Bölüm 55

Talia drifted through the remnants of her memories as if she were floating among the clouds, then slowly returned to reality.
 When she lifted her heavy eyelids, a flickering candle flame came into view.
 As she stared blankly at it, her blurred senses gradually sharpened. 
Wrapped in a strange emptiness, Talia slowly pushed herself upright.
 For a moment, she couldn’t understand where she was.
 Only after several seconds passed did she realize she was lying in an unfamiliar room, on an unfamiliar bed. 
With vacant eyes, she slowly looked around the lavishly decorated bedchamber—then suddenly felt something foreign and lowered her gaze. 
Her two legs were fully exposed beneath short underpants. 
No. They weren’t her legs. 
There was no way something this grotesque could be attached to her body. 
With trembling hands, she touched her knees—uneven and lumpy, as though covered in hardened wax.
 Something was wrong with their shape.
 Her shins and kneecaps were subtly twisted out of alignment, and her pale skin was covered with wide, stiff, bark-like scars. 
Tracing the long cracks running from her calves to her knees and thighs—like fractures in shattered porcelain—Talia soon began scraping at them with her fingertips.
 It felt as if she only needed to peel off these rough, blotchy layers to reveal her original pearly skin underneath. 
Ignoring the burning pain, she obsessively picked at the dark red, swollen, scabbed flesh.
 Blood began to drip down in thin streams. 
She stared at it in stunned silence when a faint creaking sound came from somewhere. 
Talia jerked her head up—and her eyes widened as she spotted Senevier reclining at an angle on a velvet-covered chair. 
The Empress, her blue eyes glowing vividly even in the dimness, opened her blood-tinted lips and spilled a sweet, melodious voice: 
“Must you really dig open a wound I went through so much trouble to heal? It’s such a bother to summon the healer again.” 
She set down the small booklet in her hand and knit her fine brows. 
Talia, still staring without blinking, parted her dry lips. 
“What… did you do to my body?” 
At her mistrust-filled question, the Empress’s eyes widened slightly, then curved into a crescent.
 As though she had heard an amusing joke, Senevier let out a gentle laugh and shook her head. 
“That’s not something you should say to the mother who went so far as to summon the ‘Clan of Eternity’ to treat you.” 
“……” 
“Don’t look at me like that. I know you don’t trust me, but… this time, I truly did everything I could for you. The fact that this is the best result they could manage… even I find it disappointing.” 
Her snake-like gaze slowly slid down Talia’s body and lingered on the blood-stained scars. 
Talia quickly yanked the blanket over her legs.
 Her fingertips shook under the Empress’s gaze—one that looked as though she were staring at something repulsive. 
Senevier let out a small sigh and continued. 
“I considered reprimanding them, but apparently, they really did do their best. Even with damage to bone, muscle, and nerves, they insisted the recovery you achieved is nothing short of a miracle.” 
Speaking to her daughter—moments away from collapsing in shock—the Empress remained chillingly composed. 
“They also said they could do nothing about those scars. They tried cutting open the wounds several times and using magic again, but even then, the hideous marks regenerated exactly as they were. Likely because the wounds were left untreated for too long, causing the tissue to deform.” 
Another faint sigh escaped her. 
“And we can’t really blame the palace healers. Had they healed the wounds immediately, your skin might have turned out smoother than this, but your legs would’ve been permanently unusable. At least now they say you can walk, so you should take comfort in that much.” 
Her flat, emotionless words stabbed into Talia’s stomach like iron rods. 
Senevier then delivered the final blow. 
“It truly is a pity.” 
Talia lowered her head slowly. 
Watching her with a contemplative gaze, Senevier stood from the chair and approached.
 Her fragrant, soft fingers brushed Talia’s cheek. 
“Talia. Do you remember what I once told you—that things beautiful and fragile become targets of plunder?” 
Through a hazy veil of tears, Talia forced herself to meet her eyes.
 Her face—crafted like a sculpture from pearl, gold, and sapphire—wavered through the blur. 
As though recounting an old tale, Senevier continued in a warm tone: 
“Then what do you suppose happens to things weak and unsightly?” 
“……” 
“Unsightly things become objects of ridicule and contempt. They’re not even considered worth taking. They’re simply trampled on, mocked, and shunned. Because people have a tendency to constantly search for something to hate, something to scorn, in order to prove their own superiority.
 A flaw makes you excellent prey for people like that.” 
Talia struggled desperately not to cry—but a rough sob forced its way up her throat. 
Her mother’s words hurt far more than the bleeding legs. 
Looking down at her daughter’s face, twisted with tears, Senevier clicked her tongue as if pitying her. 
“But don’t worry. I will never allow my daughter to be put in such a pitiful position.” 
Her cold fingers—like insect legs—brushed aside Talia’s tangled hair.
 Her swamp-like eyes narrowed. 
It was a smile that promised even deeper despair.   
Inside the grand temple located within the imperial palace, thirty-four coffins were neatly arranged.
 Priests walked among them, sprinkling holy water and chanting prayers, while mourners stepped forward one by one to lay flowers upon the coffins. 
Sitting among the worshippers, enduring the long and tedious rituals, Asros rolled his eyes around, observing his half-siblings. 
His eldest brother sat at the place of honor, wearing his usual smug expression as he preened arrogantly.
 Ayla Roem Gwirta, living up to her nickname as the ‘Perfect Princess,’ mourned the deceased with graceful poise. 
It looked no different from usual.
 And yet, he sensed something off. 
After thinking on it, Asros soon realized—his half-sister was absolutely furious about something. 
She wore a reasonably convincing expression of sorrow, but her eyes were frozen cold, and her lips were stiff with tension. 
What could she be so angry about? 
Unlike their eldest brother, who expressed every emotion openly, Ayla always hid behind a serene smile.
 She never showed a single crack.
 The fact that she was revealing emotion now, in front of so many people, was genuinely intriguing. 
Was she really that upset that the wedding was postponed? 
His gaze naturally fell on her fiancé. 
Barcas Laedgo Siorcan stood beside the altar, back straight, quietly observing the funeral rites.
 He looked less like a living man and more like a statue carved for a cathedral. 
Finding his stillness oddly fascinating, Asros examined him from head to toe. 
The next Grand Duke of Siorcan wore a sharply tailored doublet that fit cleanly from shoulders to waist, breeches that clung like armor, and a long navy cape draped over his left shoulder. 
It was almost plain, even austere—but to Asros, he looked far more impressive than the nobles embellished in their finery.
 He could almost understand why his half-sister would be upset that their wedding had been delayed. 
…With this kind of incident, the pilgrimage trip won’t resume until next year. 
Which meant Ayla Roem Gwirta’s wedding with the future Grand Duke of Siorcan would also be pushed back. 
Thinking that far, Asros grimaced.
 A tight discomfort spread across his chest. 
He desperately wanted his half-sister—who always looked at him like he was something unpleasant—to leave for the eastern duchy as soon as possible. 
Maybe they’ll break tradition and hold the wedding anyway, on schedule. 
With earnest hope, he stared at Lord Siorcan. 
Please, take Ayla Roem Gwirta to the East. 
At that moment, as though he had heard Asros’s ridiculous prayer, the man turned his head. 
Startled, Asros quickly lowered his eyes.
 His heart lurched at the sensation of those eyes—eyes that felt as if they could see straight through his mind.