Chapter 55
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 55
Drifting through a haze of fragmented memories like a cloud, Thalia slowly returned to reality.
As she forced her heavy eyelids open, the flickering light of a candle bled into her vision. She stared blankly at the flame until her blurred senses gradually sharpened.
Enveloped in a strange sense of emptiness, she pushed herself up. For a moment, she couldn’t comprehend where she was. It took several seconds to realize she was lying in an unfamiliar room, upon an unfamiliar bed.
Thalia scanned the luxuriously decorated bedroom with hollow eyes until, suddenly, an alien sensation drew her gaze downward.
Beneath the hem of her short shift, her legs lay exposed.
No. They couldn’t be hers.
There was no way something so hideous could be attached to her body.
With trembling hands, she reached out to touch her knees. They were lumpy and uneven, like congealed candle wax. The shape was all wrong. Her shins and kneecaps were slightly misaligned, and across her pale skin, thick, coarse scars—rough as tree bark—had spread wide.
Tracing the long gashes that ran from her calves to her knees and up to her thighs like cracks in broken porcelain, Thalia began to claw at them with her fingernails. She felt as though if she could just peel away these lumpy stains, her original flesh—which once glowed like pearls—would be revealed.
Ignoring the stinging pain, she obsessively tore at the dark red, swollen marks. Crimson blood began to trickle down.
As she stared at the sight in utter desolation, the sound of a floorboard creaking echoed through the room.
Thalia snapped her head up. Her eyes widened as she discovered Senevia sitting languidly in a velvet-cushioned chair.
The Empress, watching her with blue eyes that shone vividly even in the darkness, parted her blood-red lips. Her voice was sweet and melodic.
"Must you insist on picking at the wounds I went to such trouble to mend? It is quite a hassle to call the healers back, you know."
She set the small booklet she had been holding onto the table, her fine brows knitting together in a frown.
Thalia, staring at her without so much as a blink, parted her parched lips.
"What... what did you do to my body?"
At the distrustful question, the Empress’s eyes widened slightly before curving into crescents. Letting out a soft laugh as if she had heard a funny joke, Senevia shook her head.
"That is hardly the way to speak to a mother who went so far as to summon the Eternal Clan for your sake."
"..."
"Don’t look at me like that. I know you don’t trust me... but for once, even I did everything I could. I am just as disappointed as you are that this was the only result we could achieve."
Her snake-like gaze crawled slowly down Thalia’s body, coming to rest on the bleeding scars. Thalia hurriedly pulled the duvet over her legs to hide them. Her fingertips trembled at the look in Senevia’s eyes—a look reserved for something repulsive.
The Empress continued with a small sigh.
"I considered taking it up with them, but it seems they did their best in their own way. They were quite adamant, claiming it was a miracle you recovered this much, considering not just the bone, but the muscles and nerves were partially destroyed."
Toward her daughter, who was on the verge of collapsing from shock, the Empress continued speaking with a terrifying level of composure.
"It seems nothing could be done about the scarring, either. They said they tried incising the area several times before reapplying magic, but those hideous marks regenerated exactly as they were. Likely, the skin tissue underwent degeneration because the wounds were left neglected for too long."
A shallow sigh escaped her lips.
"I suppose I can’t blame the Imperial healers, either. If they had closed the wounds immediately, your skin might have been cleaner, but you would have lost the use of your legs forever. Still, they say you can at least walk now, so I suppose we should take comfort in that."
The words, poured out so nonchalantly, felt like iron skewers rummaging through Thalia’s insides. Toward the girl frozen in a daze, Senevia drove the final nail in.
"It truly is a pity."
Thalia slowly lowered her head.
Watching her with a pensive gaze, Senevia rose from her chair and approached. Soft fingers, scented with flowers, touched Thalia’s cheek.
"Thalia. Do you remember what I told you before? That things which are beautiful and weak become targets for plunder."
Thalia struggled to meet her gaze through blurred, tearful eyes. The face that looked as if it had been exquisitely sculpted from pearls, gold, and sapphires became distorted through her tears.
The Empress continued tenderly, as if telling a fairy tale.
"Then, what do you think happens to things that are weak and ugly?"
"..."
"Ugly things, you see, become objects of ridicule and contempt. Such things aren’t even worthy of being plundered. They are simply trampled upon, mocked, and cast aside. Humans have a habit of constantly searching for something to hate just to prove their own superiority. Having a flaw means you’ve become excellent prey for such people."
Thalia tried her best not to cry, but a ragged sob finally tore through her throat. The words the Empress poured out were more painful than her bleeding legs.
Looking down at her daughter’s contorted face, Senevia clicked her tongue as if in pity.
"But there is no need to worry. I have no intention of allowing my daughter to fall into such a state."
Cold fingers, like the legs of an insect, brushed the tangled hair away from Thalia’s cheek. Thalia saw those abyss-like eyes narrow into a thin curve.
It was a smile that seemed to promise an even greater despair.
* * *
Inside the massive temple of the Imperial Palace, thirty-four coffins were laid out in neat rows.
While priests circled them, pouring holy water and chanting prayers, mourners took turns placing flowers upon the caskets.
Sitting in the pews and watching the long, tedious proceedings, Athros let his eyes wander, spying on his half-siblings.
His elder brother sat in the seat of honor with his usual arrogant expression, putting on airs, while Aila Roem Guirta mourned the deceased with an elegance befitting her nickname, the Perfect Princess.
It was a scene no different from any other. However, he felt a strange sense of dissonance.
Pondering the reason, Athros soon realized that his half-sister was in a state of intense fury. Though she had crafted a reasonably sorrowful expression, her eyes were as cold as ice, and the line of her mouth was noticeably rigid.
What is she so angry about?
Unlike his brother, who wore every emotion on his sleeve, Aila was someone who always hid behind a serene smile. It was quite interesting to see his sister, who never showed a crack in her armor, revealing her emotions in front of so many people.
Is she that upset about the wedding being postponed?
Athros’s gaze naturally shifted toward her fiancé.
Barkas Raedgo Sieorkan stood beside the altar with his back perfectly straight, silently observing the funeral rites. He looked less like a living man and more like a statue erected in a cathedral.
Intrigued by his excessively static posture, Athros scanned him slowly from head to toe.
The next Grand Duke of Sieorkan wore a doublet tailored with sleek precision from shoulder to waist, and breeches that fit his body like armor. A long, navy blue cape draped from his left shoulder.
It was a somewhat plain outfit, but in Athros’s eyes, his attire looked far more impressive than that of the nobles who had dressed up to the nines. He could understand, just a little bit, why his half-sister was so upset about the wedding being delayed.
...Since an accident like this happened, they won’t be able to set out on the pilgrimage again until next year.
Which meant the wedding between Aila Roem Guirta and the next Grand Duke of Sieorkan would also be pushed back.
Thinking that far, Athros suddenly frowned. His chest felt tight. He had wanted his half-sister, who always looked at him as if he were something unpleasant, to hurry up and leave for the Grand Duchy.
Maybe they’ll break Imperial tradition and proceed with the wedding as scheduled.
He looked toward Lord Sieorkan with a desperate prayer in his heart.
Please, just take Aila Roem Guirta away to the East.
At that moment, as if he had heard the ridiculous prayer, the man turned his head.
Athros flinched and lowered his eyes. His heart sank at a gaze that felt as though it were looking straight through his mind.