Not long after my birthday, my aunt and uncle took me out of this small room. Suddenly, I was given a proper bedroom and new clothes. I didn’t want to return to that suffocating room, so I did whatever they told me to.

The first dream was a terrible one. A few days after being freed from the small room, I hid my raven hair under a wig and snuck into the imperial palace’s victory party.

“Do you see that boy? Go and give him this drink.”

“Yes, A-An’ Mawianne.” (Yes, Aunt Marianne.)

“It’s good for his health, so make sure you get it to him. Do you understand?”

He wasn’t a boy, but he wasn’t an adult either. He looked to be around seventeen years old. His name was Abel Durndevre.

Truthfully, I didn’t really understand. I was taught by the butler that House Evelan, the house I’d been born into, had an enemy. He said that House Durndevre, called the head of the devils, were sinners who defied the will of El-Halla and followed the Doctrine of Devils. Or had he said they were the heart of the Doctrine of Devils? House Evelan listens to and carries out the word of God, but House Durndevre had sold their souls to the devils, so everything they did was bad. Since the devils were the enemy of God, Durndevre, as the house of devils, was the enemy of Evelan.

The butler told me these things over and over, as if trying to brainwash me. So I should have considered why I was told to give a drink to the second son of Durndevre, but my terror of my aunt clouded my judgment. I’ll be in trouble if I don’t do as I’m told. I’ll get hit again.

“Um... Dis...” (Um… This…)

“Hm? Is it for me?”

“Y-yes.”

“Thanks.”

Abel’s black hair was shot through with distinctive streaks of red, as striking as the sun. His eyes twinkled cheerfully, and his smile was bright. He didn’t second guess a drink offered to him by a young child.

As soon as he took a sip, he began to cough up blood. A fountain of crimson blood gushed forth. The image of his convulsions, blood streaming from every opening in his body, still made my skin crawl at the recollection.

While everyone was frozen with horror at the sight before them, I barely managed to flee the scene and make my way back to my aunt.

When I did, she said, “Murderer.” But I’d only done what my aunt told me to. She looked like a monster, cackling at me. She screeched hysterically, demanding to know just how dumb I must be to actually kill him just because I was told to.

A few months after the incident, I realized just what I’d done—I’d caused the outbreak of a colossal war. All houses that worshipped the devils and followed House Durndevre raised their swords to avenge Abel’s death, with Durndevre at the forefront of the charge. They declared war on all who believed in El-Halla, claiming they knew that House Evelan had poisoned Abel.

House Evelan, the holy knights, and all the priests of the holy church rose up to fight back. Countless lives were lost. The holy knights courageously went forth to battle the furious devils and met meaningless deaths.

In the end, I found out that war was one my good-for-nothing uncle had deliberately started. My uncle had definitely known that poisoning Abel would lead to war. I just didn’t know why he’d wanted war in the first place. I don’t even want to call him my uncle. In fact, I’d never once called him “Uncle” in my entire life. To me, he was simply Count Evelan.

What infuriated me even more was that, after using me like that, they didn’t even treat me any better. I was still caged inside Evelan mansion. For a long, long time, I couldn’t take a single step into the world outside. I wasted away while House Evelan collapsed into ruins. By then, my guilt at having caused everything had consumed me, and I’d begun to hallucinate.

But that wasn’t even the climax. If the dream had ended there, I wouldn’t have been able to come up with any plan whatsoever, but thankfully it went on.

When I finally made it out of the house, I was met with a world shattered beyond repair. In the middle of the ruins stood a man. The face that turned toward me as I approached was painfully lifeless and vacant. His scarlet eyes, like glass marbles filled with flames, looked directly into mine. The sight was somehow so sad that it almost brought me to tears.

The words that left the man’s parted lips were ones I would never forget. “You’re my daughter, aren’t you.”

It was impossible to deny how much I resembled him. Raven hair, scarlet eyes, even the shape of the nose, chin, and lips… Grand Duke Durndevre was my father. The man my mother had loved was the grand duke himself—the enemy of House Evelan. Only then did I understand why Count Evelan had gone to such lengths to hide me from the world: He’d wanted to make sure that I never, ever met my father.

I killed my own half-brother. I didn’t even know.

The first dream ended there.

In the second dream, I didn’t do a single thing I was told to do. That resulted in that no-good count killing me in almost no time. I still vividly recalled the sensation of being pierced by a sword nearly as big as my uncle.

To kill or to be killed. I was only five years old, but those were my options.

* * *

I don’t like sharp things.

Remembering the second dream made me shake. Count Evelan deliberately discarded my corpse, torn apart by the hounds’ fangs, in front of House Durndevre’s gates. It was a dream, so I could see my own corpse. The ghastly image still made me shiver.

There was no denying it was a crime driven by hate. What happened next was obvious. A war broke out—again.

And the third dream...

That was the one closest to ordinary among them. I cleverly watched and waited for the right time to provoke the maids. The maids grew to hate me with a passion, and on the morning of the victory party, they spitefully dragged me to the water pump. They planned to scrub me roughly to humble me, but I took the chance to escape from that mansion.

The hole in the wall surrounding the estate was small, but I was even smaller, and managed to fit through to escape. From then on, I lived on the streets. I couldn’t go to an orphanage, because if I did, House Evelan would find me. I couldn’t join the gangs full of crooks in the backstreets either, because I was too young, so I decided to find an employer who had enough compassion to hire me.

I sold the expensive clothes I was wearing at a bargain and used the money to buy garments fit for a commoner. Nobody thought I was a daughter of an influential family. I was just another unremarkable orphan. I swept and polished the store’s dusty floors with my small hands and worked diligently, never stealing a thing. In time, word spread about my competence and trustworthiness, and I even rose to managerial positions, transferring from store to store to take important jobs like working the register and tracking inventory.

The third dream was exhausting in its length. I squirmed in my sleep, wanting to wake up, when…

Finally, I had the fourth dream. It was short, and a little different from the rest.

My father stroked my hair and called my name, his husky voice tenderly calling, “Mel.” My name was Mia, but “Mel” sounded so sweet somehow. The moment I heard it, I snapped awake from the dream.

I was used to pain, but not to this ticklish sort of feeling. Why would my father treasure me when my mother had died because of me? It didn’t make sense. It was surely a trap.

“Dere’s no way goo’ tings would happe’ to me.” (There’s no way good things would happen to me.)

Drenched in cold sweat, I pulled the moth-eaten blanket over my chilled body and curled into myself. This was my life. As long as it didn’t get any worse than this, I could endure it.

Whatever else I saw in my dreams, I was determined to prevent the first and second future from happening. If what I’d seen was indeed the future, if they truly were possible futures...

I might be able to run away from this place. My plan was simple. I was a child and undeniably needed a guardian. Since House Evelan was my father’s enemy, I was sure he’d help me if I told him my no-good uncle’s weaknesses or wicked plans. Wouldn’t it be enough to let him know that Abel was in danger of being murdered? Excluding the part where they were planning to use me to do it, of course.

Plus, my daddy never once threatened me in my dreams. He was never scary. I was depending on that tenderness. If there is a god for devils as well, please let my daddy be a kind person. I won’t ask him to raise me. I just don’t want to end up dead.

I forcibly squared my drooping shoulders and counted off on my tiny fingers.

First, sell information about my no-good uncle’s evil schemes to my father.

Second, charge him for overdue child support along with the cost of information.

Third, since I am a child, ask for help finding a facility or hiring a caretaker to look after me.

Fourth, bravely carve out my own path with the money that I claimed!

The only problem now was this mushy baby pronunciation, but I’d practiced hard, so it had to work out.

I clenched my tiny fists in determination.