TFCF 01

Chapter 01

Rip.

The tearing sound of paper split the air.

A wave of shame surged up from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head.

“Uwaaaah!”

Eila screamed—a sound that was neither quite a shriek nor quite a yell—and began ripping apart her diary in a frenzy.

“Aaahhh!”

It was almost like a cry of anguish.

Face flushed scarlet, she shoved the torn diary into the fireplace with trembling hands.

She tried striking the flint again and again, but all she got was a series of sharp clicks and repeated failure.

Still, she didn’t give up. Her shaking hand finally managed to spark a flame that landed on the tinder.

Soon, the pile of papers caught fire, flames spreading rapidly.

Eila stared at the swelling blaze, the smell of burning paper in her nose, and let out a strange laugh.

“Ufufufu… Uhuhuhuh….”

Out of habit, her hand reached for her own hair, tugged at it, then suddenly stopped.

All right. Stop. Get a grip.

Eila jumped to her feet and began pacing in circles before the fireplace.

Then she stopped once more in front of the flames.

Get a grip.

Pull yourself together, Eila Solalune.

She plopped down on the floor, crossing her legs awkwardly, like a stranger in her own room.

Resting her chin on her palm, she gazed at the shrinking flames, a hollow feeling settling in.

It doesn’t burn away to nothing but white ash like in my imagination, huh.

At that moment, a knock came at the door.

“Lady Eila, are you all right?”

“I’m fine!”

She raised her voice to answer, then turned her eyes back to the half-burned diary.

Eila Solalune.

Age: 10.

She stared at her palms.

The blisters and calluses were gone, leaving only the small, smooth hands of a child.

Focus. Think about what comes next.

She clenched her fists tightly.

Eila Solalune was dead.

She had died quite young, true, but it had been her own doing. There was no helping that.

But when people die, aren’t they supposed to see their life flash before their eyes?

Moments of life flitting past like paintings, stirring up regrets and memories.

Aha… so I failed after all.

Or perhaps—

Ah… if only I could go back to that time…

And then, a bitter smile, fading out like a scene in a film.

Isn’t that what the so-called “life flash” usually is?

But for Eila, it had been different.

Every single scene that flashed by was so mortifying I thought I’d die a second time.

A life reel made up entirely of embarrassing moments—wasn’t that too cruel?

And most of that shame centered on the two boys she had written about in that diary.

No, to be precise, it was her own delusions.

So embarrassing, really.

From that point until she became an adult, she had convinced herself that Sada and Luca liked her.

The three of them had grown up together as childhood friends.

A budding romance amidst their bond,

two boys’ friendship with a girl caught between them.

Oh no, don’t fight over me. Can’t we all just stay friends forever?

She had lived in that ridiculous fantasy for ten years.

And when she finally cried out to them, “If you really like me, then stop doing this!”—their reactions were humiliating even to remember.

Luca had at least tried to soften the blow so as not to hurt her. But Sada hadn’t held back at all.

“You were still deluding yourself with that? I thought you were, but really… That’s so you, Eila Solalune.”

Stunned, she had stared at him blankly, and then he had driven in the final nail:

“Neither of us has ever seen you as anything more than a friend. Not once.”

Even now, just recalling it made her heart race wildly and her face flush with heat.

Luca had scrambled to offer some kind words afterward—

“Well, I didn’t dislike playing along with your fantasies, Eila. I was grateful, in a way.”

—But that only drove the point in deeper.

She remembered vividly how she had run from them and locked herself in her room.

The rest—their being deceived by the crown princess, discovering she was actually a demon, her own failed attempt to assassinate the princess, and her death at the hands of the crown prince—those were stories for another time.

Eila flopped backward onto the floor.

In her old life, she’d never have dreamed of lying on the ground like this. But now, she thought, what did it matter?

What shocked me most was that Luca and Sada never once listened to me.

She hadn’t earned even that much trust from them.

And I think I understand why. I was always lost in fantasies, scribbling in my diary.

As those memories flashed by, she covered her face with her hands and rolled side to side.

These weren’t just childish daydreams, either.

Her delusional diary had lasted until she was seventeen—and the content hadn’t changed a bit.

If some boy had spent ten years making up stories about me in his head, I’d think, “Ugh, what a creep,” too.

Realizing that, she even felt grateful that the two of them had at least kept up the appearance of friendship.

They hadn’t cut her off or pushed her away—they’d kept her in their circle.

Neither Luca nor Sada were bad people.

The problem had been her, lost in her own little world.

All right, Eila Solalune.

She got up suddenly and walked to the mirror.

How many times had she stood here, fussing with her clothes?

Lace and frills, heavy skirts, delicate chiffon.

She ran her fingers along the surface of the mirror.

Her reflection stared back at her.

Plain brown hair.

Her blue eyes were pretty, yes—but compared to her siblings’ brilliant emerald ones, they looked faded.

I always wanted to be like my eldest sister.

Helen Solalune, eight years older and head of the family.

With the Solalune’s signature sun-gold hair and their mother’s green eyes, she had been the very image of brilliance.

Her looks, her intellect—everything about her was dazzling.

Even at the academy, it was said she had conversed with professors as an equal.

Her love life was legendary, too.

She had had a passionate romance with the northern duke, Avent Arhen, two years her senior—so fierce it ended in a dramatic breakup.

After that, she had remained single until Eila’s death. But even that story of heartbreak had been something to admire.

Ah, at this point in time, she hasn’t dated the duke yet, has she?

Eila thought of the sister she had always looked up to.

But I can never be like Helen.

All her other siblings had blonde hair and green eyes.

Put them side by side, and anyone could see they were family. Only Eila had brown hair and blue eyes.

Her mother had always fretted over her.

“Oh, poor Eila. You look like a stray without a pedigree.”

But her most frequent remark had been—

“You’re a child we picked up under a bridge.”

Her late father would always play along with the joke, and Eila would run off to cry in bed where no one could see.

Still, she admired her sister. She admired her brother.

And then there was little Leo, the youngest—beloved by everyone.

The child touched by spirits.

She hadn’t learned until much later that in the Solalune family, children sometimes born with different-colored hair were called that.

Eila gave a wry smile.

So was it the spirits’ prank again that brought her back this way?

If so, she could accept that.

Eila Solalune steeled her heart.

If she had been born with brown hair and blue eyes, then she would live that way. What else could she do?

“This time, I’ll live within my means.”

Love like Helen’s was beyond her.

If she had realized her limits earlier and let go, she wouldn’t have drowned in foolish fantasies.

No romance. Friendship. Friendship!

She rummaged through her vanity until she found a pair of scissors.

Then she began hacking away at her long brown hair.

The crown princess’s words still stung, even now—

“Lady Eila is their old childhood friend, isn’t she? If they won’t listen to her, do you think they’d listen to me?”

That woman—the one who had manipulated Luca and Sada into ruin (a demon in disguise, at that)—had spoken the truth. And Eila hadn’t been able to refute her at all.

Her words had no power.

Because she had no trust.

Then I’ll build it. From now on, I’ll build it.

From now on, friendship. Only friendship!

So that, one day, if she cried, “Don’t listen to that woman!”—

They would say, “If Eila says so, she must have a reason. All right.”

That was the kind of trust she wanted to earn.

Eila let out a long breath and set the scissors down.

Her hair, chopped short to her jawline, was uneven and ragged.

In her imagination, it had looked neat and clean, but reality was another matter.

Oh well. I’ll have to ask Madam Poppy.

Madam Poppy was practically her nursemaid.

She hadn’t nursed her directly, but she had cared for Eila since she was two years old.

Eila opened the door.

She hadn’t left her room for nearly a week, and just earlier, she’d been screaming, so Madam Poppy was waiting outside in worry.

“Madam Poppy, could you finish cutting my hair?”

The woman stared blankly at Eila’s uneven, hacked-off locks.

“Madam Poppy?”

As Eila stepped toward her, scissors in hand, Madam Poppy promptly fainted and collapsed to the floor.