It had been quite some time.
She released a quiet, weary sigh, the sound dissolving into the still air around her.
What if it all goes wrong? The thought pressed against her chest, sharp with dread. No… I should leave it to God. Yes, I should. Clinging to that fragile reassurance, she rose from the bench on which she had been sitting, its cool surface leaving a faint chill behind, and began walking toward her classroom.
Another sigh escaped her, deeper this time, weighted with an exhaustion she could neither name nor dispel. Voices drifted through the corridor—careless, unrestrained conversations that made her shoulders tense. The words people tossed about so freely struck her as unsettling, edged with a coarseness she herself could never bring herself to use. She had always been careful, deliberately gentle, avoiding speech that might wound or embarrass another. Yet here, no one hesitated. No one seemed to care.
Maybe they should, she thought bitterly.
Her gaze shifted toward her friend, who was already seated, waving at her with a bright, welcoming smile. She returned it faintly and took the seat beside her. Their energies aligned easily, as though they moved to the same quiet rhythm. The girl was kind—at least most of the time. Yet there were moments when her words turned unexpectedly sharp, careless remarks that struck deeper than she probably intended. They hurt, though she rarely admitted it, even to herself.
But it didn't matter. Nothing really did.
Later, as she walked home alone, the world had grown hushed in the fading light. She stepped off the curb to cross the road. A sudden movement caught her eye—something large and fast bearing down on her. She turned her head instinctively toward it—
Thud.
A scream tore from her throat.
"My head… it hurts…" Her voice trembled as she forced herself to look down. Her leg lay trapped beneath the monstrous weight of a truck tire, pain radiating upward in blinding waves.
She could hear people—murmurs, gasps, the low hum of a gathering crowd—but no one moved to help. They only stared, their faces distant and detached, as though she were something unreal.
"Was she blind? Couldn't she see?" someone said, the words slicing through the haze.
Breath came in shallow, frantic bursts. Panic clawed at her throat, tightening until even air seemed impossible to swallow. The edges of her vision darkened, blurring into indistinct shadows as consciousness began to slip from her grasp.
Beep… beep… beep…
The mechanical rhythm pierced the void.
Beep beep beep beep.
"Every single month she does something, and now this—this is it. It would be better if she died!"
Tears slid silently from the corners of her eyes.
She woke in a dim, squalid room.
"And you got an E-tier power—what are you supposed to do with it?" a man bellowed, his voice thick with contempt.
"What am I supposed to do with such a useless ability? All you can do is stop blood from flowing!" His palm struck her face with a sharp crack.
Again.
And again.
And again.
The reek of cheap liquor clung to him; a bottle dangled loosely from his hand. She clenched her fists until her nails bit into her skin, tears burning her eyes—not from sorrow now, but from a seething, blistering rage. She wanted to drive a blade into him, to crush his skull beneath a stone, to erase the sneer from his face forever.
"I'm going to sell you. What use are you to me? I was bound to do it sooner or later," he shouted.
In the corner of the room stood a girl, watching with a crooked smile, her laughter soft and cruel.
A short, contemptuous snort escaped her lips.
Fury surged hotter.
…
Knock. Knock.
"Who is it?"
"Is this Mister Henry Echert's house?" came a man's voice from the other side.
"Yes… it is," she answered cautiously.
Henry—reeking of alcohol—stumbled forward at once and flung the door open, his expression transforming into eager servility.
"Ohhhh, hello!" he exclaimed, as though salvation itself had arrived.
"I came to inform you that my master has agreed. I'm here to take her. Here is your payment." The visitor spoke briskly, placing a heavy pouch into Henry's grasp. The faint clink of coins suggested a fortune—perhaps more than a hundred and fifty gold pieces.
Henry seized her wrist, dragging her forward and thrusting her toward the stranger, pressing her hand into his.
"Bye-bye," the man said lightly. Laughter sounded from behind.
She struggled, digging her heels into the floor, twisting desperately to break free—but a sudden blow from a metal pan struck her head. Pain exploded through her skull as she collapsed, the world tilting violently. Darkness surged in again.
Through the fading haze, she glimpsed the one who had struck her—her so-called sister. Their mother had taken her own life, abandoning them both. The body she now inhabited belonged to the eldest daughter: Catharine Echert. And the girl who stood over her, pan still raised, was the younger sister, Rosina Echert—radiant as a blossom, breathtakingly beautiful, the kind of beauty that made strangers fall in love at first sight.
Yes, right, she thought bitterly as oblivion claimed her. Beauty isn't everything.
Jealousy burned—because now she was ugly. Before, and even now.
…
She woke once more.
The room around her was lavish, impossibly refined compared to the squalor she remembered. Rich fabrics, polished surfaces, the faint scent of something floral lingering in the air.
"The master wishes to speak with you. Because of you, I was scolded," said the man who had purchased her, watching her with cool impatience.
She had no choice.
He led her down an opulent corridor to the end of the hallway, where an enormous door loomed. They were on the second floor. When it opened with a low creak, she flinched, her heart stuttering, then followed him again as he guided her toward a vast annex that appeared newly constructed. She glanced down at herself in surprise—her clothes had been changed. Clean, unblemished fabric replaced the ragged dress she had worn before.
Inside, the man bowed deeply to the figure seated within. She mirrored the gesture, lowering her head.
"Look up," came the command—soft, weakened, yet hauntingly beautiful.
She raised her eyes.
Moonlight spilled across the man like a pale veil, illuminating strands of golden hair and a faint, enigmatic smile. Shadows pooled beneath his eyes in dark crescents. He wore a white shirt and black pants, simple garments that only emphasized the ethereal elegance of his presence.
He was breathtaking.
For a suspended instant, the world seemed to halt its motion. He resembled a fragile glasswing butterfly drifting too close to the waiting jaws of a carnivorous bloom—something exquisite and doomed all at once.
Her breath caught.
She could not breathe.