Episode 1
0. Return
Lascaille was a prestigious and wealthy noble family.
The Duke and Duchess of Lascaille truly loved each other, and their children were kind and intelligent. They were a perfect, happy family.
That is, until their youngest daughter, Lilietta, suddenly disappeared.
A round flower bed in one corner of the Lascaille estate’s garden. In the center of that bed, as if buried in flowers, stood a small gravestone.
It was newly made. The name etched on the white marble was still clear:
Lilietta del Nisa Lascaille
1751–1760
It was now the year 1770.
Ten years had passed since the only daughter of the Lascaille family vanished.
During that time, the Lascaille family used every possible means to search for the young girl.
They scoured the entire continent, yet found nothing.
Nothing, except for a bloodstained piece of clothing and a few strands of golden hair found in the nearby forest on the first day of her disappearance.
People said Lilietta had been taken by a wild beast and that it was time to give up.
But the Lascaille family didn’t give up. Not for ten long years.
Only recently had they come to accept her death and stopped the search.
The gravestone was placed just three days ago.
The small coffin beneath it was empty.
The Duke had wept as it was buried, and the Duchess had fainted.
The second son, Richard, hadn’t even shown up to the funeral.
The eldest son, Leonhart, received a call from a tavern the morning after the funeral. His brother had collapsed from intoxication.
Leonhart had gone himself to fetch him. All the way back, Richard had muttered like someone possessed:
“They say Riri’s dead, brother.
They say I need to accept it now.
It’s been ten years, they say I should’ve moved on. But have you?
I can’t forget. I won’t accept it.
We never even saw her body.
That sweet, quiet girl—she just wandered into the woods at night?
Do you believe that? I don’t.
Brother, do you know what she told me the night before she disappeared?
She said she had a strange dream. It scared her.
She asked if I could stay with her until she fell asleep.
But I… I didn’t.
Why didn’t I?
It’s my fault, brother. It’s all my fault.
If I had stayed with her that night…”
Leonhart had heard this many times before.
No matter how often he said it wasn’t his fault, Richard never stopped blaming himself.
After bringing Richard to his room, Leonhart had handled all the urgent matters on behalf of their father, who was overwhelmed with grief due to his unconscious wife.
Because of that, Leonhart hadn’t properly slept since the funeral three days ago. He had no time to think or mourn.
He wasn’t ready to accept his sister’s death. That’s why he had come to her grave early that morning.
There was someone else already there. The Duchess of Lascaille sat blankly in front of the gravestone.
She was endlessly stroking a framed photo of a young girl smiling like an angel.
She, too, wasn’t ready to let go of her daughter. Perhaps she never would.
If only they knew how she died. If only they had a body to bury.
Leonhart repeated the same thought he’d had dozens of times as he silently watched his mother’s back before turning away.
There was a big age gap between the brothers and their youngest sister. Leonhart had been eight when Lilietta was born, and Richard was six.
While the brothers inherited the Lascaille family’s tall and strong build, Lilietta was completely different.
She was born premature after a difficult labor and had always been frail.
Throughout her childhood, she was frequently ill. Yet, she never complained much.
Even when taking bitter medicine, she would say with a smile,
“If I take my medicine, I get candy too. From now on, I’ll call it candy time instead of medicine time.”
She was a sunshine-like child. The whole family doted on her.
Leonhart walked past the grave. The back gate of the garden came into view.
The iron gate entwined with rose vines was tightly shut and bound with rusted chains.
That gate led to the birch forest.
It used to always be open. The birch forest, cared for by the family for generations, had been a safe and beautiful place.
But after Lilietta’s bloodied clothes were found there, the Duke had personally locked it with chains.
Leonhart clearly remembered what the forest was like.
There were no dangerous animals. Deer and rabbits roamed freely, birds chirped merrily. A short walk down the forest path led to a small lake.
He used to hold his little sister’s hand and walk her to that lake. The feel of her tiny, soft hand still lingered vividly.
That forest was part of the Lascaille estate. That’s why the mansion was nicknamed “The Birch Castle.” It wasn’t dangerous.
So how could she have been eaten by a beast that didn’t even exist there?
Alone, in the middle of the night, slipping out unnoticed? A ten-year-old child?
Especially Lilietta—who could barely breathe after running a few steps?
Impossible. Absolutely impossible.
“Someone took her.”
Leonhart clenched his fists unconsciously. A fierce surge of anger rose within him.
Whenever he imagined what might have happened to her that night, he wanted to tear someone apart.
He released his grip and took a deep breath. Only then did he notice his father standing far beyond the chained gate.
The Duke of Lascaille stood with his hands behind his back on the forest path.
As if waiting for someone. For a girl whose footsteps were as light as a fairy’s to return down that path.
Leonhart climbed the gate and crossed the chains in one leap, approaching his father.
The Duke turned at the sound.
“Leon.”
“Father.”
Neither of them asked why the other was there.
Father and son stood side by side, gazing down the path.
No one appeared from the birch forest.
The Duke turned and patted his son’s shoulder.
“I left everything in your hands for three days, and nothing fell apart. You worked hard.”
“It was nothing.”
“Go inside and get some rest. You haven’t slept properly.”
“Yes, I’ll come in soon.”
The Duke returned to the mansion first.
Leonhart remained, walking alone down the path.
Between the white birch trees, glimpses of the blue lake began to appear. The setting sun cast a long, dazzling reflection on the water’s surface.
“Leon-oppa, look. The sun’s going to sleep and dropped its silk shawl. Isn’t it pretty?”
Her voice whispered in his ear.
Leonhart stared at the lake, remembering Lilietta.
Rosy cheeks, crescent-shaped eyes sparkling violet, fine golden hair fluttering in the wind…
And then, suddenly—wet golden hair burst out from the lake.
Droplets scattered like jewels in every direction. Even soaked, the hair sparkled brilliantly—just like his sister’s once had.
Pale, smooth skin. Long hair as if it had never been cut. Violet eyes gleaming through the clinging blond strands.
A girl—no, a woman—rose from the lake, looking just like Lilietta.
As if she had never disappeared, and had simply grown up safely into a twenty-year-old.
Leonhart couldn’t comprehend what he was seeing.
“We searched this lake over and over… but never found anything.”
As he stood frozen, the woman who had emerged from the water staggered briefly, then steadied herself and began wading toward the shore.
A low curse escaped her lips.
“Damn it, what the hell happened? I open my eyes, and I’m underwater?”
The woman irritably pushed back her wet hair. Her eyes met Leonhart’s.
She quickly shifted her stance—lowering her torso, stepping one leg back, and instinctively reaching for her waist.
But her hand found nothing. There was no weapon at her side.
Startled, she looked down at herself.
“What the hell is this?”
She was wearing a white lace nightgown—the very same one Lilietta had worn the night she disappeared.
It was now too short, barely covering her thighs instead of reaching her ankles.
One side of the skirt was torn. The exact part that had been found, stained with blood, ten years ago.
She lifted the soaked hem between her thumb and forefinger, grimacing.
“What is this frilly thing? What kind of pervert did this?”
Leonhart couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even hear what she was mumbling.
He finally managed to speak.
“Riri…?”
