That morning did not feel like morning.
There was no warm light spilling through the window, no birds greeting the day, no gentle breath of dawn announcing its arrival. There was only the cold—
a creeping chill that slipped through the cracks of the old stone walls of Castle Salverin.
A cold that rattled bones, a cold that felt like an unseen hand brushing the nape of anyone awake too early.
And that morning, as with every morning of her life—
Liora woke not to sunlight, but to fear.
Not a screaming fear,
but a quiet one—
the kind that grows slowly, like frost spreading along a winter branch.
CRASH!
Her door burst open, slamming against the wall with a bang that echoed down the stone corridor. The tiny candle on her table flickered as if startled.
Liora's small body jolted upright, her heart leaping into her throat.
Marna—an older servant with cold eyes and a mouth forever curled in contempt—stood at the doorway. Her silhouette blocked the faint morning light sneaking in from the hall.
"Up. You know the rules," she said, voice flat and rough, like stone grating against stone.
Liora had already been awake for several minutes, but she never moved until someone allowed her to. She was not permitted to begin her day by her own will.
She pushed herself up slowly. The thin straw-filled mattress crackled beneath her like dried grass ready to break. The air in the room was damp; the smell of mold and cold pressed heavily into her chest. The tiny window was boarded with wooden planks—only a thin line of golden light slipped onto the stone floor.
The room had once been a storage closet.
And even now…
no one saw it as anything else.
Liora ran her small fingers through her pale pink hair. It fell in soft waves, beautiful to any eyes not soaked in hatred. But in this castle… her hair was a whispered curse.
Marna's gaze slid over her from head to toe, as if inspecting a stain on white linen.
"Don't waste time fixing that cursed hair of yours," she snapped, turning away. "No one wants to look at your face anyway."
Liora lowered her head, lips pale.
She didn't dare argue.
One truth lived permanently in her mind:
No one in this world wanted her here.
With steps light enough to leave no sound, she followed Marna into the corridor. The cold walls threw back the older woman's footsteps, while Liora's vanished into silence—her presence too small to echo.
The stairs to the upper floor were frigid. Liora hugged her arms to her tiny frame, trying to hold onto what little warmth she had, but her thin skin found only bone beneath.
As they approached the corridor leading to the grand dining hall, laughter trickled from the half-open door.
Kael.
And the deeper, calmer voice—
Lucien.
The Duke's two sons.
Two brothers who never acknowledged her.
Marna stopped and shoved a tray into Liora's hands.
"Wait here," she ordered without looking back.
Liora stood stiffly, pinching the hem of her dress so her trembling hands wouldn't show.
She didn't need to peek inside—
their voices alone tightened her chest.
"Why do we have to eat in the same room as her?" Kael complained loudly. "Can't Father make her eat with the chickens in the barn?"
Lucien gave a short, quiet exhale.
"As long as she doesn't touch anything of ours, I don't care."
"But just seeing her is disgusting," Kael added. "I don't know why Father lets that creature stay here."
Creature.
Not a new word.
But each time she heard it, something like a needle pricked her heart.
Marna finally opened the door again.
"Come in," she said, voice flat as always.
Liora lowered her head and stepped into the lavish dining room wearing a carefully blank expression—the mask she had learned to protect herself from Kael.
Crystal lamps glowed warmly above her, yet no warmth touched her skin. The long table was covered with thick white linen, and warm dishes released fragrant steam from porcelain plates.
Everything beautiful.
Everything grand.
And in the midst of it… she felt like a blemish.
Kael spotted her immediately.
"Oh, the little rat is here," he said, lifting his cup. "Even servant clothes look worse when she wears them."
Liora bowed her head deeper.
"Pour water," Kael ordered, shoving his glass forward.
Liora lifted the heavy pitcher—almost too heavy for her small hands. She poured carefully, hands stiff from the cold.
But a few drops spilled onto the table.
Kael slammed his cup down.
"Are you deaf?! Can't you pour water without making a mess?!"
Liora scrambled to wipe the spill.
Lucien closed his book slowly, looking up with that same distant calm.
"If you keep making mistakes like that… you should at least apologize."
Liora bit her lip.
"I-I… I'm sorry…"
Kael scoffed.
"Even her voice is ugly."
Lucien stood, straightening his uniform collar.
"Enough. You're ruining the mood. Leave."
Liora stepped back, bowing before turning toward the door.
She didn't cry.
She had long forgotten how to want to cry.
The kitchen was a small hell that morning.
Shouting, scolding, and endless work gave her no space to breathe.
Everything she did was wrong.
Too slow.
Too fast.
Too close.
Too far.
Servants dropped things on purpose when she passed.
"You made me drop this!"
Though she hadn't touched them.
"Wash it again! Your curse must have tainted it!"
She never argued.
Before noon, Marna shoved a dust cloth into her hands.
"Clean the small library. And don't touch anything."
Liora nodded obediently.
The library sat in a quiet hallway. The old wooden door creaked as she opened it.
Inside… the world felt different.
Quiet.
Soft.
No Kael's laughter.
No Lucien's cold stare.
No clattering plates.
The smell of old books, dust, and aged wood filled the air. Liora gently brushed her fingers along the edge of the shelves—not to grab a book, just to feel the smooth surface.
She wiped the dust slowly, stopping at a large red book on the middle shelf.
And suddenly—
warmth.
Her fingertips tingled.
As if something inside the book pulsed.
As if the book recognized her.
Something deep within her quivered.
Not pain…
something else.
Something foreign.
Like a memory struggling to surface—
"Don't touch that."
Liora flinched.
She turned.
Lucien stood in the doorway, his gaze a thin, cold blade.
"I-I was only cleaning—"
"Spellbooks aren't for you."
He walked toward her.
One step.
Two steps.
The warm library shrank into a dangerous chamber.
"Don't try to read," he said, leaning close enough that she felt his breath. "Father doesn't want something like you touching magic."
Something like you.
Liora swallowed.
Lucien narrowed his eyes, staring straight into her ruby irises.
"Curses like you should never grow."
The words landed like a dark incantation, freezing the air.
Lucien left, the door shutting softly yet sharply behind him.
Liora was alone again.
Alone in a room that suddenly felt too big…
too quiet…
too foreign.
It rained that afternoon, curtains of water drenching the back courtyard under a gray sky. The scent of wet earth mingled with the biting cold.
"Fetch firewood," Marna ordered without looking at her.
The logs were too heavy for her small frame.
Every step splashed mud onto her bare feet.
As she carried the soaked wood, Kael appeared under the terrace roof.
He watched her, then laughed.
"Look. Our little rat is getting soaked."
Liora lowered her gaze.
There was no point in meeting his eyes.
Nothing good ever came from it.
"Careful," Kael said with a cruel smirk. "Don't die too soon, little rat."
Liora kept walking.
The rain weighed her soft pink hair down like drenched petals.
But she didn't stop.
Stopping meant punishment.
Kael eventually lost interest and left.
Liora kept moving, the burden on her back four times heavier than she was.
By nightfall, the castle was silent and cold as a stone grave.
Liora returned to her room. Her clothes were wet, her body trembling violently. She sat on her hard mattress and hugged her knees.
Her breaths were soft—controlled by habit.
She must not make noise.
Not complain.
Not show weakness.
She closed her eyes.
In the darkness, something surfaced again.
A faint silhouette with flaming red hair.
A soft voice calling from behind a thick veil of dreams.
Liora opened her eyes abruptly.
Her heart hammered against her ribs.
She didn't know what it was.
She didn't know why her inner world felt so vast… yet so empty.
She only knew one thing:
She had to endure.
Day after day.
In a world that did not want her.
Yet something inside her chest—deep, deep within—throbbed faintly.
Not hope.
Not dreams.
Something older.
More ancient.
And when the tiny candle suddenly went out without wind,
Liora felt a subtle tremor inside her blood.
She didn't know what it meant.
All she knew—
was that she was not entirely alone.
And the world would change…
when the time came.