TFM 55

Chapter 55

****

Sponsored by Virginie. Thank you ❤️ (2/3)

****

Talia, who had been drifting through the afterimages of her memories as if suspended in a cloud, slowly returned to reality.

As she lifted her heavy eyelids, the flickering candlelight came into view.

As she stared blankly at it, her previously blurred senses gradually sharpened.

Enveloped by a strange sense of emptiness, she slowly sat up.

For a moment, she couldn’t figure out where she was.

It took several seconds before she realized she was lying in a strange room, on a strange bed.

As she slowly surveyed the lavishly decorated bedroom with vacant eyes, suddenly felt a sense of something out of place and lowered her gaze.

Her legs were fully exposed beneath her short undergarments.

No. They weren’t her legs.

There was no way something this hideous could be attached to her body.

With trembling hands, she touched her knees, which were bumpy as if coated in congealed candle wax.

The shape of her legs was somehow off.

Her shins and kneecaps were slightly twisted, and across her pale skin, stiff, rough scars spread like tree bark.

Tracing the long scar that ran from her calf down to her knee and thigh, like the cracks in a broken piece of pottery, Talia soon began to scratch at it with her fingertips.

She felt that if she could completely peel away these bumpy patches covering her skin, her original, pearl-like complexion would be revealed.

Ignoring the stinging pain, she persistently picked at the swollen, dark red marks. As she did, fresh blood began to trickle down.

She stared down at it, her face blank with bewilderment, when a creaking sound reached her ears from somewhere.

Talia snapped her head up and her eyes widened as she spotted Queen Senevere sitting diagonally on a chair covered in velvet.

The empress, whose blue eyes shone vividly even in the darkness, stared intently at her. Then, parting her lips—which looked as if they were stained with blood—she let out a sweet, melodious voice.

“Must you really rip open a wound they’ve just managed to heal? It’s such a hassle to call for a healer again, you know.”

She set the small book she was holding down on the table and furrowed her delicate brows.

Talia, who had been staring at her without blinking, 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 a crescent shape.

Senevere let out a soft laugh, as if she’d heard an amusing joke, and shook her head.

“That’s not something you should say to a mother who went so far as to summon the ‘Clan of Eternity’ just to heal you.”

“….”

“Don’t look at me like that. I know you don’t trust me, but… this time, I did everything I could for you. The fact that this is all the result I’ve managed is disappointing even to me.”

A snake-like gaze slowly crawled down her body, coming to rest on the scar where blood had pooled.

Talia hurriedly pulled the blanket over her legs. Her fingertips trembled at the look in her eyes, as if she were staring at something repulsive.

She let out a small sigh and continued.

“I considered confronting them, but it seems they did their best in their own way. They argued passionately that it was a miracle you’ve recovered this much, given that not only the bone but also some of the muscles and nerves were damaged.”

Speaking to her daughter, who was on the verge of collapsing from shock, the Empress continued with an eerie calm.

“It seems there was nothing they could do about the scar either. They tried cutting open the wound several times and casting spells again, but they said even that hideous scar regenerated exactly as it was. It was probably because the wound had been left untreated for so long that the skin tissue had degenerated.”

A low sigh escaped her lips.

“Still, it’s hard to blame the imperial healers. If they had healed the wound immediately, the skin might be clearer now, but your leg would have been rendered useless forever. At least now you can walk, so we must take comfort in that.”

Her matter-of-fact words felt like iron spikes wildly piercing her stomach.

Senevere spoke to her, who stood frozen in a daze, as if driving a wedge into her heart.

“I’m truly sorry.”

Talia slowly lowered her head.

Senevere, who had been watching her with a pensive gaze, rose from her chair and stepped forward. Her soft fingers, scented with flowers, touched her cheek.

“Talia. Do you remember when I said that beauty and weakness make one a target for plunder?”

Talia struggled to meet her gaze with eyes clouded by tears.

Her face, which seemed to have been intricately sculpted from pearls, gold, and sapphires, was blurred and distorted by tears.

She continued speaking tenderly, as if telling an old story.

“Then, what happens to those who are weak and ugly?”

“….”

“The ugly ones, you see, become objects of ridicule and contempt. They aren’t even worthy of being plundered. They’re simply trampled upon, mocked, and cast out. Because people have a habit of constantly searching for something to hate and despise in order to prove their own superiority. Having a flaw means you become easy prey for such people.”

Talia tried her hardest not to cry, but a rough sob finally broke through her throat.

Her mother’s words felt more painful than her bleeding leg.

Looking down at her daughter’s face contorted by tears, Senevere clicked her tongue as if to say, “Poor thing.”

“But there’s no need to worry. I have no intention of allowing my daughter to end up in such a predicament.”

Cold fingers, like the legs of an insect, brushed the tangled strands of hair from her cheek.

She saw her swamp-like eyes narrow into a sliver.

It was a smile that seemed to promise even greater despair.

***

Inside the vast temple located within the Imperial Palace, thirty-four coffins were arranged in neat rows.

While priests circled them, pouring holy water and reciting prayers, mourners took turns placing flowers on the coffins.

Asros, seated in the congregation, watched the long and tedious proceedings while rolling his eyes to spy on his half-siblings.

His older brother sat in the seat of honor, acting haughty as always, while Ayla Roem Guirta, looking every bit as elegant as her nickname “The Perfect Princess” suggested, mourned the deceased.

It was a scene no different from any other. Yet, he felt a strange sense of dissonance.

As Asros pondered the reason, he soon realized that his half-sister was deeply angered by something.

Although she was putting on a rather convincing expression of sorrow, her eyes were as cold as ice, and the corners of her mouth were noticeably stiff.

'What could she be so angry about?'

Unlike her older brother, who wore his emotions on his sleeve, she was someone who always hid herself behind a calm smile.

It was quite intriguing that his sister, who never showed any weakness, was revealing her emotions in front of so many people.

'Was she that upset that the wedding was postponed?'

Asros’ gaze naturally drifted toward her fiancé.

Varkas Raedgo Shiokan stood beside the altar with his back straight, quietly observing the funeral rites. He looked less like a living person and more like a statue erected in the cathedral.

Intrigued by his overly static appearance, Asros scrutinized him from head to toe.

The future Grand Duke of Shiokan wore a doublet tailored sleekly and without excess from his shoulders to his waist, along with breeches that fit his body as snugly as armor, and a long navy-blue cape draped over his left shoulder.

Though the outfit was somewhat plain, to Asros’s eyes, it looked far more impressive than the outfits of the nobles who had gone all out to look their best. He could even understand, just a little, why his half-sister was upset that the wedding had been postponed.

‘……With this incident having occurred, I suppose I won’t be able to set out on my pilgrimage again until next year.’

So that meant the wedding between Ayla Roem Guirta and the next Grand Duke of Shiokan would also be postponed until next year.

As he thought that far, Asros suddenly frowned.

He suddenly felt a tightness in his chest.

He had hoped that his half-sister, who always looked at him as if she found him distasteful, would hurry up and leave for the Grand Duchy.

'Perhaps they’ll break with imperial tradition and go ahead with the wedding as planned.'

He looked at Lord Shiokan with a desperate plea in his eyes.

Please, take Ayla Roem Guirta to the East.

At that moment, as if he had heard his ridiculous prayer, the man turned his head.

Asros flinched and lowered his gaze.

His heart sank at the look in those eyes, which seemed to see right through him.