My bones had been pinned by a Soul-Binding Ward for thirteen years, and my soul had grown so bored it was threatening to fray apart. Then I met her—the trueborn daughter, cast out by House Croft. She lay upon my skeletal remains, tears streaming down her face. "I want to die," she whispered. "You want to live. Let's trade." 1 I never imagined that as a wisp of a ghost, I could still be seen. Even less did I imagine that the one who could see me would be the long-lost, trueborn daughter of Marquess Croft. Six months ago, when House Croft was escorting her back to their estate, they passed by my little patch of earth. The carriage stopped beneath the peach tree that had been nourished by my corpse, and a flustered old servant, clutching her stomach, scurried into the bushes to relieve herself. Someone else stepped out of the carriage. It was Lydia, the daughter they had finally found. Her small, palm-sized face met my gaze, and it instantly turned a ghastly white. I hadn't died prettily. That bitch, Genevieve, had gouged out my eyes and slashed the face that Emperor Alaric had once worshipped. Even my hands, so skilled with a blade, had been hacked off and thrown into the fishpond in the palace’s back garden. Now, my skeleton was nailed to this potter’s field, and I was bored to tears. I’d spend my days hanging upside down from a crooked peach tree, swinging like a pendulum. As a cold gust of wind blew, my blood-soaked head swung down, right in front of Lydia. Her dark, lustrous eyes widened in terror. My invisible blood dripped, drip by drip, onto her face. Baring my fangs, I blew a ghostly breath at her. "Let me get a whiff of that bread of yours, and I'll let you live." 2 Her hands trembled as she fumbled for what felt like an eternity before producing two cold, hard buns. I was profoundly disappointed. "Are you trying to get rid of a beggar? I want a smell of something good. Like that." My long tongue shot out, pointing towards the jerky the grooms and footmen were chewing on nearby. She followed my gaze, her face flushing with embarrassment. Her lashes, like tiny fans, fluttered down as she spoke in a voice as faint as a mosquito's buzz, "I haven't been formally accepted back into the family yet. House Croft doesn't support idlers. This is my own food." My three-foot-long tongue froze, then slowly retracted. House Croft was so wealthy that even the scraps they threw to the dogs were finer than the buns in her hands. More than a decade ago, at a royal banquet, I had seen their adopted daughter, draped in gold and jewels like a celestial princess, outshining even the royal children. Back then, the Marchioness would even shed tears in public when mentioning her lost daughter. "She is my only comfort," she would say, "saving me from a life of endless sorrow." Yet, in just over a decade, she had neglected her own flesh and blood to this state. A child so unloved that no one of importance could even spare the time to escort her home. As I lay atop the tree, sighing at the cold indifference of the world, Lydia's heart softened. "Here!" She mustered her courage, asked the groom for half a piece of his half-eaten jerky, and held it up, too timid to even lift her head. "Don't cry," she murmured. "I found a way for you." I froze, only then realizing that bloody tears were streaming from my empty eye sockets again. "I wasn't..." CRACK! 3 Before I could finish, the old servant's disciplinary rod whipped through my spectral head and struck Lydia's hand. "A lady must learn a lady's etiquette! House Croft is a noble family of the highest standing. How could you eat scraps offered in pity? A single piece of jerky, and you've disgraced the entire House. You are base and vulgar, and you must be punished." The jerky fell to the ground, covered in dust. The footman and groom stepped on it, then stood on either side of the old servant, their arms akimbo, sneering. "Look at her. Even the scullery maids are more refined. And she's supposed to be a 'lady'?" "If it weren't for the marriage alliance they need her for, you think anyone would want her back? The Marquess and Marchioness saw her five years ago. Deemed her an illiterate embarrassment and left her there." "Putting on airs as a lady. She should look at where she came from. An orphan girl raised cleaning out privies will never wash the stench away." Lydia clutched her sleeves, so ashamed she couldn't lift her head. But the trio only grew more smug, their words a torrent of mockery and humiliation. The constant smack of the old woman's rod and the snickering of the men were grating on my nerves. My mind drifted back to the days when I killed. "Have you ever seen a human pendulum?" Lydia, her eyes brimming with tears, flinched. "You're about to." With a flick of my tongue, I coiled it around the old servant and hoisted her into the peach tree. A V-shaped branch clamped around her neck. I blew a puff of spectral air, and she began to swing, back and forth, her feet kicking wildly. "Faster?" I asked Lydia. Lydia was stunned speechless. The old woman was choking, on the verge of death. The footman and groom screamed and rushed to help. I let out a cackle. "Want to see a pinwheel?" I wrapped them in the branches, sending them spinning violently. They shrieked hysterically, piss and shit flying everywhere, crying for their mothers until their eyes rolled back in their heads. The little girl, through her fear, began to laugh. An hour later, the three of them lay unconscious on the ground in a neat, soiled row. "Looks like they've all disgraced themselves now," I said. Lydia and I sat together, feasting on the jerky. "What's your name?" she asked. "When I get back to the capital, I'll save up and pay for a ritual to help your soul pass on." My name was a burden she couldn't bear. Besides, my soul couldn't pass on. "I've been marked by a Soul-Binding Ward. Don't waste your effort. Besides..." I didn't tell her that my soul was on the verge of dissipating completely. "Just tell them you were attacked by a ghost. Looking like that, they'll be too scared to say otherwise themselves." I swung myself back up into the tree. "Live well," I told her. "After all, living is the one thing I want most." Living, to send all those bastards to hell. She stared, a flicker of understanding in her eyes. "You like the smell of meat. I'll come see you again. I'll bring you a whole roasted chicken." She swore she'd be back with a roasted chicken, but six months passed, and I saw no sign of her. 4 "I know about the Soul-Binding Ward. To be free, it requires a life for a life. I went to the Grand Cathedral and got a talisman. If you just nod, I will give you my life." A clap of thunder illuminated Lydia's deathly pale face. She was a ghost of the vibrant girl I'd met six months ago. Collapsed beneath my peach tree, her energy was gone. "I didn't forget you. I just... I couldn't get out. I don't have the chicken. Please don't be angry." Her voice was a wisp of air. "See? Even at death's door, I was thinking of you." She only wanted to die. She could have done it anywhere. But the capital was thirty miles away. She had walked the entire night through mud and rain to get here. "Who did this to you? The Crofts?" A grim smile touched her lips, her face streaked with a mixture of rain and tears. In the next instant, a sharp dagger sliced across her wrist. "It was the world. It was me, for being so foolish and weak. This is my fate." Blood gushed from the wound, staining the rain-soaked talisman she clutched to her chest. It flared with a golden light. "Come here. Come hold me. You're the only one who ever protected me." Her voice was a plea. "Oh, right. You don't have hands. Then... I'll hold you." No matter how I tried to save her, my efforts were futile. "I want to die, and you want to live. Let's trade. I'm begging you." When a person truly wants to die, no one can save them. She tore the wound deeper. The rain washed her blood down, a crimson tide that soaked my entire skeleton. "Living is already so hard," she sobbed. "Don't let me die with regrets. At least... if you live, someone will remember me, right?" Her spirit began to drift from her body, growing fainter and fainter, until only a single, fragile breath remained. I drew closer. "What are your wishes?" I whispered. "I'll fulfill them. All of them." She smiled and wrapped her arms around my skeletal frame, burying her face in my chest. "You have to live a good life," she murmured. "I'll be reborn into a better family. It's a win-win for both of us." A win? Unless I dragged every last one of them down to hell with me, her death would be for nothing. That night, a forgotten daughter of House Croft died. And in a potter's field, a demoness was reborn. The peach tree withered overnight. Carrying Lydia’s body, I walked down the mountain. I knew nothing of the next life, but in this one, I would have my pound of flesh. 5 Before returning to the capital, I paid a visit to the Royal Chapel. There, an Empress Dowager spent her days in prayer, eating nothing but vegetables, all for the soul of her son. She used to despise me. The time she forced me to kneel, I lost my eight-month-old child. But now, after I told her the truth about how her son really died, she was more than eager to climb aboard my ship of vengeance and sail with me into a storm of our own making, all the way back to the Crimson Citadel. With our pact sealed, I returned to House Croft on the very day of the false daughter’s coming-of-age ceremony. The hall was filled with joyous celebration. Everyone crowded around the fake heiress, Isabelle, showering her with priceless jewels and treasures as if they were common trinkets. They congratulated her on becoming a woman, advising her to be graceful and proper, to secure her bright future. It was a picture of perfect, triumphant bliss. No one remembered that today was also Lydia's birthday. The Marchioness pulled the charming Isabelle into her embrace, a dozen large chests laid out before her. "These are from your grandmother's dowry. I only received them myself after giving birth to your brother. I'm not giving them to anyone else, only to my precious Isabelle." Isabelle pouted, burying her face in her mother's shoulder with a look of innocent cunning. "I knew Mother loved me best. I love you so, so much, Mother." Haris, the heir of House Croft, stepped forward with a gentle smile, presenting his own gift. "Brother may not have family heirlooms, but this five-colored agate was a gift from the Emperor himself. I had to beg Prince Damien for it, so its significance is quite different." Prince Damien? The Third Prince. It was him. Well now, what an unexpected delight. The Marquess, seated on his high chair, stroked his beard with satisfaction. "And Father's gift is no less grand. I swallowed my pride and petitioned His Majesty. After you come of age, he will grant a swift betrothal between you and the Third Prince, so my little pearl may have her heart's desire." Isabelle's eyes lit up, but she still stomped her foot playfully at the Marquess. "Father, you're embarrassing me! Saying such things in front of everyone! I'm not speaking to you anymore." The crowd roared with laughter, their words dripping with saccharine sweetness. Only my body—Lydia's body—still carried the phantom pains of her hidden wounds. A cold wind blew, a chill that seeped into my bones, and I shivered involuntarily. "You know what shame is? I thought you were shameless by nature." "Brother, you're so mean! Mother, scold him for me." "Alright, alright, I'll scold him. Haris, don't tease your sister. As punishment, you'll take her shopping tomorrow, and you will pay for everything." Haris feigned misery. "Mother, that's cruel! You know very well my entire allowance is spent on this little glutton." Isabelle stuck out her tongue and made a face. "Serves you right! Nya-nya-nya." "And what about me?" My voice cut through the boisterous laughter, a discordant note that silenced the room. I stepped out from the shadows. "What do I get?" 6 The laughter died instantly. Every face in the room was etched with the displeasure of having their pleasantries interrupted. Haris shot me a cold glare. "So you decided to come back. I thought you had more pride than that. Couldn't make it on your own, so you came crawling back, did you?" He sneered. "Do you have any idea how many days Isabelle couldn't eat or sleep, worrying about you after you ran away?" "Running off with a man… you truly have no shame. You've brought nothing but disgrace upon this house." Isabelle, who had stiffened at the sight of me, quickly masked a flicker of hatred. Biting her lip, her innocent eyes welled with moisture as she tugged on Haris's sleeve. "Brother, please don't say that." "I'm not angry with sister anymore," she said, her voice trembling. "Even though she threw me out of the house and I nearly died... I'm grateful for the years of comfort House Croft gave me. I'm content." She then turned to me, her expression one of genuine concern. "I'm sure she was led astray. Now that she's back, she must know her mistake." She looked back at our parents. "Sister, you've returned. I think... I should give everything that is yours back to you now." "But sister," she added, her tone gentle yet pointed, "you vanished without a word and made Father and Mother worry sick. Don't forget to apologize to them." The Marchioness glared at me, a cold sneer on her lips. "I wouldn't dare accept it." "The last time you 'apologized' to Isabelle, you pushed her into the lake." "If you apologize to me, who knows? You might just toss my old bones into a ditch next." "Besides," she said, her voice dripping with ice, "I only have one daughter. And that is Isabelle. Don't you dare try to claim a place that isn't yours." Isabelle blinked her large, innocent eyes at me, a picture of helplessness. "Sister, just apologize. Please." Seeing my impassive stance, the Marquess roared, "Kneel, you insolent whelp! Now!" 7 I didn't move an inch, but a wave of sorrow and heartache, a phantom pain from Lydia, washed over me. Her soul was gone, yet her body still grieved. I looked directly at them, giving them one last chance. "Everything she has... shouldn't I have it too?" "You dare compare yourself to Isabelle?" Haris snarled. "You're a country bumpkin with no manners who has repeatedly disgraced this family. If Isabelle hadn't protected you, you'd have died a thousand times over by now." "Ran off with a man? Who told you that?" I asked coolly. Isabelle, feigning a look of innocent confusion, walked towards me. "Sister, don't be afraid," she cooed. "Now that you're back, your family will take care of everything." "That letter... I've already destroyed it for you. Just admit your mistake to Father and Mother, and you can still be the eldest daughter of House Croft. We can be a happy family again." "Look at your sister! Even now, she's speaking up for you, and still you're so ungrateful, trying to frame her again and again! I was wrong to have doted on her so much. Tell me, in what way are you even her equal?" the Marchioness shrieked. "Your mother is right," the Marquess grumbled. "If you weren't my own flesh and blood, I'd have thrown you out on some remote farmstead long ago." "Father and Mother are too soft-hearted. A menace like her doesn't deserve to be a Croft." "Please, don't say that. You'll hurt her feelings," Isabelle said softly. She reached out, her hand closing around my arm in a show of sisterly affection. Her eyes darkened, and her sharp nails dug into my skin. "Isn't that right... sister?" she hissed. Hss... She was poised, ready for me to shove her away in pain so she could collapse dramatically to the ground. But I didn't even flinch. Frozen in place, she bit her lip in frustration and whispered furiously, "You've learned a few tricks, haven't you? You filthy bitch. Why didn't you just die out there?" Was this pathetic little scheme all it took to drive Lydia to her death? I almost had to laugh. "So, the story about me running off with a man... it came from your lips?" A flicker of contempt crossed her eyes, but her face contorted into a mask of pure victimhood. "Sister, are you blaming me? I didn't mean to..." CRACK. I dislocated her jaw with a flick of my wrist. "As long as you admit it, that's all that matters. No need to say more." It happened so fast that the others only reacted when she started clutching her jaw, letting out muffled, panicked squeals. In an instant, they swarmed towards me, ready to seize me. But the nursemaid who led the charge didn't even get close. A single kick from me shattered her femur, and she collapsed to the floor, screaming in agony. In the same motion, I had a dagger pressed against the paralyzed Isabelle's throat. "Move, and she dies. Try me." Perhaps my tone was too calm, making them think I was bluffing. They surged forward again. SLICE. With a twist of my wrist, a deep, finger-length gash opened on Isabelle's cheek, blood pouring down her face. "Aaaah! It hurts! Father, Mother, Haris, it hurts so much! My face is ruined! My..." "Scream again." She didn't dare. I sliced off her earlobe with the dagger and ground it under my heel. The arrogant defiance from moments ago vanished, replaced by a mask of pure, shrinking terror. The others retreated, huddling behind the Marquess. Only then did I turn my attention back to Isabelle's nursemaid, who was writhing on the floor. 8 "Tell me," I said, my foot pressing down on her. "Who threw your mistress out of this house, and how did she end up in the lake?" The woman, sweating profusely from the pain, was still defiant. "Even if you kill me, my lady, I can only speak the truth. It was you! You couldn't stand the Second Miss, and when you failed to kill her, you drove her out!" "The Second Miss was nearly abducted by ruffians! She still has the scars on her leg to prove it!" A stubborn one. Interesting. I had just lifted my foot when the Marchioness shrieked, "You ungrateful wretch! Have you lost your mind? If it's gifts you want, I'll give them to you!" "But if you dare harm my Isabelle, I will never acknowledge you! I will disown you!" She was so loud. Lydia, this must have hurt so much. SWISH. I tore the earring from Isabelle's remaining ear and flung it. It struck the Marchioness's elaborate headdress, sending it tumbling. Her hair fell in disarray around her pale, shocked face, her carefully crafted dignity shattered. "Next time, I'll aim for your eyes. They're useless to you anyway, since you're blind to the truth." The Marchioness collapsed to the ground in terror, silenced. The others, having witnessed my methods, didn't dare make a move. 9 "I gave you a chance," I said, my voice dangerously soft. "You didn't take it. You have no one to blame but yourself." The tip of my dagger rested on the nursemaid's wrist. With a flick, I severed her tendons. "Still not going to tell the truth?" She didn't answer, only screamed. I rubbed my temples, annoyed by the noise, and then plunged the dagger straight into her side, just deep enough to graze her lung. I even gave the hilt a deliberate twist. It wouldn't kill her, but the pain would be worse than death. The blood that flowed from the wound was a stark, crimson warning that kept the others frozen in place. In the years I fought alongside Alaric, I'd spent time in dungeons, perfecting methods of torture to extract information. Using them on a mere house servant felt like overkill. But methods aren't about sophistication. They're about results. Sure enough, after just two stabs, the nursemaid pissed herself in agony. Just as she was about to speak, Haris cried out, "What do you want? We'll give it to you!" "Do you want Isabelle's chambers? Formal recognition? The betrothal to the Third Prince?" "Just put down the dagger, and we can talk. Don't take a life, or even I won't be able to help you." His incessant babbling was interrupting my interrogation. A flame of rage ignited within me. "You. Come here. I'll tell you what I want." He hesitated, but after a tearful glance from Isabelle, he approached. "You..." Before he could draw the knife hidden behind his back, I seized him by the throat. A dozen slaps rained down on his face with sharp, cracking sounds. I slammed him to the ground, where he spat out a mouthful of blood and teeth before passing out, the hidden dagger clattering beside him. "You talk too much, you worthless fool." The Marquess met my smiling eyes, his body trembling with rage, but for the sake of his children, he swallowed his pride. Gritting his teeth, he commanded, "Do as she says! No one moves!" I gave him a satisfied smirk and turned back to the nursemaid, patting her cheek with the cold blade. "Ready to talk?" She was no longer defiant. The truth spilled out of her like beans from a sack, a full account of the abuse and persecution Lydia had suffered. 10 The country girl who had returned home was never welcomed by her family. On her first day back, she made the false daughter cry and was locked away in the smallest courtyard to "learn her manners." Later, she was accused of breaking the false daughter's imperial gift, of setting fire to her own courtyard in a fit of pique, and even of pushing the false daughter into a lake out of jealousy over the Third Prince's affections. Finally, using her status as the "trueborn daughter," she was said to have driven the false one from the house. If House Croft hadn't found her in time, Isabelle would have been "ruined by bandits." A single, fingernail-sized scar on her leg was enough for the entire family to cast the true daughter out to "teach her a lesson." And then, she supposedly ran off with a lover in a fit of anger. "It was all the Second Miss... no, it was all Isabelle's command," the nursemaid blubbered. "She couldn't stand being second to the trueborn daughter, so she wanted Lady Lydia dead." "From the very beginning, it was all the Second Miss's scheme. Lady Lydia never did a single wicked thing." "When Lady Lydia was locked in the ancestral hall, the Second Miss offered to bring her meals, but she never brought a single one. For a whole month, Lady Lydia survived on the servants' leftover soup." "The birthday gift Lady Lydia prepared for the Marchioness was a safety pouch she embroidered herself, stitch by stitch. Not that lump of dirt the Second Miss swapped it with." "The Marquis's cold medicine was also brewed by Lady Lydia, who watched the stove all night. But she was stopped at the study door, and the Second Miss added laxatives to it, framing her." "Lady Lydia truly only glanced at the heir's painting; she never touched it. It was the Second Miss who used her free access to the study to destroy it herself." Confined, forced to kneel, beaten, and finally cast out to fend for herself. Lydia had endured so much in her own home. She had returned full of hope, seeking the love she had never known, only to find it had been given to another. Her own flesh and blood, the people who should have loved and protected her, gave her nothing but hatred and malice. Betrayed, despised, and persecuted by her own family. How helpless she must have felt. I sighed and continued. "And what about the elopement?" The nursemaid trembled. "Lady Lydia never eloped. After the Marquis and Marchioness threw her out because of the Second Miss's 'disappearance'—to teach her how hard life was for a woman without family protection—the Second Miss had already hired bandits to rape and murder her on the outskirts of the capital." "As for the letter, it was written by Iris, the handmaiden. She's skilled at forgery." My cold gaze scanned the crowd and locked onto Iris. She began to tremble with fear. Before my blade was even raised, she fell to her knees, corroborating every word the nursemaid had said and adding many more details. Finally, she kowtowed, banging her head on the floor. "The Second Miss forced me! We're just servants, how could we refuse? Please, my lady, spare me! Spare my life!" You see? When you're the one holding the blade, everyone bows to you. Lydia, my dear, all you were missing was a knife. Isabelle's guilt was undeniable. "Take Isabelle away," I commanded. "And give her the full treatment." "Who dares!" 11 The footman I had deliberately allowed to escape returned, bringing with him a furious Third Prince, Damien. What can I say? He lacked Alaric's cunning. He didn't even inherit a third of his mother's looks. As a child, he had a certain charm, but now, every inch of him was detestable. "You have the audacity to look at me? Lydia, you are utterly depraved." Cradling the broken Isabelle, and surrounded by his guards, he began to rant. "Grievously wounding a court official's daughter and my fiancée... Lydia, you must be mad. You're begging to die." "Men! Seize this wicked wretch and deliver her to the High Court for severe punishment!" "Oh? Seizing their daughter in their own home? Have you asked for their permission?" I asked, a hint of amusement in my voice. Even after learning the truth, even after knowing all the suffering Lydia had endured, the entire Croft family remained silent as the Third Prince condemned their own pathetic daughter and sister. A daughter's suffering was nothing compared to the family's wealth and future. Oh, Lydia. They aren't worth it. I had given them their chance. Now, they would reap what they had sown. The prince smirked, his arrogance a mirror of someone I once knew. "If I say you are not a Croft, who here would dare say otherwise?" The Marquess lowered his eyes, feigning indifference. The Marchioness's lips moved, but no sound came out. Only Haris, battered and bruised, spat out venomously, "Kill her! I only have one sister, and that is Isabelle." The prince shot me a look that said, See? No one will protect you, and looked down his nose at me. "Did you think that by harming Isabelle, you could marry me? Dream on." "Now that the Crofts have disowned you, I will make you suffer a fate worse than death to atone for what you did to Isabelle. If you know what's good for you, kill yourself here and now, in front of her. If you do, I might grant you the mercy of a complete corpse." I took a sharp breath. "So, Your Highness, in your quest to be a white knight, you would ignore the truth and condemn me to death, in defiance of the law?" He scoffed. "What scheme? Isabelle never schemed against you. There was only you, running rampant through the house like a madwoman, killing at will." "Isabelle was merely trying to stop your frenzy when you disfigured her. Lord Croft tried to reason with you, and you knocked his teeth out for his troubles. That is the only truth." That he could twist the truth so blatantly in public was all the confirmation I needed. Seeing my strange smile, he waved his hand dismissively. "Men, take her to the High Court. Tell the Chief Justice to follow my version of events, and to interrogate her... harshly." "I'm afraid, Your Highness, that I am unable to comply." The Chief Justice of the High Court stepped out from the shadows. But he was on my side. I smiled, a smile as cold as the grave. "My apologies. I'm here on imperial orders to investigate a crime. As for everyone present who conspired to twist the truth and have me killed... you are all under arrest. Take them to the dungeons."
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