Hearing her words, as she covered her face and swallowed her tears, Karia felt like she had been struck hard on the back of the head. A hereditary disease in the imperial bloodline? No matter what the circumstances were, she had lived as a member of the royal family since she was five years old. Yet she had never heard of such an illness.
And there was no cure? Did that mean it was a terminal disease? Overwhelmed by this sudden flood of information, her mind went blank, and she couldn’t control her thoughts.
Karia asked the orphanage director what she knew about the illness. The woman bit her lower lip and, hesitant but concerned, showed her some of her grandfather’s research notes that she had been digging through.
> “I’m sorry, Duchess. I never imagined you didn’t know about such a painful disease…”
> “–Why would such a wretched disease be passed down through the royal bloodline?”
Karia devoured the documents, reading everything she could get her hands on. The symptoms she had experienced, their cycles, and the pain were all described in detail. But nowhere was there a cure. Her strength drained, Karia touched her forehead and collapsed onto the bed.
> “Ha… To think I brushed it off like it was nothing, when it’s actually a fatal disease…”
> “Duchess!”
> “–Ah, I’m fine. In a way, I feel relieved. So that’s what this is… a terminal illness.”
Yes. That’s what it was. Karia nodded, her face blank and dazed. In truth, she hadn’t really heard what the orphanage director had said. She was just recoiling from the thought of the agony that would keep returning, draining her blood like a leech, and the fact that death was the only end waiting for her gripped her throat like a noose.
She wasn’t even sure how she had gotten back home from the orphanage. Her feet were blistered and torn, the skin peeled back, which told her she must have walked for a long time.
> “You’re late.”
> “–Ah, yes.”
When Karia reached the front steps of the main house, having passed through the front gate, there stood Rubidov Pandeon, neatly dressed. His hair was well-groomed as if he’d just returned from a party, and the hem of his coat carried the scent of strong cologne.
> “Then please rest.”
> “Um… Duke! Wait!”
It had been two weeks since she last saw his face and a full three months since they had spoken. Yet the only thing he had to say to her was a greeting. It wasn’t surprising—ordinarily, they didn’t speak unless necessary.
But unlike usual, this time Karia grabbed Rubidov’s sleeve as he turned to leave. Her cold fingers, chilled from hours in the wind, made him flinch sharply when they touched his skin.
> “Do you have something to say?”
But the look he gave her held not a hint of concern. Karia never clung to him or took up his time unnecessarily. And even now, facing a completely unfamiliar situation, Rubidov was radiating annoyance with his entire body.
She stared quietly at his impatient face before finally releasing her grip on his sleeve. The illness had come as a shock to her as well, and she hadn’t had time to think about how to explain it to her husband.
> “No… it’s nothing.”
When she bowed her head and said nothing more, Rubidov turned on his heel and went up to his room, as if her strange behavior mattered less than his own rest. Watching his retreating back, Karia wondered:
> If I said I was dying, what kind of face would he make? Would he be surprised? Pity me? Regret his coldness? Or would he be calm, as always?
> Could he possibly be happy?
Rubidov Pandeon, at the very least, did not like her. Even after six years of marriage, from the day they wed, they hadn’t shared a single meal together when they were both in the mansion.
During that time, Karia had tried in every way to get closer to him. With no one else to rely on in this house, her only support was, even if in name only, her husband.
So when he returned home, she would follow him around and chatter to him. When he locked himself in his study and skipped meals, she would bring him food herself.
But not once did Rubidov give her a warm look or speak a kind word. A relationship couldn’t be built on one person’s efforts alone. And today, that fact felt unbearably bitter.
> Should I just die now?
She was told that her future would hold nothing but more pain. What would change even if she kept living? But this felt so meaningless. So unfair.
> I want revenge on the people who tormented me. If I kill myself, would that at least make him a little uncomfortable?
For the first time in her life, a cruel desire to hurt someone was born in Karia’s heart.
> “Ugh, seriously! What are you doing just standing there getting in the way?”
When she came to her senses, she was standing at the top of the central staircase on the second floor, overlooking the front hall. The damned old Pandeon mansion, built in a traditional style, had high ceilings. The marble stairs were steep, and a fall from here could easily be fatal.
Her dry throat gulped, and her eyes wavered.
> “I-I’m scared…”
Her heart pounded so violently it felt like it would leap out of her chest. Thinking rationally, this wasn’t the way.
Even if she chose death, there had to be a better way. If she were to survive the fall but be left crippled, she might spend the rest of her life bedridden.
Returning from her tragic thoughts to the even more tragic reality, Karia turned to step away from the edge.
> “Move! Don’t block my way!”
> “My lady, if you have something to say after all—”
Just then, something unexpectedly pushed her in the back—a laundry basket. She instinctively looked at her husband, who had returned for some reason. Rubidov’s eyes widened in shock as they met hers.
> “Huh?”
> “D-Duchess? Wait!”
Her legs buckled, and she lost her balance in an instant. Her body fell faster than her mind could follow, and screams erupted around her.
Voices she hated, voices she never wanted to hear again. The last memory Karia had before waking in bed was this.
> “And now, I’m alive like this?”
While she was unconscious, she had a long, grand dream. She became Asmoph, the great magician and right hand of Emperor Ludvalt, who had first unified the continent. The dream had been so vivid and intense it left her heart aching with sorrow.
But was it really a dream? She had never in her life felt such rage and malice so clearly. And in that dream, she had been brimming with confidence—as if she truly was Asmoph.
Karia instinctively knew that that harrowing dream was her past life.
> “They said they’d call the physician…”
The maid who had gone to summon her personal doctor was nowhere to be found. Or perhaps the physician had heard she’d awakened and was just dragging his feet. Either way, it was a disrespectful way to treat the lady of the house.
Karia smirked coldly, her lips twisting in a cynical expression. It was a look the old her never wore, but it didn’t feel strange on her face at all.
> “It’ll be faster to go check myself.”
At a flick of her hand, golden mist gathered. Karia studied the concentrated mana, then stretched her leg out of the window. Her body descended smoothly.
When the lazy family physician finally grumbled his way into her room, the Duchess—unconscious for five days—was nowhere to be seen.
—
—
Karia walked lightly, her expression calm—unbelievably so for someone who had just jumped from the third floor. The golden mist that had cradled her like a cradle vanished as soon as her feet touched the ground. She handled the mist with ease, as if she had been born with it.
As far as she knew, no one in this world could use magic. She looked at her hand curiously and headed toward the side door of the mansion.
> “What, when did you wake up?”
There was still much she had to figure out from her muddled memories. Just as she was about to leave the mansion, a shrill voice dripping with hostility stopped her.
Turning slowly, she saw a little girl glaring up at her, not even reaching her waist in height.
> “You fell down the stairs like a klutz, didn’t you? Do you know how much trouble that caused Ellie? Father got really mad!”
> “Ellie? Oh, you mean that girl who pushed me down the stairs?”
> “–You’re saying Ellie pushed her stepmother?”
Seven-year-old Lady Lamia Pandeon looked utterly skeptical.
> “Don’t lie. Ellie said you bumped into her first! And you made such a fuss over a little fall that you stayed in bed for five days—how dramatic!”
She even scoffed at her. It was a wildly inappropriate thing to say to someone who had just recovered from unconsciousness.
But Lamia, with her tiny hands on her hips, looked more annoyed than concerned. Even considering her young age, her rudeness was off the charts—as if she believed it was perfectly fine to treat Karia this way.
> “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
> “So, you knew I was unconscious for five days, and you still chose to say that?”
Karia’s voice was calm, but her tone cut like ice. At her composed reply, Lamia scowled deeply.
Normally, no matter what nonsense Lamia spouted, Karia would be flustered, unsure of how to respond, and quickly try to appease her. That’s what Lamia had expected today, too.
But why… why were her eyes so lifeless and cold, like they didn’t belong to her at all?
