had fed her body because she had chosen to live.

Her gaze wandered blankly to the window. Outside, the villa’s servants moved about the garden.

Their faces were peaceful, and their laughter was soft beneath the afternoon sun.

Their hair and eyes seemed ordinary and human, but Tilda knew better.

They were surely Turin, too — masking their true features as easily as Calles did.

Then, her eyes caught sight of a familiar figure:

It was Stella, standing in the sunlight and talking to a young boy beside her.

Her little brother.

The little boy walking beside Stella, holding her hand and trotting along beside her, must have been the younger brother she had mentioned.

He bounced and skipped along so cheerfully that he looked just like a little sparrow.

Seeing a child roaming so freely around the High Priest’s residence — a place one would expect to be solemn and composed — made it feel more like an ordinary home than a sacred estate. It was oddly disconcerting.

Then, all of a sudden, Tilda’s brow furrowed.

No.

Could that boy be Calles’s illegitimate child?

Given how scandalous and indulgent his personal life was rumoured to be, the idea wasn’t completely implausible.

The thought unsettled her.

With a faint frown, she pulled the bell cord. Since Stella was still outside, another servant answered.

Like the others, she didn’t seem surprised or uncomfortable at the sight of Tilda — as though they already knew exactly who she was.

“Yes, my lady. Did you call?”
“Bring me today’s imperial newspaper.”
“Understood.”

The maid offered a polite bow and left the room. Feeling slightly on edge, Tilda took the newspaper and made her way out to the rear garden of the estate.

Beneath a spreading willow tree, a small pond shimmered in the soft light. Beneath its surface, a shoal of vivid scarlet fish glided silently through the water.

Tilda cast a quick glance at the pond before sitting down on a flat stone and opening the newspaper she was holding. The front page was filled with screaming headlines.

[Missing: Tilda Vallinea Nokilla. Where has she gone?]

Just one day had passed since she went missing, and yet the paper was already full of stories about her.

This kind of swift, widespread coverage didn’t seem right. No, this was clearly the work of Aklaire.

She must have approached the press herself. The faster news of the disappearance spread, the sooner the search for a body could begin. A funeral could be held. After that, Windsor would be free to remarry.

Not right away, of course. Public opinion wouldn’t permit it. But Aklaire could rest easy knowing that Tilda was truly out of the picture, even if they had to wait.

A faint flicker of grim satisfaction stirred in Tilda’s chest.

‘I wonder what face she’ll pull when she sees me, alive.’

Her very survival would be a kind of vengeance — a wound delivered simply by existing.

‘The Goddess Vallinea teaches that revenge brings only emptiness…’

Nevertheless, Tilda couldn’t deny the quiet thrill coursing through her. No matter how guilty it made her feel, the desire to inflict the same pain on her abuser still tugged at her.

Suddenly, her vision began to blur. The letters in the newspaper shimmered briefly before fading away.

Until, finally, the world around her was engulfed in darkness.

Click.

Everything went black.

‘Damn it.’

Calles had warned her that sudden spells of blindness could occur until the treatment was complete, and that this might happen again. However, she hadn’t expected it to happen again so soon.

The last time she had gone blind was that morning. Now, by the afternoon, it was happening again.

‘Is he even really treating me?’

Tilda folded the newspaper, sighing with frustration. She couldn’t afford to stay outside like this.

She was completely surrounded by Turin. If they found out that she was blind, who knew what they might do?

Calles insisted that the Turin weren’t evil. But even if that were true, they might still hold a grudge against the Vallinea bloodline, whose ancestors had led the slaughter of their people.

Tilda reached out cautiously, trying to steady herself and get to her feet. The unfamiliar garden felt like a maze underfoot; each step was uncertain, and each breath felt tighter than the last.

The deeper the darkness stretched, the more her mind felt as if it was drifting and slipping further into shadow.

Just then, a hand reached out and gently took hold of hers.

Tilda flinched, instinctively slipping into a guarded stance.
‘Who is it?’

All clerics received basic self-defence training at the seminary. Despite being a woman, Tilda could easily overpower an average grown man with her bare hands.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to startle you.”

It was Stella’s voice.

Hearing a familiar voice, the tension in Tilda’s body began to ease. She slowly turned towards the sound of her voice, careful not to reveal her blindness.

As if sensing her effort, Stella’s voice dropped to a gentle whisper.

“Sir Lizard told me about your condition in advance. It’s all right. You can lean on me.”

Tilda didn’t like the fact that someone other than Calles knew about her blindness. It made her feel exposed.

But at that moment, she couldn’t afford to be proud.

Reaching out hesitantly, she brushed her fingers against the soft skin of Stella’s hand.

“…Excuse me.”