Who could be more unfortunate than I am? Since childhood, I never once dared to address them as Mom or Dad. I could only call them Master. They made it painfully clear that I was merely something they had picked up—never a daughter, never an equal. I had no right to stand on the same level as their children.
Being hit, scolded, and mistreated became the rhythm of my life. I never wanted such a fate, but all I could do was cry in silence. The years stretched on, filled with cruelty, until slowly… I stopped feeling anything at all. Pain, fear, heartbreak, longing—they all faded, swallowed by numbness. I even forgot how to smile. I became so timid, so harmless, that even small children found it easy to bully me. And I could do nothing except endure.
I wasn't allowed to move freely. The moment I completed high school, they stopped me from schooling altogether. That was when my miserable life worsened. Locked inside the mansion, beaten daily, treated like a living venting sack for their frustrations, I learned to live without hope. Perhaps this was simply my fate.
Yet questions haunted me: Who exactly is my real family? Why didn't they want me? Or… was I stolen from them? Every time these thoughts surfaced, a dream followed. In it, a man appeared—his warm smile soothing, his touch impossibly gentle, his voice whispering words I could never quite make out. Perhaps it was because I lacked affection in reality, but I clung to that dream as if it were the only sunlight in my world. Thinking about my origin always brought him to me. Whether he existed or not didn't matter; his warmth felt real enough to keep me alive.
One evening, the entire household held a grand banquet. They laughed, danced, and feasted while I watched from afar, emotionless. Seizing the chance, I slipped away from the mansion. I didn't look back—not even once—until I realized I was lost. Darkness fell, and loneliness pressed against me. I missed the man from my dreams.
Finding a small cave, I sat inside, preparing to rest, when I sensed someone's presence. I froze, staring into the gloom until a figure stepped forward. She was a girl around my age.
"What a beauty! Ah… are you lost? My name is Mira. What about you?" she chirped, taking the initiative to approach me.
Words failed me. My throat tightened. I expected a slap, a curse, some kind of punishment for staying silent. But instead, she simply continued speaking—bright, cheerful, unbothered by my fear. Slowly, her warmth melted a corner of my guarded heart. Little by little, I opened up to her.
With Mira's help, I learned how to smile again. How to speak without trembling. How to understand freedom—real freedom.
We became close friends, bound by loneliness and suffering. She shared stories with me, many of them about how to win a man's heart. I often wondered how she knew so much, but she proudly revealed the stacks of romance novels she read—some stolen, some picked up from trash heaps. She, too, was lost. Her adoptive parents had planned to sell her into marriage, only allowing her to finish high school so they could demand a higher bride price. In running away, she chose pain over chains.
We shared everything—our fear, our dreams, our wounds. Perhaps because our experiences mirrored each other, we bonded quickly. Together, we traveled until we discovered a village where we could settle.
But trouble soon followed. My beauty attracted unwanted attention, stirring jealousy and desire everywhere I went. Yet Mira stood bravely by my side, shielding me whenever danger arose. Thanks to her courage, I remained unharmed.
But good days end quickly.
Mira's biological parents eventually found her. Despite her reluctance, they took her away. She begged me to come with her, but I refused. I didn't want to burden her life any further.
And so, I returned to being alone.
The sadness I had once forgotten resurfaced with brutal force. The villagers scolded, mocked, and insulted me. I could not defend myself. My heart ached unbearably. I wished—desperately—that the man from my dreams would come for me.
I avoided going outside during the day. My beauty only attracted more trouble, more greedy eyes. I cried in silence, as I always had. Hunger gnawed at my insides. Days passed without proper food or water. When night fell, I believed its darkness could hide me as I ventured out in search of something—anything—to eat.
My head felt light. My steps staggered. My entire body trembled with weakness.
Then I collapsed.
But instead of hitting the ground, I fell into a familiar yet somehow unfamiliar embrace. Warm. Protective. My fading eyes lifted, trying to see the face above me, but consciousness slipped away like water through my fingers. I felt that familiar touch on my head—the one from my dreams—and relief washed over me.
Maybe this is a dream, I thought. If so, I never want to wake up.
Darkness claimed me completely.
When I finally opened my eyes—hours or perhaps days later—the first thing I saw was him. The man who had always appeared in my dreams. The man whose warmth I had yearned for more than life itself.
Shock froze me. No… it was more than shock. Excitement. Relief. Hope. If this was still a dream, then I prayed it would never end.
He gazed at me with that same warm smile I knew so well. Then—for the first time—I heard his voice clearly. And the word he uttered made my entire soul tremble.
"My Queen."
I stared at him, dazed. That gentle tone… that affectionate gaze… I could no longer hold back. I threw myself into his arms. His hand stroked my head softly, no words needed.
For the first time in my life, I felt wanted. Safe. Cherished.
And in that moment, I made a silent vow:
I would never let go of him.