Within the vast estate, a young girl—no more than seven—wandered through the garden, plucking delicate flowers with small, careful hands. She wore an exquisite dress, layered with bows, ribbons, and tiny jewels that caught the afternoon light. A gentle hum escaped her lips, a melody as light as the breeze that rustled the leaves. Beside her, a straw basket sat half-filled with blossoms, their colors vivid against the pale linen lining.
A cluster of maids trailed behind her in silent attendance. One balanced a silver tray with neatly folded towels; another held an open parasol, shielding the girl from the sun’s golden glare. They watched, quiet and dutiful, as their young mistress moved through the garden, plucking petals as if selecting treasures.
“The flowers are beautiful! Are they, Zizy?” Viola asked, holding up a freshly picked bloom with wide-eyed wonder.
“Yes, my lady. They are lovely,” replied Zizy, a maid with caramel-colored hair and fair skin. Her voice was soft, almost distant.
The breeze carried the scent of roses and damp earth, mingling with the faint perfume clinging to Viola’s dress. All was peaceful—until it wasn’t.
From the edge of the courtyard, movement stirred. Guards rushed past, their boots striking the cobblestone paths in hurried, purposeful strides. Servants followed, whispering in hushed tones, their eyes darting anxiously toward the mansion. Something was happening.
Viola frowned, puffing her cheeks. “Poppy, what’s going on?”
The pink-haired maid adjusted her grip on the parasol, violet eyes glinting with uncertainty. “I don’t know, my lady.”
“How strange.” Viola tilted her head, watching the hurried figures. Then, as if making a grand declaration, she straightened her posture. “Viola will ask Grandpa.”
A murmur of unease passed through the maids. One hesitated before stepping forward. “M-My lady, it’s not appropriate to bother the patriarch without an appointment—”
“I said I’m going to see Grandpa.” Viola’s voice cut through the air, sharp and unwavering. She turned on her heel, marching toward the mansion without another glance at the protesting maids.
Inside, the halls were a flurry of motion. People—servants, guards, even men and women in strange, foreign clothing—moved in chaotic urgency. Viola pushed through the crowd, her small frame bumping against hurried bodies. She asked what was happening, but her questions were brushed aside, met with rushed apologies or vague dismissals.
Undeterred, she climbed the grand staircase, her polished shoes tapping against the marble steps. At the end of the corridor stood an imposing wooden double door. Unlike the rest of the house, this area was eerily still. The usual guards were absent. The servants who should have been stationed nearby were nowhere to be seen.
Viola’s fingers curled into small fists. “Where is everyone…” she muttered, stepping closer.
She stretched on her tiptoes, reaching for the ornate brass handle. The lock clicked, unmoving. A pout formed on her lips. Without hesitation, she knocked.
“Grandpa! It’s me—Viola! Open the door!”
From the other side, muffled voices continued, indifferent to her presence.
Frustration crept in. Pressing her ear against the wood, she strained to listen. Words drifted through the thick barrier, fractured yet urgent.
“…mana crystals… unknown.... origin… could be .....dangerous…”
“…Ludiwick said… willing to..... buy everything… an opportunity…”
“…too risky… what.... owner… state ..... who touched it… wasn’t… normal magic…”
The conversation sent an unsettling chill down Viola’s spine. She didn’t understand all the words, but something about their hushed intensity made her uneasy.
Then—
“My lady!”
A sharp voice sliced through the moment, yanking Viola from her eavesdropping. She whirled around, heart hammering. An older woman with graying hair and a crisp uniform stood at the end of the hall, eyes narrowed in disapproval.
“You shouldn’t be here,” the woman said, striding forward with a firm grip. Before Viola could protest, a strong hand seized her wrist. “Come. I’ll escort you to your chambers.”
“Ah—Lyanda, Grandpa won’t let Viola in!” The little girl squirmed, discomfort prickling at her skin.
“The patriarch is extremely busy, my lady,” Lyanda said curtly, her grip unwavering. “You mustn’t disturb him, nor should you be listening at doors.” Her voice dropped, steely and cold. “This behavior is unacceptable. I’ll be reporting it to the madam.”
Viola stiffened. Panic flickered in her chest. “No! Don’t tell Mommy! She’ll fight with Viola again!”
Lyanda’s expression remained unreadable. “My lady, it is my duty to ensure you are raised properly. I cannot ignore this misconduct.”
“No! Please!” Viola’s voice cracked, tears brimming in her eyes.
Lyanda sighed. The anger softened slightly, replaced by something unreadable. She knelt, pulling a pristine handkerchief from her pocket, and gently wiped the child’s tear-streaked cheeks.
“My lady, please don’t cry.”
Viola sniffled.
“How about this,” Lyanda proposed, retrieving a small pocket watch. “Rest for a bit, and in twenty minutes, I’ll prepare your bath.” She adjusted the time, the tiny hands clicking into place. “After that, I’ll bring you a snack, and we can continue working on your embroidery.”
Viola hesitated. “Hic… You won’t tell Mommy?”
Lyanda studied her for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, she nodded. “I won’t. But you must promise me—no more sneaking around.”
Viola’s tiny pinky shot out. “Pinky promise.”
A small smile touched Lyanda’s lips as she hooked her pinky around the girl’s. “Pinky promise. No take-backs.”
“I need to go, my lady. Please, behave yourself,” Lyanda said, guiding Viola into the room and closing the door with a soft click.
Inside, the air was heavy, thick with the weight of unseen things. Viola moved immediately to the window, her small hands pressed against the cold glass, desperate for a glimpse of the world beyond. She squinted, trying to catch sight of what had made the air feel so heavy, so charged with something… wrong. But all she could see were people—moving swiftly, almost too quickly, as if they were trying to escape something.
Then, the gates of the estate creaked open, and a cart began to roll in. The heavy thud of the wheels against the cobblestones echoed in the silence, followed by another, and another. The carts unloaded boxes—mundane, ordinary boxes at first—until the last cart arrived, pulled by a sagging, exhausted horse.
Viola’s heart skipped a beat. The cart it pulled was enormous, an iron box wrapped in a strange, almost palpable aura. Magic. A shimmering veil of magic encased the box, flickering like heat waves rising from a fire. But it wasn’t the magic that made her breath catch in her throat—it was the way the very plants around the box began to wither and turn black. Flowers shriveled, leaves curled in on themselves as if the very life was being drained from them. A shiver crawled up Viola’s spine, terror seeping into her bones.
As the cart rolled forward, the horse, already struggling under the weight, suddenly stopped. Its legs buckled, and it collapsed to the ground, its once glossy coat now dull, its eyes glazed with a hollow, empty look. The coachman urged the animal forward, but it didn’t move. The crowd watched in stunned silence, none daring to approach.
Viola’s pulse raced in her chest, her hands trembling against the windowpane. She had seen enough. A small gasp escaped her lips before she turned away, her body trembling with fear. She leapt onto her bed, wrapping herself tightly in the thick blankets as if hiding from an unseen predator.
Minutes passed. The silence in the room was suffocating, broken only by the sound of a soft knock at the door. A muffled voice called out, but the words didn’t reach Viola’s ears. The door creaked open, and the hurried sound of footsteps filled the room.
Viola’s heart pounded in her chest, and before she could react, the blankets were yanked away.
“Oh! My lady?” Lyanda’s voice held a note of surprise, though the relief was evident in her tone. “What happened? Why are you hiding under the blankets?”
Viola clung to Lyanda’s arm, her voice a frightened whisper. “Lyanda! Bhua!! The flowers, the calavo… Did you see it!? That box… it killed them all.”
Lyanda’s face paled slightly, but she quickly composed herself, her voice soft yet reassuring. “What? Oh, goddess… I should have closed the curtains. My lady, there’s nothing to worry about. The lord of the house is already handling everything.”
Viola’s gaze flickered toward the window, but her words tumbled out in a rush. “But the horse… he—he just fell!”
Lyanda’s smile was tight, though her eyes softened as she stroked Viola’s hair. “Oh, that? Don’t worry, my lady. The poor thing was just too tired. It’s sleeping now, in the wrong place. It’s fine, I promise you.”
Viola’s tear-filled eyes searched Lyanda’s face. “Y-You promise?”
In response, Lyanda extended her pinky finger, a gentle smile tugging at her lips. “I pinky promise, my lady.”
Viola’s fingers intertwined with Lyanda’s, a fleeting moment of reassurance in the midst of a storm of confusion and fear. “Pinky promise, no take-backs!”
Lyanda nodded, brushing her thumb over the little girl’s hand before standing up. “I’ll prepare your bath, my lady. Please stay here and wait.” She turned to the windows, pulling the heavy curtains closed.
Viola, her mind still reeling from the strange events unfolding outside, slid off the bed. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was still… wrong. The sound of footsteps faded as Lyanda moved to the bathroom, but Viola couldn’t resist. She crept back to the window, pulling the curtains just enough to peek outside.
The scene had changed. Lackeys, moving with dull efficiency, were clearing away the blackened flowers, replacing them with fresh blooms. But something caught her eye—a flicker of movement in the garden. Viola leaned forward, her breath caught in her throat, her wide eyes scanning the scene.
Nothing.
And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Another shift in the garden caught her attention, a shadow moving where it shouldn’t. Her breath caught again, and she turned her head to find… nothing.
But then—
A cold hand gripped her shoulder, pulling her away from the window.
“Kyaaa!” Viola screamed, her heart leaping into her throat.
“My lady, please refrain from going near the windows for now,” Lyanda said, her tone firm as she fixed the curtains in place with a practiced hand.
“But why?” Viola asked, confused and still shaken.
Lyanda’s expression was unreadable. She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she tied the curtains with a strong knot, ensuring they wouldn’t be opened again.
“Because,” she said, her voice smooth as silk, “the windows haven’t been cleaned. Being near them could get you dirty, and as the lady of the house, you must preserve your noble image. Dirt doesn’t go with nobility.”
Viola blinked, the explanation not fully sinking in, but before she could ask more, Lyanda was already guiding her toward the bathroom.
“Come, my lady. Your bath is ready.”
As Lyanda led her away, Viola couldn’t shake the feeling that something was out of place. She had seen something. She was sure of it. Something was moving in the front yard… but Lyanda had made sure she couldn’t see it. Something… or someone.
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"...And they lived happily ever after!" Lyanda said softly, sitting at the edge of the bed, her voice a quiet lullaby as she finished reading to Viola.
The little girl, already bathed, fed, and played out, nestled into her large bed in soft silk pajamas. Her teddy bear, the one she never went without, lay beside her. The clock struck 7 pm—bedtime. Lyanda’s responsibility was to care for Viola in every way, and tonight, she had already seen to the girl’s needs, from feeding to teaching, now guiding her into sleep.
"Waaa..." Viola yawned, her eyelids heavy, her little body sinking into the softness of the sheets.
Lyanda watched her charge for a moment longer, her gaze soft. As Viola's breathing slowed and softened, Lyanda dimmed the lamp’s light with a delicate flick of her fingers, and placed the book aside. She leaned down, brushing a stray lock of hair from Viola’s face, her hand lingering gently on the girl’s head. "Sweet dreams, my lady." she whispered, before turning, her shoes silent on the cold stone as she left the room.
Viola fell asleep almost instantly, the warmth of her bed inviting and comforting in the stillness of the night. The mansion, however, was far from still. Outside the room, the estate buzzed with life, and the winding halls carried the weight of hushed conversations, each one carrying its own quiet urgency. Lyanda made her way through the house, passing the flickering torches and the servants moving quickly in the shadows, until she reached a small, hidden door in the wall. With a swift pull, she disappeared, melting into the night.
Hours passed, and the mansion remained alive with unseen activity. The walls hummed with strange movements, the distant sound of people whispering, but all of it muffled and far away to the little girl in her bed. Then, in the dead of night, a sound stirred Viola from her sleep. A tap. Light and soft at first, almost like a whisper against the glass. Slowly, she opened her eyes, her sleepy gaze scanning the room, until the tapping returned, louder this time.
"Hello?" Viola called, her voice a thin thread in the dark, but the only reply was the moonlight filtering through the curtains. The shadows cast by the furniture stretched long across the floor. The tapping came again—closer, louder—until a small shadow darted across the glass.
"Kyaa!!" Viola screamed, her heart leaping into her throat. She scrambled from the bed, dragging the blanket with her as she dove under its safety, trembling.
For several moments, there was only silence. But then, another sound—a soft purr—rippled through the night air, followed by the sound of rustling leaves. Viola, heart still racing, peeked out from beneath the blanket, drawn to the sound. She crept toward the window, dragging the blanket with her. Tentatively, she pulled back the edge of the heavy curtain, and her wide eyes landed on something... strange.
A small, green creature sat in her window box, digging at the soil. Its fur was thick and bushy, like fresh grass in spring, with dark, gleaming eyes that glinted gold under the pale moon. The tail, long and bushy, curled around its body like a blanket. It moved with an uncanny grace, its delicate paws shifting the soil and nudging the plants.
Knock. Knock. The sound came again, this time from the small stones the creature had thrown in its digging frenzy. Viola’s pulse quickened. "Hey! My flowers, bad boy! Very bad!" She pounded the window with her tiny fists, but the creature didn’t flinch. It just stared back at her, its eyes playful, its tail flicking behind it.
Then, a small rustle—something stirred beneath the soil. Viola gasped as a tiny field mouse emerged from the hole the creature had made. The green animal pounced, swiftly catching the mouse in its jaws, and turned to Viola, its eyes glinting with pride.
"Oh!! You caught him! How nice!! Good boy, good boy!" Viola clapped her hands in delight, momentarily forgetting her earlier fright.
The creature, unbothered by her excitement, jumped from the box, galling in the direction of the ground below. Viola’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes locked on the creature as it began to move toward the garden, its prize still clutched firmly in its mouth.
"No!" Viola gasped. But the creature—no, this strange little beast—twirled in the air with a dancer’s elegance, landing softly on all four paws, its tail swishing as it disappeared among the flowers and bushes.
Viola’s mouth hung open. The sight was mesmerizing, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. Her eyes sparkled with wonder. "OH!!!" she whispered, her heart still racing from the shock of the moment. She pressed her hands to the glass, watching the mysterious creature disappear into the night.
But the magic of the moment was short-lived. A door creaked open behind her. The unmistakable sound of Lyanda’s voice echoed down the hallway.
"My lady?" Lyanda’s tone was a mix of concern and reprimand. "Wha—Oh, my lady, what are you doing out of bed? And I told you about getting close to the windows?"
Before Viola could respond, Lyanda was pulling back the curtains, and the world outside was revealed. The sight of the flowers—torn and uprooted—stunned Lyanda. The small mess in the window box seemed almost trivial in the light of her confusion, but the look in her eyes was sharp, as though something unseen hovered just beneath the surface.
"Lyanda! You should have seen him! There was this really cool little animal right here! It had pointy ears with cotton balls inside, thick fur like garden grass, and a long, beautiful tail! You should have seen it catch a valley mouse!" Viola exclaimed, her face lit up with a wide, beaming smile. But to her surprise, Lyanda's face was anything but pleased. In fact, her expression darkened with what could only be described as terror.
Before Viola could say another word, Lyanda swiftly scooped her up in her arms, moving with urgency that made the young girl’s stomach flip. Her heart raced as Lyanda burst out of the room, her footsteps heavy with panic. The hallway, usually so quiet at this hour, was crowded with hurried servants, their faces filled with confusion, but Lyanda did not stop.
"THERE'S A BEAST IN THE ESTATE! IT WAS IN THE YOUNG LADY'S QUARTERS!" Lyanda shouted, her voice ringing out with alarm.
At the sound of her words, a deep, almost oppressive silence swept over the mansion. Viola’s wide eyes darted around, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. The servants' movements quickened, a few glancing over their shoulders nervously as guards rushed toward Viola's quarters, their heavy boots echoing on the cold marble floors.
"Is the young lady okay?" A well-dressed elderly man, his monocle catching the faint light of the hall, rushed toward them, concern written all over his face as he carefully examined Viola, his hands trembling ever so slightly.
"Yes, the beast didn’t harm her, but it was near her... facing her." Lyanda explained, her voice tight with fear.
Viola, still too startled to understand the full weight of the situation, stared up at Lyanda, her little heart pounding. Why were they acting so strangely? What had really happened? Lyanda's grip on her tightened as more guards arrived, their presence bringing a sharp edge to the air, the tension palpable.
Suddenly, the blaring sound of a bell pierced the air, resonating through the stone walls and carrying a sense of urgency that made Viola flinch. The bell rang loudly, its echo like a signal of impending danger, a stark contrast to the quiet peace of the night they had just been enjoying.
Viola opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but Lyanda’s grip on her arm only tightened as she hurried down the hall, a frantic, determined expression in her eyes. Viola’s curiosity swelled as she felt the weight of the situation press down on her. Something was terribly wrong. The night had only just begun, but it already felt like the quiet before the storm.
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"Why can't Viola leave?" Viola asked the maids standing at the door as she gazed out the window. Unlike the windows in her room, which overlooked the garden, these offered a view of the training grounds—a desolate, cold space filled with soldiers and endless drills. It was a sharp contrast to the softness of her usual view. She had been moved here last night after the incident, and though the estate had been combed from top to bottom, no trace of the so-called "monster" was found. Some even started to question the reality of the beast. Were there signs? Yes. But they were few, and the only witness was a little girl whose imagination could have easily played tricks on her.
"My lady, your father, Mr. Fleurmont, has ordered that you be protected until the situation is fully resolved." One of the maids said, bowing respectfully.
Viola's response was to puff out her cheeks, her expression sulking. She didn't want to hear that. She wanted something else entirely.
"Viola wants her brother." she said, her voice trembling with unspoken frustration.
"M-My lady, the young master is... busy. We cannot disturb him right now." a maid stammered, clearly uncomfortable with the request.
"No! No one says anything to Viola!" Viola cried out, her voice sharp, and with one forceful movement, she threw herself to the floor, kicking and throwing a tantrum.
"My lady, please!" one of the maids pleaded, attempting to lift her up, but Viola’s wails only grew louder, unrelenting.
Amidst the chaos, the doors swung open without warning. Two figures in uniforms stepped aside, making way for a woman dressed in an elegant green gown. Cream-colored ruffles trimmed the fabric, and stones in shades of emerald adorned the dress, glinting in the light. She had golden blonde hair neatly tied in a bun and makeup that accentuated her sharp features. Her presence demanded attention, and the maids instantly bowed their heads.
"Madam!" they greeted in unison, their voices shaking.
The woman entered with an air of cold detachment, casting a disdainful glance at the servants before striding toward them with measured steps. With a soft, but chilling voice, she spoke, "Raise your heads."
The maids swallowed hard, their bodies stiff, before they slowly lifted their gazes. In the background, Viola continued to sob, but no one seemed to pay her any mind now. As the maids made eye contact with the woman, her hand swung through the air, delivering a sharp slap to both of them. The force of it was so strong it left red marks across their faces, but neither maid dared to flinch. They remained silent, their jaws clenched tight as they bit their tongues to suppress any reaction.
"How dare you touch my child with your filthy hands?" The woman’s voice was cold and venomous. "I should have your hands cut off for such an offense." With a flick of her wrist, she retrieved a delicate handkerchief from her pocket and began wiping her hands as though disgusted by the very thought of touching them. She handed the handkerchief to a nearby servant without sparing the maids another glance.
The maids, pale with fear, immediately dropped to the floor, their voices quivering as they begged for forgiveness. "Please, madam! We were only trying to protect the young lady’s image. Please forgive us." one cried, her voice cracking. "We made a mistake. Please, forgive us." the other begged, hands clasped tightly in supplication.
The woman stared down at them with icy eyes, unblinking. "Leave my presence immediately, if you do not wish me to make good on my threat." she said, her voice devoid of emotion. The maids scrambled to their feet, eyes wide with terror, before fleeing from the room in haste.
Turning to her servants, the woman issued her final command. "I want these two cleaning the stables and latrines from now on. Let them know their worth." Her tone was final, and the servants nodded in silent understanding.
With a swift movement, the woman walked over to Viola, still curled on the floor, her face blotchy and red from crying. Her dress was wrinkled from the tantrum, and her sobs echoed through the room. The woman clicked her tongue in disapproval.
"Viola, get up. Now." she commanded, her tone sharp. Viola sniffled and slowly began to quiet her tears, standing up with a reluctant scowl as she adjusted her dress.
The woman eyed her with disdain. "How do you expect to live up to the name of the Fleurmont family with behavior like this?" she sneered.
Viola didn’t respond—her lips quivered, and her eyes welled up with more tears that she struggled to hold back. Her failure to compose herself only seemed to deepen the woman’s irritation.
"Viola, I did not bear you to act like this." the woman said, her frustration mounting. "Get yourself together, immediately. If you don’t, I will have no choice but to punish you again for such disgraceful behavior."
"Hm... Viola wants her big brother." Viola whispered, her voice trembling as fresh tears welled up in her eyes.
"Tsk, Viola, I warned you about disturbing Rowan with such trivial nonsense. You’re supposed to be focused on your etiquette lessons—developing hobbies that befit a lady of your station." The woman's voice was sharp, her tone filled with disdain.
"Waaa... Viola doesn't want to... Viola wants to go out, but no one lets Viola go out." the girl sobbed, the sound of her voice breaking through the silence. Tears streaked down her face, dampening her clothes.
"Ugh, why do I even bother?" The woman's voice dropped to a low growl, frustration bubbling up. "Such a useless child... not only are you a disappointment to me, but you humiliate me in front of the servants. You must be trying to drive me to the edge, to kill me with your constant failures and shame." She took a step forward, her eyes narrowing as she raised her hand. "Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up. When you return, you better be the lady I’ve tried to shape you into."
The sharp slap echoed through the room, the sound cutting through the thick air. Viola crumpled to the floor like a ragdoll, her cries muffled by the impact. Her body trembled, but it was her heart that felt the true weight of the blow.
"And no more crying!" The woman hissed, her voice a venomous whisper. "If I hear another tear, by the morning light, you’ll wish you hadn’t. Understand?" She stood, arms crossed tightly, eyes fixed on the broken form of the child sprawled on the floor.
Viola’s sobs, as painful as they were, began to subside. She slowly lifted her head, the weight of the world bearing down on her. Her hands, shaking with the strain, pushed against the cold floor, and she rose. Her eyes were fixed downward, as though too afraid to meet the gaze of the woman who had given birth to her. Without a word, she scurried out of the room, her footsteps soft but quick, never looking back.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The woman stood still, her gaze following the retreating figure of her daughter. "Tsk." she muttered under her breath, eyes narrowing. "Such a disappointment."
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Short After:
The small, tear-streaked figure of Viola ran through the garden, her footsteps light and hurried. Normally, at this moment, a maid would be trailing behind her, trying to soothe the girl’s sobs. Guards would watch with varying expressions—some filled with pity, others with compassion, and some with cold indifference. But today, it was different. Today, the once-bustling estate was eerily quiet, empty—its silence broken only by the sound of Viola’s soft crying. The house, usually teeming with life, now resembled a graveyard. The only person left in sight was Viola, stumbling deeper into the garden, where she could finally let her tears flow freely without fear of reproach.
The garden was beautiful—so beautiful it almost felt out of place. Flowers in every shape, size, and color dotted the landscape, creating a kaleidoscope of nature’s perfection. Lush bushes and trees, trimmed with painstaking care, decorated the space like trophies on display. A path of polished stone wound its way around a marble fountain—a pristine angel perched in the center, frozen in time. Metal and wood benches, meticulously cleaned and polished, were scattered across the grounds, each one offering a place of rest. In the background, a small but magnificent hedge labyrinth stood, its twists and turns seemingly endless.
Yet none of this beauty reached Viola. To her, it was just another garden—another prison of perfection. The vibrant colors, the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers, and the serenity of the place only deepened her sense of loneliness. This garden, once a place of refuge, was now a cruel reminder of everything she could never have. It was the same miserable garden, the place where she ran every time she needed to cry, far from the scornful eyes of the household.
It was such a beautiful garden, and yet it had once again been watered with Viola's sorrowful tears. She ran through it with practiced ease, her path winding like a spiral etched into her memory. How many times had she come here, trying to escape the harsh words and cold indifference that awaited her back in the house? Too many times to count.
Soon, Viola found herself in the labyrinth, darting through the maze of hedges as if she had memorized every corner. Her breath came in shallow gasps, but she pressed on, determined to lose herself in the twisting paths. Within minutes, she reached the heart of the maze, a small sanctuary surrounded by stone benches and flowers in delicate shades of pink. But it was the tree in the center that drew her attention. Its caramel-colored trunk twisted around itself, its golden, tube-like branches swaying gently in the breeze. Pink leaves, soft as cotton, fluttered in the wind. Beneath its boughs, small chains hung, swaying like forgotten relics, as if waiting for a visitor.
Viola sat on the swing beneath the tree, her head hanging low as the soft breeze rustled the leaves above her. She swung slowly, gently, trying with all her might to stop the tears that threatened to spill again. The wind whispered, bringing with it the sound of delicate bells attached to the tree, chiming softly in the distance. Viola held the chains tightly, trying to steady herself, but her quiet sobs continued, muffled by the sound of the bells.
"Nyaa~" A strange, unexpected sound reached Viola's ears. Her head snapped up, her eyes scanning the stillness. There, on a stone bench in front of her, lay the creature—the same furry beast that had appeared at her window, the one that had caused the chaos in the mansion. Its fur was the color of fresh grass, its paws made of dirt and gravel, and its delicate fern-like tail flicked lazily behind it. Had it been there all along, silently watching? Or had her tears summoned it?
Viola didn’t know, nor did she care.
"It's you!" she exclaimed, quickly wiping her face as though she could hide the evidence of her sadness. "Don’t look at Viola!" Her voice wavered with childish defiance as she twisted the swing to turn it away from the creature, her feet scraping against the ground to halt its movement.
Viola then took a deep breath, lifting her feet off the ground, and the swing quickly returned to its original motion. "You didn’t see anything! Viola wasn’t crying!" she said to the creature, though it remained utterly indifferent, its eyes half-closed as it lay on the bench, tail swishing lazily.
"This is Viola’s house! You can’t stay here!" Viola declared pompously, puffing out her cheeks in a mock display of authority. Yet the creature paid no attention, simply closing its eyes further and continuing its peaceful rest.
Viola's irritation grew. "You didn’t hear Viola!" she muttered, stomping her feet as she swung the chains back and forth, as though trying to make the creature notice her. But the creature remained unfazed, lying on the stone bench with its belly exposed, content in its own quiet world.
Sighing in frustration, Viola marched up to the creature, standing right in front of it. She crouched down to meet its gaze, eyes narrowing in curiosity. Her finger slowly reached toward the creature’s furry belly. Just as she was about to touch it, the creature shifted, hiding its belly beneath its body and startling Viola into pulling back. But as she saw it merely change position, Viola’s curiosity won out, and she approached once again, this time gently extending her finger.
With shaky hands, she brought her finger closer, almost touching the creature. She stopped for a moment, then quickly poked it, pulling away with a startled gasp. When the creature didn’t react, she gained more courage. Slowly, she touched it again, this time longer, feeling the soft, grass-like fur beneath her fingers. The sensation was soothing, comforting even, and a strange warmth spread through her chest.
Viola’s excitement grew as she placed her whole palm on the creature’s back. It felt like resting her hand on a soft carpet of grass, and as her fingers traced its fur, the creature emitted a low, pleasant hum. Viola’s eyes sparkled with wonder as she noticed a faint golden glow on the creature’s body. Where her fingers had passed, a trail of tiny golden flowers bloomed, dotting its surface like delicate stars.
"Wow! So cute..." Viola breathed, her heart swelling with affection. The sweet, familiar scent of licorice and fennel filled the air, and Viola’s eyes widened in delight. "Ohh... you smell like sweet herbs..." She continued petting the creature, her hands trembling with joy. In response, the creature’s tail wagged happily, a soft, contented sound emanating from it.
Viola’s sadness, for a moment, seemed forgotten, replaced by the warmth of the creature’s presence. She continued to stroke it, her smile widening with each gentle touch, as the garden, still and silent around her, watched over the girl who had for a fleeting moment found peace.
"Your tail is so pretty." Viola whispered, her finger reaching out to gently touch the creature’s tail. As soon as her fingertip brushed against the leaves, they contracted and curled shut, drawing a delighted giggle from Viola.
"Hehe, you're so cute... Hey, do you want to be Viola's friend?" she asked eagerly, her eyes wide with hope. "Viola can bring you cake, cookies, cupcakes, and lots of candies that Liyanda gives Viola!" But the creature remained silent, its gaze fixed on the ground. Viola’s face fell, and her cheeks puffed out in frustration.
"Don't you want to be Viola’s friend?" Viola asked, her voice quivering with the weight of her disappointment. The creature, however, made no response.
But then, to Viola's surprise, the creature rose from its place, its movements fluid and graceful. It jumped to the ground and began rubbing itself against Viola's legs, its soft tail curling around her ankle. Viola’s heart swelled with joy.
"So you want to be friends with Viola!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up as she scooped the creature up, hugging it like a stuffed bear. The weight of the creature, however, was too much for her small frame. With a huff, she let go, and the creature calmly fell back to the ground, as though the fall had been nothing more than a gentle nudge. It then walked toward one of the plant walls, its fluffy tail swaying behind it.
Viola’s brow furrowed in curiosity. "Where are you going? Do you want to play with Viola? We can play Fairy Tag, Wizard’s Command, Quest for the Lost Relic. If you want, Viola also knows how to play Knight's Gambit." she called after it, a bright smile on her face. But the creature continued on its path, seemingly indifferent to her words.
When the creature reached the plant wall, something unexpected happened. The branches of the hedge began snapping and parting, as if moved by an unseen force, creating a path through the thick greenery. Viola’s eyes widened in awe.
"You’re a magician!" Viola gasped, her smile stretching wider. The creature, undeterred, continued moving forward through the hole it had created. Viola quickly followed, ducking under the low branches to squeeze through. As soon as she passed, the branches twisted and closed again, sealing the path behind her as if it had never been there.
Viola blinked in shock, her gaze darting back toward the newly formed hole, but when she turned around, all she could see was a path of flowers, their golden hues glowing faintly in the dim light. Her excitement surged as she skipped down the new path, the flowers parting as she moved forward, until she arrived at a place in the maze she had never seen before.
In the center of the small clearing stood a wooden stump, weathered by time, with delicate flowers and butterflies scattered across the ground. The creature was perched atop the stump, sitting on its hind legs with a calm, almost regal air. Several butterflies rested on its back, yet it seemed oblivious to their presence. Viola was both bewildered and fascinated. She had wandered this maze countless times, yet this place was entirely new. The walls of hedges closed in around her, trapping her in this hidden corner. The only entrance was the hole through which her magical companion had led her, and that was now closing behind her, like all the others.
"VIOLA!?" a voice called from far away, a familiar, angry tone that made Viola’s heart sink. She froze, realizing with a shock that she had been in the garden far too long. "No, mommy is going to fight with Viola again! Waaa!" She began to cry again, her sobs coming quickly, but then, just as suddenly, she stopped. She noticed the creature looking at her with mischievous eyes, its playful expression almost mocking her distress.
Viola wiped her eyes, trying to compose herself as she approached the creature, kneeling down in front of it. "Viola needs to go out." she said softly, her voice small. "Can you do magic for Viola?" she asked innocently, her eyes wide with hope.
The creature did not react, its eyes flicking up to her face with a faint glint of mischief, but it remained still. Viola, determined to make it respond, reached out a hand toward the creature’s soft, grass-like fur. But just as her fingers brushed the air above it, the creature’s eyes twitched, and in the blink of an eye, it lunged.
Viola’s breath caught in her throat as the creature’s sharp fangs sank into her wrist. "WAAAAHA!" she cried out in shock and pain, her voice echoing through the maze. The sharp sting of the bite sent a wave of panic through her chest, her mind reeling as she tried to pull away. The sound of distant screams filled the air, but Viola couldn’t make sense of the words.
She struggled against the creature’s grip, but in an instant, the creature released her wrist. It stepped back, its playful demeanor restored, and sat back down on the stump, as if nothing had happened. Viola stumbled backward, clutching her arm to her chest, her heart racing with fear.
The creature looked at her innocently, its eyes bright and wide, as if it had never done anything wrong. Viola, though trembling, watched it carefully, her eyes narrowed with confusion and hurt. It was the same creature that had been so gentle with her, the one she had hoped would be her friend. But now, she wasn’t so sure.
"Why? Aren’t you Viola’s friend?" Viola’s voice trembled as she stared down at her arm, eyes wide with disbelief. Her gaze locked onto the four small puncture wounds that formed a small square on her skin. They were nothing more than tiny marks, but Viola’s confusion quickly turned to horror when she saw the blood—dark and viscous—begin to swirl, turning into a misty purple smoke.
Viola gasped, her breath catching in her throat. The searing pain that followed was unbearable, as if her very veins were being torn apart. "AHH!" She screamed in agony, clutching her arm tighter, but the pain only intensified, a cruel wave of torment that seemed to ripple beneath her skin, twisting and writhing like something alive.
The skin around the wounds burned, and an icy chill spread outward from the marks, causing the hairs on her neck to stand on end. Something stirred inside her, something... unnatural. She could feel it—a pulsing, shifting presence beneath her flesh that made her stomach churn with terror.
Tears poured down her face as she collapsed to the ground, her body trembling from the pain. Her vision blurred, the world around her spinning. The sharp sounds of her gasps were drowned out by the distant cries of others, screams that felt foreign and distant. She heard a faint, strange "Hissss!" in the background—an ominous sound that slithered through the air, filling her with dread.
Through her blurred vision, an armored figure appeared, its form towering over her, obscured by the haze of pain and smoke. Viola couldn't make sense of it—her mind was too clouded with the agony that consumed her. The figure seemed distant, too far away to reach. The voices around her became muffled, as if someone had pressed her ears underwater, but the pain remained, a constant, torturous force that clawed at her insides.
Her arm felt as if it were being torn apart, each fiber of muscle and bone screaming in protest as the strange force moved beneath her skin. Viola could barely think, her mind a whirlwind of confusion and fear. She tried to scream again, but the words caught in her throat, leaving her gasping for breath as tears flowed freely from her eyes.
And then, in the haze of her suffering, Viola’s vision shifted once more. She saw figures kneeling around her, faces blurred and indistinct, their voices filled with frantic urgency. But it was all distant, as if she were trapped in a nightmare, unable to break free from the unbearable grip of pain that held her tightly.
Notification
Muck, the familiar of: {%₦ɄⱠⱠ%=@₴ØɄⱠ:Ⱨ₳₦₳-𝟬𝟬𝟮.ɆӾɆ},
Used: {Shroudriguen's Riddle} on you.
Blessing's
-={Shroudriguen's Riddle}=-
Target: Viola Fleurmont
Effect: Hallucinations, Pain, Nightmares.
Status: Sowing - 1%
----------------------------------------
The other Day.
Viola's eyes fluttered open, the remnants of the previous day's horrors clouding her thoughts like a storm she couldn't escape. Her trembling arm reached out, desperately groping the empty space next to her bed in search of the bell that should have called her servants. But it was gone. She gripped the empty air, her heart sinking further into the depths of uncertainty. Her breath hitched in her throat as she repeated the search, but the bell was nowhere to be found.
"Ugh... WAAAAA! Lyandaa!! WAAA!" Viola's voice cracked, her desperation turning her cries into shrill pleas, but no one came.
A minute passed, then five, then ten, stretching into an unbearable silence. Time seemed to slither away, each second pulling her deeper into the void of isolation. Her eyes were swollen from endless tears, her face a raw mask of fear and sorrow. She dragged herself from the bed, her limbs heavy as if made of lead, each movement painful, like the weight of her despair was tethered to her body.
As her gaze fell to her arm, the wound she expected to find—a cruel reminder of the night—was missing. Her skin was pristine, unmarred, not a single mark of the torment she had endured. A breath of relief escaped her lips, but the tightness in her chest refused to loosen. It was as if the pain still lingered, but in a way she couldn’t place. It was more than the absence of the wound—it was the crushing weight of dread that pressed down on her, making her feel like something was terribly wrong.
Pushing forward with effort that seemed to drain her very soul, Viola crawled out of the room, using the walls for support. Her feet shuffled clumsily against the polished floor, a soft rasping sound beneath her every movement. Yet the moment she reached the door, everything changed.
The air grew thick, heavy with an unsettling presence. Roots, thick and green, were sprouting everywhere, curling up from the cracks in the floor and creeping over the walls. The windows were completely overtaken by vines and roots, blocking out the faintest hint of light. A sickly green hue bathed the hallway, distorting the familiar with an unnatural twist. Viola's heart raced, panic clawing at her chest. She gasped for breath, but the air felt too dense, like it was choking her, suffocating her.
She ran—her feet stumbling over the uneven ground, her hands pressing against the walls for stability. But the halls were deserted. No one answered her screams. No one came to save her. Her cries echoed back to her, bouncing off the empty walls like cruel whispers. She was alone. Completely alone.
As she turned a corner, she skidded to a halt. There, on the floor, lay a heap of roots, a grotesque mass of twisted green. At first glance, it seemed like just another patch of overgrown flora, but upon closer inspection, Viola saw something disturbing. Faded, torn clothes—an old shirt and pants—lay among the tangled roots, but they were no longer clothes. They were part of the mass now, roots pouring from the fabric like a sickening infestation, as though a person had been devoured by the very earth itself.
Viola's stomach lurched, and she hurried on, desperate to find someone—anyone. She stumbled into her grandfather's room, the door creaking ominously as she opened it. The room was dark, except for the flickering glow of a fire. Purple flames danced in the hearth, consuming twisted, gnarled wood that crackled with an eerie, distorted sound. The air was thick with a faint, distorted scream, echoing from the flames as if the fire itself was alive with agony.
There, in the shadows, sat a figure in a leather armchair, sipping from a glass of blood-red wine. He rocked back and forth, the creak of the chair sounding like the slow march of impending doom.
"Grandpa? What's going on? Viola is scared!!" Viola whimpered, her voice barely above a whisper, barely daring to disturb the ominous quiet of the room.
But the figure in the chair did not respond in the way she expected. The voice that came from the figure was cold, unfamiliar, and dissonant. "There's nothing to be afraid of, Viola. After all, we are friends. Aren't we?"
Viola's breath caught in her throat. "Y-You... You are..."
"We haven't been formally introduced." the voice continued, smooth as silk, but tainted with something far darker. The figure in the chair stood, and in a single, fluid movement, it turned toward her.
Viola gasped, her body freezing as her eyes met the creature standing before her. It was towering—easily over three meters tall. Its limbs were grotesque and stretched out of proportion, and its face was a horrific, twisted mockery of wood and bone. Two bright, glowing golden eyes gleamed from a hollow face, and atop its head sat massive, tangled elk antlers, covered in thick moss adorned with golden flowers. It took only two steps before it was standing right in front of Viola, looming over her like a nightmare made flesh.
"KYAAAAAAAA!" Viola screamed, her voice full of terror, but the creature merely tilted its head, its golden eyes studying her curiously.
"You don't have to be afraid of me." it said, its voice almost playful, as though it hadn’t noticed the depth of the fear that gripped Viola’s heart. Its outstretched hand moved toward her, but the sight of it only caused Viola to cower further, her body curling into a ball on the floor.
"Uhm... What's wrong? Why are you afraid of me?" the creature asked, its voice more confused than malicious. There was a soft crackling sound, like dry twigs snapping, but Viola didn't dare look up. Then, something touched her—something small and soft, making her flinch in horror.
A sweet, innocent voice broke the tension. "Please don't be afraid of me."
Viola's heart raced as she slowly looked up, her tear-filled eyes locking with the small creature before her. A tiny boy, no older than five or six, stood before her. His mossy hair clung to his dirt-brown skin, his eyes wide with curiosity and innocence. His goat-like eyes were mesmerizing—deep golden pupils that seemed to pierce through the terror Viola felt. He had small, delicate horns emerging from his head, and his attire was strangely quaint, like something from another time.
"Hello... I'm Muck, you're Viola. We're friends, right?" he said, pointing to himself and then to Viola, as if trying to reassure her.
"Y-Muck?" Viola stammered, her voice shaky.
"Yes! My master gave me that name. You're Viola, aren't you? Why are you crying?" Muck asked, tilting his head in confusion.
Viola, her thoughts scattered like fallen leaves, wiped away her tears as she forced herself to speak. "You scared me... I don’t like it here..."
"Oh... Sorry... I don't really know how this works... It's hard to do something I don't know how to do." Muck's voice was tinged with an innocent sadness. Then, as if trying to change the subject, he brightened. "Do you like flowers?"
“Y-Yes? I think...” Viola stammered, her voice trembling with fear. Muck closed his eyes, and as he did, the world around them began to warp and melt. The room dissolved into an eerie transformation, and the macabre office faded away, giving birth to an endless field of golden flowers. The blooms reached the boy’s waist, swaying gently beneath a blood-red sky.
“Did you like it?” Muck asked, his voice thick with sleep as he let out a long sigh.
“Oh...” Viola gasped, her eyes wide in surprise. She slowly stood, mesmerized by the new world around her. “It’s so beautiful! But... why is the sky red? It... scares me.” Viola spoke softly, her voice barely a whisper, as if the sight itself made her heart race.
“The sky is red where I come from.” The little boy’s voice was distant, as if he were already drifting away. He lay back in the field, the flowers bending gently under his small weight, and stretched out like he was sinking into a mattress made of petals. Viola watched him for a long moment, an unsettling chill crawling over her skin. She reached down to smell one of the flowers, but there was no fragrance. Confused, she plucked one from the ground, and the petals withered instantly, turning into dry, brittle strands of straw.
“Why don’t they have a smell?” Viola’s voice was barely audible, her brow furrowing in confusion.
“Hmmm... I don’t know how to make them smell... It’s hard...” Muck’s voice trailed off sleepily, his words a distant murmur as his eyelids fluttered closed.
“Hey!” Viola suddenly snapped, her voice sharp with frustration. “Now that I remember! You bit me! Why did you do that? Do you know how much that hurt?” She marched toward the boy, fury rising in her chest. Without thinking, she kicked his arm, her foot connecting with a soft thud.
“Ouch... Sorry... I just wanted to... talk to you... I... I’m so... lonely...” Muck’s words barely made sense before his eyes fluttered shut and his small body went limp. In an instant, the entire field began to wither, the once-vibrant flowers curling into themselves, the blood-red sky cracking like a shattered mirror. The earth trembled beneath her feet as the world itself seemed to fracture, reality splintering into a thousand jagged pieces.
And then Viola woke up.
Viola’s eyes snapped open. She was no longer in the field, no longer surrounded by strange, dying flowers. She was back in a bed, the cool sheets pressed against her skin. Her heart raced as she struggled to sit up, confusion clouding her mind. The sterile scent of the room filled her nose—clean, but somehow suffocating. She could see a handful of servants surrounding her, their faces twisted with concern, but their eyes never met hers. Her mother and father stood at the edge of the bed, their expressions cold and unreadable.
“The young lady has opened her eyes!” A female voice called from the corner of the room.
“Oh! For the morning light, Viola!” Her mother’s voice was heavy with emotion as she rushed to her side. But before her hand could touch Viola’s arm, another hand shot out and seized her wrist, pulling her back. Viola’s heart lurched as the sharp tug sent a wave of tension through her body.
“How dare you!” her mother screamed, jerking her arm against the grip. “Let me go—she’s my daughter!”
“Don’t touch her.” The man’s voice was calm, detached. He stepped forward, his yellow eyes gleaming in the dim light. His tanned skin contrasted sharply with the pallor of Viola’s. “I don’t know what illness afflicts her, and it could be a plague, or a curse. By touching her, you risk catching whatever she has.”
Viola’s mother recoiled, her face flushed with both fear and fury. “Then what are you doing standing there? Heal her, immediately!”
The man’s gaze remained unwavering as he took a step back. His eyes then shifted to a tall figure standing silently at the foot of the bed. This man was broader in stature, with sharp green eyes and brown hair that seemed untouched by time or emotion. His presence was almost oppressive, his serious expression giving nothing away.
“Isabel, leave him alone,” the man said calmly, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through the room.
Isabel let out a small, frustrated groan, but complied, retreating to a stool by the wall. Her eyes, however, remained fixed on Viola, as if the girl’s very existence was a puzzle that couldn’t be solved.
“What’s wrong with her?” the man at the foot of the bed asked, his tone as cold as his expression. “Poison?”
“No...” The other man beside Viola shook his head slowly, his face full of deep concern. “It’s something different... It feels like a curse, but there’s no evil presence. It could be a plague, but if not even the goddess’s light can cure her, then...” His words trailed off, and he fell silent, the weight of his statement hanging heavy in the air.
“What?!” Isabel gasped, standing up abruptly. “How dare you say that? It’s my daughter lying there!”
“Isabel, please don’t start.” The man at the foot of the bed sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair.
“Don’t start? Don’t start?!” Isabel’s voice cracked with rage. She stormed in front of him, her hand slapping his cheek with a sharp crack. Without missing a beat, she slapped him again. “This is your fault, Gretel! You knew there was something out there, but instead of protecting your family, you spent all your time quarreling with the goddess knows who about—” Another slap rang out, but this time, the man didn’t react, his eyes dark with the quiet sorrow of someone who had long since ceased to care.
“Sigh.” Gretel let out a heavy, resigned breath, his voice colder than the stone walls around them. “There are bigger things than Viola happening right now, Isabel. It’s unfortunate, yes, what happened to her, but if you had made sure she followed my one order—to stay inside the mansion—maybe our daughter wouldn’t be in this sorry state. And maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t have a mysterious beast wandering within the gates of Fleurmont County right now.” His words cut through the tension in the room like a blade, sharp and unforgiving.
Isabel’s gaze burned with a fury that could have set the room alight. Her teeth were clenched so tightly she feared they might crack under the pressure. “How dare you!” she screamed, her voice cracking with the force of her anger. “You mean to say that your ineptitude as a father and protector of this family is my fault?!”
Viola lay in her bed, her heart heavy with sadness. She could barely process the words being thrown around her. Her parents’ voices echoed in her head, a constant reminder of the rift that had grown between them, between her and them. The anger, the frustration—it all felt so distant. What was it like to be loved by them? Viola wondered, but the answer never came. The weight of her parents’ fighting made her chest tighten, as though the air itself were thickening. I’m just so tired, she thought, but there was no rest to be found here. She didn’t even know when the last time was she felt joy when they were all together. It felt like a lifetime ago.
“Hmmm...” The man beside Viola spoke, his voice low and contemplative. He turned his gaze away from the still-arguing relatives to look at the wilted plants in the room. “I think your problem might not be... medical.”
Isabel’s voice snapped through the air, sharp as glass. “What?” Her tone was harsh, a challenge laced in the word.
The man turned slowly, holding a small pot with a once-healthy ornamental plant. Now, it was nothing more than a pile of brittle, yellowed leaves. The life had drained from it, as though it had never known color, never known strength. As he glanced around the room, his eyes met the dying plants scattered throughout—the flowers in vases, the small trees, all fading into decay, a grotesque parody of life.
“What is this?” Gretel’s voice held a flicker of curiosity now, a shift in his demeanor.
“Hard to say,” the man replied with indifference, as though it were a puzzle with no immediate answer. “I’m not a wizard.” He shrugged, but then, almost as if he had remembered something, added, “Look for a wizard. Whatever it is, it’s of magical origin.”
Gretel leaned in, his face now serious, a glimmer of urgency creeping into his voice. “In your opinion, as a professional, what could it be?”
“I already told you, I’m no wizard,” the man repeated, then paused, his brow furrowing. “But from experience... it could be several things. Magic reflux, or irradiation—or...” He stopped, the words hanging heavy in the air, as though he feared the next one would be too much to bear.
“What?” Gretel pressed, his voice low but intense, like a whisper before a storm.
The man’s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Awakening. Sometimes, the creature’s bite might have done something to her magic circuits, disturbed them... She could have awakened.”
“What?!” Isabel’s voice was almost a scream. “Awakening? At this age? She still has at least eight years before she’s even close to awakening!”
“Yes, that’s why I told you to call a wizard.” The man’s voice was heavy, regret hanging in his tone. “If it really is Awakening... I’m sorry, but she won’t survive this process at such a young age.” His words seemed to hang in the air, a cruel truth that cut deeper than any wound. He turned and left without another word.
“Wha—” Isabel’s mouth hung open, but no words came. She was speechless. What was happening to her daughter? Her gaze turned to Gretel, frantic. “Gretel!? Do something!” Her voice cracked, torn between anger and fear.
“Humf,” Gretel muttered, dismissing his wife with a flick of his wrist. “Call Asmand here.”
The door to the room creaked open, and a tall, elderly man entered, his presence commanding the space despite his age. Asmand’s posture was strong, almost youthful, and behind him, two lackeys followed, carrying various items. Asmand bowed deeply to the most important figures in the room, his movements precise. “Mr. and Mrs. Fleurmont, it is a pleasure to serve you.”
“Asmand,” Gretel said, his voice composed but urgent, “The Templar said that Viola may be suffering from Awakening. Can you check?”
“Of course, sir.” Asmand’s voice was steady, without hesitation. He walked toward Viola’s bedside, pulling up a stool to sit next to her. He took her small arm in his hands, frowning deeply as he examined the four deep, blackened marks on her wrist. They were unlike any injury he’d ever seen—clear signs of something unnatural. If the Templar’s cure couldn’t remove them, then whatever had caused these marks was far more dangerous than anyone had expected. Asmand closed his eyes and concentrated, his fingers gently pressing against Viola’s wrist, his brow furrowing as he sought to understand what had happened. Five minutes passed in complete silence, only the faint rustling of the sheets and the sound of a needle falling to the floor breaking the stillness.
Finally, Asmand opened his eyes, and his gaze met Viola’s with a deep, sorrowful regret. “Yes,” he said softly. “It is indeed Awakening.” His voice was tinged with something darker, something colder. “The young lady’s magic nucleus is slowly forming inside her heart. It is highly unlikely she will survive this process... Not at her age.” His words were final, the weight of them pressing down on everyone in the room.
“But what if she survives?” Gretel’s voice was cold, calculated—like he was weighing the value of life in the same way one might measure the weight of gold.
Asmand paused, his mind seemingly drifting through the possibilities, each one darker than the last. "Hmm." he murmured. “She would be the youngest in decades, perhaps centuries, to develop her core at such a young age. Her body may not be fully developed yet, but that would give her core the time it needs to adapt, to merge perfectly with her body. She could become one of the most powerful mages of her generation.” His words were blunt, delivered with the detachment of a man who had long ago accepted the futility of hope. “But my lord… She won’t make it. Her body is too tired, too weak. The process has barely begun, and the most challenging stages are still to come. Viola will never last through it... The most merciful option now would be to end her suffering—”
“HOW DARE YOU?!” Isabel’s scream was like a whip, cutting through the tension in the room. She grabbed a vase filled with wilted flowers, throwing it at Asmand with such force that the fragile porcelain shattered against the wall, sending shards and water spraying in all directions. But Isabel didn’t seem to care. Her fury burned hot, and there was no room for reason. “How dare you tell us to kill our own daughter!? Your job is to help her, not to spew nonsense!” She looked around, eyes wild, searching for something else to throw.
But before she could act, Gretel’s hand shot out, grabbing her wrists and stopping her. "Isabel, stop right now!" Gretel’s voice was harsh, authoritative, and cold. He turned to Asmand, his gaze hardening like stone. "What does it take to make her survive the Awakening process?"
“Asmand’s expression darkened, his eyes not meeting Gretel’s. “My lord... There’s nothing anyone can do. Her body is giving up. You can’t save her, not with potions, not with healing acolytes... It won’t work. Even if you try those crazy, expensive methods, her core will develop wrong. It will atrophy, her magic will be crippled, and she’ll live a life in pain—her potential wasted.” Asmand’s words landed like stones in the room, each one more damning than the last.
Gretel’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Tsk... We’ll leave her until tomorrow. If there’s no improvement by then, we’ll take action." He sighed deeply, as though the weight of his decisions were too much to bear.
"Gretel?! How could you!?" Isabel’s voice cracked, her anger a raw, aching thing. "Are you just giving up on our daughter?!"
Gretel’s patience seemed to snap. "Give me patience, Isabel. You’re only thinking about how Viola’s death will affect you." His voice was sharp now, biting. "Can you, for once, stop and be a decent mother to her? At least while she’s still breathing?"
"HA!" Isabel’s laugh was bitter, dripping with venom. "Look who's talking—the man who doesn’t even know who Viola is! Don’t think no one noticed. You only showed a sliver of interest in her once you realized she might become something extraordinary. Now that your little fantasy has crumbled, you go back to treating her like trash."
Viola lay there, motionless, her eyes wide open. It felt like an eternity, as though time itself had frozen in the oppressive stillness. Her parents argued, screamed, raged—yet she couldn’t feel anything. Her body felt numb, distant. The words washed over her like water against stone, but none of it mattered. They spoke as if she were already dead. Maybe she was. Maybe she had died a long time ago, before the monster’s bite, before the “Awakening” process began to tear through her. The thought of it was suffocating.
'They’re so ugly' Viola thought, her mind a quiet whisper amidst the chaos. Her eyes studied them—her parents—dressed in their fine clothes, smelling of expensive perfumes and oils, exuding power and elegance with every step they took. But no matter how much they tried to cover it up, their true faces, their hearts, were grotesque. There was no amount of gold in the world that could hide the rot that festered inside them.
Viola had once admired them—especially her mother. She had longed to be like her: beautiful, poised, perfect. But now, after seeing the way her mother spoke, the way she acted, the venomous words that dripped from her lips like poison, Viola could no longer see the woman she had once adored. She was just... dirty. And that thought crushed her.
Lyandaa always said that dirt doesn’t belong with nobility, Viola reflected bitterly. But the truth was that they—her parents, the people she had once wished to emulate—were all as dirty, as disgusting, as anything she had ever seen. They were nothing but empty vessels filled with poison, wrapped in layers of fine silks.