Betrayal Upon Betrayal
Once upon a time, in a small rural village, there lived an artist. The trees he painted would rustle their leaves in the breeze, the wooden dolls he carved would spring to life, and the inventions he created proved a great help to his neighbors. The villagers called him simply “the Artist” and held him in deep respect and affection. In turn, the artist repaid their kindness with his talents, aiding anyone in need. The village overflowed with happiness born from his warm heart.
Then one day, from the depths of the perilous forest paths, a terrifying witch clad in a black cloak appeared. Jealous of the villagers who laughed in happiness while excluding her, she cast a curse upon the trembling settlement.
“You shall never again be able to look upon the ones you love!”
It was a cruel curse: anyone who faced a loved one would have their skin rot away. The village that had once brimmed with love and care fell silent, filled only with the stench of decaying flesh.
Yet hope always endures. Hearing the tragic news, the Saintess visited the village and distributed food and medicine to the suffering residents. Unable to bear the sight of their lonely, plague-ridden days any longer, the artist resolved to act.
……
The brave artist carried a painting that captured the village in its former beauty and forged through the harsh forest. His flesh tore on thorns and poisonous insects stung him at every step, but he protected the painting until at last he reached a lonely cabin. It was the very home of the witch who had cursed the villagers.
Standing before the witch’s cabin, blood dripping from his hands, he raised the painting high and shouted, “What is it that you like?”
The witch, peering through a small hole in the door, answered, “I like plays.”
Moved by the painting of the village and by the artist’s beautiful heart that refused to wither despite his wounds, the witch opened her firmly sealed door. The artist offered her a kind smile and asked to borrow a carving knife.
Flustered by a kindness she had never known, the witch handed him the tool. He carved the forest trees into countless dolls and a single mask, and deep within the woods he performed a puppet show meant for the witch alone.
It was the tale of a hero who rescued a princess forced to wear a cursed mask after being captured by an evil dragon—a childish story the village children might enjoy. Yet the witch wept, deeply moved.
At last repenting her sins, the witch lifted the curse from the village and vanished beyond the deeper forest. The Saintess, having fallen for the artist’s courage and gentleness in saving the village, married him beneath the warm blessings of the villagers. Together they brought peace and prosperity, and lived happily ever after.
Judgment to the scarlet liar Saintess. May another play for my beloved continue forever─
I ran my fingers across those words, scrawled in hatred so deep it defied measure. The unease I had felt while reading the story finally bloomed at its conclusion. If this was a tale of the Saintess and the artist finding happiness, why was it titled The Witch and the Artist? And why had I become so absorbed in such a commonplace, shoddy children’s book?
The truth lay hidden behind some lie, forgotten beyond recovery. Yet I could at least tell that this place was the witch’s cabin from the story. The countless masks that had hung on the wall earlier, the sawdust on the desk, the carving knives—it was here that the man called “the Artist” had created his masks.
“…Witch, mask, artist…”
The lingering aftertaste of the fairy tale felt like a warning echoing inside my head. I could open the door and return to reality right now, but something told me my story would end there. There was still something I had to do here.
What could it be? Had I missed something I had yet to read?
I wandered the dreamy space that blurred the line between dream and reality, scanning my surroundings. Inside the silent cabin my eyes caught a shaft of sunlight, and I walked toward it.
A wooden table coated in fine white dust, illuminated by that beam. On it lay a half-carved piece of wood and several scattered carving knives. Unlike the other objects in the cabin that reeked of endless ages, this wood brimmed with fresh vitality, as though it had been cut only moments ago.
I picked it up. Crude because it was unfinished, yet the shape was intimately familiar. At a glance one might mistake it for a bowl, but this was a mask. I lifted the carving knife beside it as well.
Strange characters were etched into the knife’s handle. Thanks to them I learned one more thing.
“……”
The handwriting on the fairy tale’s final page and the half-worn letters on the carving knife were identical. This was the very knife the artist had borrowed from the witch. Why would such an object bear the words──
To my beloved.
Tender emotion clung to those words. I frowned at the contradiction with the story I had just read and continued turning the knife over in my hands. Suddenly, the creak of old hinges sounded behind me and the door swung open.
“Oh my? Are you preparing for another play?”
The moment the woman’s gentle voice reached me, I could do nothing. My body locked rigid; turning around was impossible. Even my vocal cords had frozen, refusing to produce sound.
The presence slowly approaching from behind slipped its arms lightly around my back.
“Ah, I meant to keep it a secret… but you’ve found me out.”
My mouth began speaking on its own.
What the hell is this…
“Ufufu… It’s all right. I love your stories. So? What tale is it this time? And what is that mask?”
“That is…”
At the woman’s question my hand lifted the unfinished mask to my face. While I worried that something had gone terribly wrong, the mask showed me what I had forgotten and what was happening in reality.
My soul, corrupted by the mask’s betrayal. The Saintesses stolen from me. The mask that had gained a body for the sake of becoming the “witch,” moving to eliminate rival mask candidates who were also prospects for the witch.
No—it was no longer my mask.
Something that had devoured my desires and advanced one step further. No longer a mere object called a mask, but a living creature transforming into something else.
Yes… that was it.
Then I had a way, too. A way to reclaim everything and make the mask pay dearly.
“Hmm? So what is the story?”
I removed the unfinished mask, leaving the woman still leaning against my back with a smile, and spoke.
“…It’s a miserable tale of a lying traitor. Not exactly bright material… Are you sure you want to hear it?”
“Didn’t I tell you? Any story of yours is good with me.”
The woman gave my back a light pat and moved away. Only then did I turn around, searching for the woman who had left me, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“……”
I don’t know who or what she was, but that woman had saved my life. Had I returned to reality knowing nothing, I would have become nothing more than a desire dispenser.
Condemned and disciplined by the Saintesses under the mask’s control, drowning in pleasure until the end. Some might call that a decent life, but I have no taste for being on the receiving end. I’m the pervert who enjoys tormenting and conquering.
Therefore I cannot forgive the mask that dared to screw me over. I cannot forgive the mask that tried to steal what I had conquered. If my possessions are taken from me and I lose even the means to take them back, then I will create those means myself.
I seized one of the carving knives on the table and pulled the roughly shaped mask closer. The method to create it lay inside this cabin—inside my head. This was the first time I had ever touched a carving knife, but somehow it would work out.
“All right, then…”
When I drew back the curtain blocking the sunlight, the characters engraved on the blade gleamed in the bright rays.
“…Infused with desire and wishes.”
Slice─
Following the instructions that rose in my mind, I carved the wood according to the message someone had left on the blade. Come to think of it, the characters on the back—would it be all right to write them in Korean?
“…Miss. Miss Harumu.”
“Eek… yes…”
When I opened my eyes, I realized a blurry gray figure was calling to me. When exactly had I fallen asleep? Mother had definitely told me to prepare to greet the guest…
“H-Hana?! How did I…!”
“The child side fought in your place but lost. To Isabelle.”
“…I see…”
An indescribable emotion weighed on me so heavily I could not lift my head. Mother and I had poured everything into today, carving away at our very bones, yet in the end we could not defeat Isabelle Kang. Mother must be furious. I—Harumu—am a useless child compared to my brothers…
“It’s all right, miss. The mission has not yet begun. If you request another match now, the result might be different.”
“……”
With my head still bowed, I sensed Hana offering her hand before me.
“Ah, Hana…”
I took the hand of the only one who allowed me to remain myself─
“Who are you?”
“……”
I drew the sword resting beside the bed and yanked her toward me. Even yesterday, right after the coming-of-age ceremony, I had been startled by the drastic change in Hana’s aura. She had always been cold and emotionless, yet she would show great agitation over anything concerning me. But since yesterday Hana had been answering my words. She had been warmer than usual. The comfort I felt in my chest told me she must have been kind to the child version of me as well.
Yet the Hana before me now was wrong. Hana would never use such light, vulgar speech. And above all else…
“…That hand does not feel like Hana’s. State your name.”
I turned the blade upright and pressed it to the neck of whoever wore Hana’s shell. The one using Hana’s voice laughed in a way that crawled across my skin and said,
“So that’s it? You were the ‘senses.’”
“─?! How do you know that…!”
How could this person know something only Mother and I shared? Something was very wrong. With no time to hesitate I poured speed into my hand to sever the impostor’s neck, but at that moment—
“Isabelle.”
“Yes, Mother.”
A threatening presence that had appeared out of nowhere now targeted my back. I tried to dodge quickly, but the one wearing Hana’s form had seized the blade, ruining my balance. In that case—
Shuack──
I flipped the blade upward and drove it with added force. The clean severing of Hana’s fingers transmitted through the tremor. I spun my body, swinging the sword toward the attacker above and behind me in accordance with my broken balance.
“Eut?!”
I had meant to split the assailant’s head in two, yet the blade touched nothing. Before I could even register the movement, the enemy had stepped on the sword and leaped backward to evade. That was no human physical ability.
“…Are you two Saintesses?”
“…The body I’m borrowing may belong to a Saintess, but I am not such a trivial thing.”
“Mother is a witch—an object of worship that everyone should revere.”
“…There is clearly no way to communicate with you.”
Besides the one using Hana’s voice, I sensed another presence. This had to be the guest the child version of me had fought. But I understood clearly now. These were not humans but Saintesses—enemies of mankind. Beings I must cut down.
I flicked the blood from the blade and took a stance. My first priority was to defend against these two while alerting the mansion to the intrusion. I raised the sword overhead and slowly retreated a step.
“You don’t have to be that scared~ We only want to ask where the mask is.”
“…The mask? I know nothing of such a thing. There is none in this mansion.”
“No, there is. Inside this mansion I can sense someone… the presence of the mask and its master. And Yumekawa Harumu, who received power from that mask—you are here as well. Hehe…”
A mask inside this mansion…? And its master as well? Mother had said nothing about—
“Ah, asking questions is getting tiresome. I’ll simply make you my Saintess and have you confess everything. With the desire I possess now, overwriting the characters inside you should be entirely possible~”
No—right now I must focus on these two instead…!
“Noa.”
“Yes~ Mother!”
The ceiling…?!
Slice──
“Ugh──”