Rumors whispered that, in the moment the last surviving leader of the Mortia tribe was dying, he left behind a curse.
Everdin, I curse you!
You will pay the price for obstructing the sacred duty bestowed upon us by the heavens!
Your blood-red honor will be cast down into the dirt,
the golden wealth once overflowing on all sides will crumble to dust,
and in the end, the eyes that once looked upon you with admiration will hold only terror
and contempt.
You sinners shall neither live nor die, but writhe in eternal agony!
Of course, the Duke reportedly cut off the leader's head without so much as blinking.
They said the way his golden eyes blazed while he swung his sword made him look like a fiend crawling straight out of hell.
Up to that point, nothing seemed amiss. The Emperor may have suffered a bout of indigestion, but the citizens of the Empire kept praising Everdin as they always had, and the Duke and his knights returned home triumphantly.
The real problem came after that.
From that day forward, everyone living in the Everdin estate—including the Duke—became ghosts.
Strictly speaking, they didn't die.
Their hearts still beat with eerie regularity, but their bodies simply vanished from sight.
Ghosts could see one another. They could pick things up, put on clothing, and interact with their surroundings.
But they cast no reflection in mirrors. They could hear each other speak, yet ordinary people couldn't hear their voices.
It was as though the world they lived in and the world ordinary people inhabited stood back-to-back, separated by an unseen wall.
Clothes and objects drifting silently through empty air—such sights naturally inspired fear.
Because the curse made public activity impossible, the Duke tried to hire representatives from outside to handle affairs.
But none of them lasted even a week before fleeing in terror.
"It's cursed! That place is cursed, I tell you!"
Rumors about the Everdin ducal house grew darker by the day.
People flipped their opinions as easily as turning over a hand, forgetting they had ever admired Everdin and now tearing him apart.
"They say you can hear noise every night, like some kind of party going on."
"Objects move around on their own, completely randomly."
"Didn't someone die falling down the stairs after a ghost pushed them?"
"Truly a ghost duke's estate."
Naturally, the house's honor plummeted.
Since they couldn't manage the domain normally, the gold coins that once filled their warehouses dwindled to nothing.
And the eyes that once held admiration now brimmed only with fear and contempt.
The people of the Everdin estate became the living dead.
When the Emperor heard the news, he laughed so hard the palace hall trembled, forgetting all imperial dignity.
(Of course, he never showed a hint of it in front of others—according to a ghost from the palace, even he was stunned by the Emperor's shamelessness.)
As if he possessed all the world's happiness in the Duke's misfortune, the Emperor publicly announced that he would end the war that had been dragging on for ten years.
He made it sound like he was mourning the tragedy of House Everdin, but everyone knew the real reason lay in the people's growing unrest over the prolonged war.
Regardless of his true intentions, the Duke wrote a letter thanking him for his boundless mercy, locked his doors, and went into seclusion.
Before withdrawing, he announced that if any noble house had a child to offer as Everdin's next heir, they should contact him anytime.
But the rumors were so grim that not even families with illegitimate children were willing to send them.
Some said that if an illegitimate child died and turned into a ghost, their lineage would be cursed.
And so five long years passed… or so Tommy had explained to me over the course of an entire day.
Adoption…?
Returning to the present.
It wasn't just their rumors or notoriety that froze me in place.
Being adopted as the Everdin heir meant one thing:
I would have to leave the Oblen estate—the only place where my memories with Mother remained.
Realizing that, I nearly threw the papers from my hands as I shouted,
"I don't want to! I'm not going! Never!"
"You little—!"
"Even if you try to kick me out, I'm not going! I'd rather die!"
"…It seems words alone won't convince you."
With a chilling mutter, the Viscount closed the distance between us. His large shadow—easily twice my size—fell over me like a threat.
I glared back, refusing to cower.
Being hit didn't scare me. A slap stung for a moment and then it was over.
But instead of raising his hand, the Viscount exhaled slowly.
"…Very well. If you truly hate it that much, I suppose I have no choice."
He relaxed his lips into a troubled smile—strangely gentle.
Huh?
The unexpected reaction left me momentarily speechless.
Then he suddenly leaned down, whispering like a serpent right beside my ear.
"Then I'll have no choice but to dig up your mother's grave and scatter it over a field."
The moment I heard that, primal terror seized every muscle in my body.
"And I'll remove that portrait in the gallery too. A painting of someone who died of some unknown illness? How ominous."
He clicked his tongue and flicked his fingers as though brushing off filth.
His words were so beyond the bounds of common decency that my mind lagged behind before finally understanding.
Shock peeled away every coherent thought until I forced myself to think again, grinding my teeth hard enough to hurt.
"…You think I'll let you?"
"Ha. And what exactly can you do? Do you think throwing a tantrum will let you beat even one of the hounds this estate keeps?"
"…."
Frustration burned behind my eyes until tears threatened to spill.
The moment I sensed them rising, I widened my eyes sharply. I wouldn't waste even a single tear on this man.
…I'm furious.
So furious it hurt.
But nothing he said was wrong.
Send ghosts to watch him? Block him? Impossible.
Ghosts vary. Only a few can affect the living in any meaningful way.
And most ghosts refuse to stray far from where they linger. If they wander too far, they risk losing their strength and disappearing. That's why even Tommy never leaves the estate lightly.
So if the Viscount sent people to desecrate Mother's grave, I could do nothing.
Nothing.
"Finally understanding reason, I see."
Seeing me lower my head in silence, the Viscount straightened with satisfaction.
I felt his cold gaze rest on the crown of my head.
"We leave tomorrow morning."
"…."
"A maid will be waiting in your room. If you don't want things to get unpleasant, obey."
Leaving those words behind, he strode out of the parlor.
I stood there for a long while, fists clenched, lost in thought.
My memories with Mother. Her traces. Her portrait.
And the ghosts of the Oblen estate—the only ones in this world who stood on my side.
"..."
I didn't know how long I stood there like a statue.
It wasn't until the sunset's glow seeped through the window that I lifted my head sharply, lips pressed tight.
"…Fine. Adoption? I'll go."
If Tommy had seen my expression, he would've said, "She's planning something weird again."
I smiled.
"They only said to go. They never said I couldn't get kicked out."
If it's come to this, then I'll make sure my name goes down in imperial history as the fastest child ever disowned.
Duke Valerian Everdin gazed at the name on the document before him.
Terezia Oblen.
The eldest daughter of House Oblen.
And…
…Eight years old.
A child who had only just turned eight.
So young.
Far, far too young.
He hesitated briefly, then walked toward a tall mirror draped with a long sheet of cloth.
Valerian drew a slow breath and raised his hand.
With his gloved fingertips, he pulled down the cloth and forced himself to lift his gaze to the mirror.
"…."
In the mirror, clothing—smooth and without a single wrinkle—floated quietly in the shape of a human.
Only the spectacles resting atop the white shirt's collar hinted at where his head and eyes should be.
If she doesn't burst into tears on sight, it'll be a miracle.