TMSB Ch#11

“…Miss Clement.”

“……”

“Miss Clement, are you alright?”

Psyche lifted her head at the voice calling her.

Her palms, which had been covering her face, were drenched with sweat. Her heart was still thudding wildly.

In contrast, the voice expressing concern for her was oddly calm. His voice always had a neutral tone—neither high nor low—making it difficult to read his emotions.

“Why…”

She looked around but couldn’t finish her sentence.

The entirely white world was gone, replaced by the dim interior of a carriage.

“Why am I here? Just moments ago, we were outside. The carriage even collapsed because one of the wheels came off. So how is it perfectly…”

Even those who had threatened her had disappeared without a trace. Everything Psyche had seen and heard vanished like a mirage.

‘But the scenes I saw are still vivid in my mind…’

The cold glint of the messenger’s sword, the blood that had stained the snow red.

The image of dismembered body parts rolling on the ground made her nauseous.

The man in front of her had mercilessly cut people down.

But now he simply looked at her with a lifeless, emotionless expression, as if he felt nothing.

Meeting his gaze, Psyche subconsciously rubbed the wrist where she had felt his warmth. Her sleeve was disturbed, as if someone had touched it.

“The coachman was injured too.”

“I’m not sure what you mean. You must be mistaken… The carriage is moving now, Miss Clement.”

The messenger was right.

The vehicle shook slightly, and she could feel the vibration through her knees. She could physically sense that the carriage was moving.

Psyche’s eyes trembled.

“This path we’re taking is sometimes called ‘the trail of the butterfly.’”

The messenger seemed unaffected by her reaction and pulled back the curtain covering the window.

Raindrops slid down the glass. When he wiped the moisture away with the back of his hand, the outside became clearly visible.

Everything was buried in snow.

The snow came up to Psyche’s knees, and even the shorter trees were submerged beneath it.

Because the snow lay so thickly, the bright light reflecting from it gave the world an eerily cold and gloomy atmosphere.

“I’ve heard that some people experience hallucinations and auditory delusions when passing through here.”

“Hallucinations?”

“Yes. Whatever you saw or felt, Miss Psyche, it wasn’t real.”

His voice was low but unwavering, to the point where doubting his honesty felt strange.

“These symptoms often appear in those desperate to escape the snowfields. …For some, this land becomes an inescapable fate.”

To Psyche, who didn’t believe in fantasy, it sounded like nonsense.

“…Why does such a phenomenon happen? Is there hallucinogenic powder falling from butterfly wings? Or is the path we’re on actually a field of hallucinogenic herbs?”

Her tone was curious but serious.

Sometimes, lack of oxygen can cause hallucinations—this could be the case in a high-altitude area.

The messenger stared at her, then faintly raised the corners of his lips.

“Some things in this world simply can’t be explained.”

Though it looked like a smile, it wasn’t.

He was merely lifting the corners of his mouth mechanically—he resembled a wax figure.

“I must have imagined it, then.”

Psyche spoke while watching him carefully. She must have been dreaming. There was no other explanation.

The messenger said nothing, only continued to look at her.

“…If what you say is true, then it really is like magic.”

“It is.”

Although she would normally never do such a thing, Psyche raised her hand and placed it on the window.

Her handprint appeared clearly on the fogged-up glass pane.

Cold crept into her palm. Too vivid for a dream.

‘What in the world is going on?’

She had heard that people could lose parts of their memory due to extreme psychological shock.

But in this case, everything had changed in just a blink of an eye.

There was no other explanation except that she had gone mad.

Unless—

‘Could he really have used magic…?’

“You seem to need rest. Why don’t you close your eyes for a while?”

The messenger suggested gently, watching Psyche place her hands neatly on her lap again.

Long ago, in a fairytale her mother used to read, there was a wizard. But that was fiction—this was real.

“…Yes, I’ll close my eyes for a moment.”

After thinking it over, she convinced herself she had merely imagined things due to exhaustion.

When Psyche finally closed her eyes, the messenger turned his gaze outside the window.

He raised his index finger and tapped his knee twice. Then, outside on the snowy ground, people could be seen kneeling and begging.

“P-please spare our lives! It was all that head maid’s doing! I can tell you who she is!”

“I-I’ll never speak out of turn again! Please, at least spare my tongue…”

Clicking his tongue softly, the messenger drew the curtain closed.

—

* * *

The Grand Duke’s castle was, unsurprisingly, nothing like what Psyche had imagined.

In her grim imagination, the entire castle was surrounded by thorny rose vines, guarded by monstrous beasts at the gates.

But what she saw was not dusty or dark, nor was it guarded by a three-headed beast.

Instead, soft sunlight poured down, as if blessed by the gods.

It was a place of exquisite beauty.

Glass decorations sparkled in the winter light, and vibrant flowers bloomed in the gardens despite the season.

What delighted Psyche the most was the glass greenhouse.

“It’s so beautiful. I’ve never seen a place this perfect.”

It was so sacred and divine, she could hardly believe it was manmade.

Breathing in the floral scent, she couldn’t help but express her awe aloud.

“It was all built hastily for you, Miss Psyche.”

“Goodness… Is it really possible to build something like this so quickly?”

The maid guiding her smiled gently in place of the Grand Duke’s messenger.

“Of course. His Grace always gets what he sets his mind to. He also instructed us to fulfill any wish Miss Psyche may have.”

“…Ah.”

Psyche let out a soft sigh.

“I’m grateful for His Grace’s generosity.”

Though it was uncomfortable, it wasn’t entirely confusing that the Grand Duke was showing interest in her.

Why else would he try to purchase her?

She wondered what he wanted in return—but at the same time, she didn’t want to know.

“Miss Psyche, it’s time to go to the chapel.”

Soon, Psyche stepped into the chapel within the Grand Duke’s estate, assisted by the maid.

Unlike the overwhelming grandeur of the castle, the chapel was quite modest.

There, she signed the engagement agreement alone.

The chapel, without her fiancé, contained only Psyche in a white veil and a bishop reading the vows with a dry expression.

“You must always approach your partner with sincerity…”

The Grand Duke’s signature was already present on the document.

As the bishop recited the vows in a solemn voice, Psyche slowly scanned the Grand Duke’s long and complicated name, said to contain imperial Sigurian blood.

It was long and hard to read, stretching across three lines.

After staring at it for a moment, she shifted her gaze to the signature line.

She had already confirmed a copy with the maid earlier.

There was one clause that bothered

her, but she figured it wasn’t urgent.

‘There’s no turning back now.’

With that, Psyche took up the quill and signed her name.