Ariea opened her eyes to find herself adrift in a sea of darkness, the gentle motion around her similar to the swaying of a ship on calm waters. Yet, in this vast void, there was no way for her to discern up or down. Her mind felt clouded, sluggish.

    She remembered her passing, the moment when Elisabeth cradled her as the final pulse faded her heart beat into silence.

    Where was am I?

    Slowly, Ariea's gaze swept the darkness, waiting for her eyes to adjust. In the distance, a faint glow caught her attention, a tiny spark that flickered like a star. The glow moved closer, and to intensify, revealing itself to be a cluster of small fiery orbs hovering just above her.

    Her curiosity eclipsed her fear, so Ariea reached out tentatively, her fingertips brushing against the glowing spheres. As her touch made contact, one of the orbs expanded, as if blown up with air, and lazily circled her face.

    "What... what is this?" she murmured, peering at the orb intently. "What are you?"

    The orb continued its leisurely orbit, occasionally darting over Ariea's head before vanishing into her hair. Ariea was certain there was no wind, but somehow, it seemed to move with a will of its own.

    Finally, the orb came to a halt in front of her. Ariea cautiously cupped her hands beneath it, and it gently nestled itself into her palms. The moment it touched her skin, it burst like a bubble. A torrent of images swirled around her in a chaotic whirlwind.

    Ariea tried to grasp a single image that moved too fast for her eyes to see. However, upon further inspection, Ariea recognized fragments of her past, moments from her childhood in the glimpses she caught.

    Impatience and frustration welled within her, and she reached out, seizing one of the images. The chaotic motion stilled, and the image began to play out a scene as if she were watching from the shadows.

    She watched herself in the dank dungeon of the Dagnall Temple, her dress stained with vomit and filth as Cyrus lashed out at her with a cold, leather whip. 

    Ariea remembered this day. 

    The scars were faint yet still visible under bright light. It was a month before the most recent brutal assault. He locked her away without sustenance for a fortnight, all because she failed to meet his exacting standards in cleaning Eriss's mirror.

    Feeling a bitter taste rise in her throat, Ariea waved away the memory with her hand, and touched another image.

    In this memory, she stood with her head tucked to her chest, as expired soup drenched her. She had begged the chef to have it rather than waste it, but Ryver caught her in the act. 

    The second son, youngest amongst his siblings, taunted her, before dragging her out and forcing her to the ground. Retching the bowl from her hands, he poured it over her head, much to the delight of his friends who laughed gleefully at her humiliation. When she didn't say a word, he pushed her and commanded her to lick up the soiled food like "the mutt she was".

    With another touch of a memory, Ariea witnessed herself fleeing through the forest, blood streaming from a wound on her arm. 

    Two long-serving guards, fuelled by lust (and a belief that she was just an abandoned Solus bastard), had cornered her with intent to force themselves on her. They only ceased their attempt when Ripley, the eldest son and heir to the Dagnall Saintum, happened to be passing by, and they would have been kicked out for breaking their vow of chastity without permission. When she broke free from them, she stumbled and fell onto one of their unsheathed swords they'd threatened her with earlier, before fleeing into the forest behind the temple.

    She had turned twelve that very morning.

     As the memories flickered past, Ariea felt a surge of anger and hatred. The scars and scabs of her suffering throbbed as if they were fresh wounds. All those times she was hurt and abused, did she deserve such treatment? Why was she the target of their cruelty? What was her crime?

    "I do not want to see this any longer."

    It sickened her, knowing how easily they all escaped punishment. Even those who did not inflict physical trauma but emotional and mental, they slept soundly in their beds. From Eloisa, who blamed her for every misfortune, to Eriss, who ensured she suffered hunger and isolation for failing in her duties.

     "Please—"

    Ryver, who delighted in tormenting her for his amusement, and Ripley, who stood by, watching her suffer without intervening. Even the guards, the priests, the servants—all looked down on her, secretly relishing in the fact that a noble-born was considered beneath them, the commoners, despite her being a Solus.

    "—no more!"

    Ariea never interacted with the old Saintum and Sanctus. She never saw them since she first arrived at the Dagnall Temple, so she bore them no ill will.

    However, the worst of them all was Cyrus, her entire reason for existing in the first place. Her biological father who found her well taken care of and carefree in an orphanage just outside the capital. 

    He had torn her from her home, from the good headmistress and kind nuns who watched over the children, only to subject her to endless torment. His violent nature haunted her memories; a constant reminder of the pain he inflicted upon her.

    "Please, I cannot take it any longer!"

    The darkness grew colder, and the bright memories dimmed as more and more unfolded to reveal Cyrus's relentless abuse. In each memory, she seemed to grow younger, yet the torment remained unaltered. If anything, the only change was the severity of her injuries and how close she came to death. Always in the dungeons, in a chamber seemingly constructed specifically for her.

    "No!" Ariea screamed, tightly shutting her eyes as her arms instinctively covered her head.

    But even with her face shielded, she could still hear the echoes of the past—her cries, her pleas for mercy, her desperate begging to be spared.

    Tears streamed down her face, hot and heavy.

    "Why are you doing this to me?" she cried. "Why?"

    As Ariea screamed, attempting to drown out the cacophony of her memories, a warmth suddenly enveloped her, reaching out to her through the darkness. Sensing it, she slowly opened her eyes. All the other memories vanished, except for one lone glowing light hovering before her.

    She was extremely apprehensive, worried that this one might hurt her like the others, but as if sensing her thoughts, it unfurled to reveal a single image.

    It was the first time she met Elisabeth. Ariea was four years old.

    It had been a week since her arrival at the Dagnall Temple. She was exploring the gardens when she stumbled upon a banquet held in honor of Sanctus Elisabeth's birthday. The entire family was present, along with the elders. 

    All five other Saintums of the Deitus empire, Vassal Kings, nobles of High Society, and even members of the Imperial Family graced the event. Ariea, still dressed in the garb from the orphanage, appeared untamed and disheveled. The nobles wrinkled their noses in disdain at the sight of her.

    It marked the first time she witnessed Cyrus's wrath.

    The nobles whispered, snickered behind their fans and teacups as they noticed the resemblance between the Dagnall siblings and Ariea. In fact, many deduced that she was indeed blood-related... but through whom?

    Cyrus approached her, a forced smile on his face as he gruffly ordered her to leave. Confused, Ariea asked why. Before he could respond, Elisabeth intervened, whispering something in his ear. She then turned to the guests, explaining that Ariea was a Solus they recently took in and was still learning noble etiquette. 

    Taking Ariea's hand, Elisabeth excused them and led her back to her chambers. In a moment of worry, Ariea glanced back and caught a glimpse of Cyrus' expression, filling her with immediate dread.

    In her chambers, Elisabeth presented Ariea with a beautiful silver dress adorned with frills and ribbons, along with matching shoes. She explained that it was a gift she had meant to give her but had been unable to find her in the vast temple. Coincidentally, it resembled Elisabeth's own attire, not in the way Eriss and Eloisa's dresses did, as they insisted on wearing Dagnall colors.

    After bathing and dressing her, Elisabeth styled Ariea’s dark hair into braided pigtails, adorning them with small hair trinkets she had treasured as a child. When they returned to the banquet, the nobles were surprised to see that, in fact, Ariea and Elisabeth bore a striking resemblance. 

    More than that, they marveled at the child's beauty; her fair complexion, rosy cheeks, and large black eyes. Of all the Dagnall children, she was the only one with jet-black hair, like Cyrus, but she was almost a spitting image of Elisabeth.

    That evening was the first time Cyrus beat Ariea. She never fully understood what had happened until morning and pain consumed her small mind. Elisabeth never saw her again until a year later, by which time, Ariea was traumatized beyond recognition and relegated to the role of a child-maid.

    Through that singular memory, Ariea realized that Elisabeth regarded her with the love of a mother. Though she feared that affection stemmed from pity, Ariea clung to every ounce of kindness Elisabeth offered, despite the risk of Cyrus's wrath.

    She wondered if she'd ever be given the opportunity to call her what she had always wanted to instead of 'your grace'.

    "M—mother," Ariea stammered a whisper, fresh tears streaming down her face. "Mother... Mother, I’m scared."

    She drifted away into the abyss, embracing herself as the coldness held her once more.