Beside her sat her old maid, the one who had stayed by her side since childhood, adorning her braid with small flowers she had just picked. She whispered little childish comments, trying to draw out a laugh—just like she always did.

But Irene, despite her faint smile, seemed lost in thought… a kind of absent-mindedness the maid had long grown used to and no longer questioned.

In the stillness of that gentle atmosphere, familiar footsteps approached with steady rhythm.

The maid lifted her head, and before she could speak, Fantine arrived—wearing her usual navy dress, carrying a basket of freshly washed berries. Yet this time, she didn’t offer them as she usually would.

She stepped closer and sat beside the two girls. Her gaze lingered on Irene for a long moment before she spoke in a calm but different tone:

— “You’ve grown so much, Irene…”

Irene slowly turned her head toward her, saying nothing.

Fantine continued, her eyes filled with tenderness—and caution at once:

— “Every year that passed, I watched you change... growing in silence, learning from every glance, from every unintended word.”

The maid remained seated, quiet, but her hands stopped moving through the braid—as if she sensed a strange heaviness in the air.

Fantine sighed and said in a low voice:

— “You’ve always asked me about your mother, and I always gave you short answers… Sometimes I’d say she was kind, or beautiful, or that she sacrificed for you.”

Irene blinked slowly, biting her lower lip.

— “But today… I can’t hide it anymore. You shouldn’t stay in the shadows any longer—not when you’re sixteen… an age where you can know… and understand.”

She set the basket aside, then gently took Irene’s hand and whispered:

— “I’m going to tell you everything, Irene… Your mother’s story—Louisa’s. From the first time she stepped into this palace… to everything that followed.”

The air was still, as if nature itself held its breath to listen.

Irene spoke in a soft yet steady voice:

— “I’m listening.”

And so… Fantine began the tale.

---

Louisa’s story began in a remote village, where she lived with her modest family who relied solely on farming to survive. Life was difficult, but they clung to each other despite the poverty. Then came a harsh drought that destroyed the crops, forcing families to abandon the village one after another. Only a few remained—among them Louisa’s family. Eventually, the roads closed off entirely, and they had no choice but to leave the farm.

They moved to the city, hoping for a new life. But the cost of living was far too high, and Louisa had to take a job at a textile factory to support her ailing mother and aging father. Louisa was strikingly beautiful—with long golden hair, almond-shaped eyes, and a serene face that carried a quiet sorrow. But beneath her beauty was a reserved and introverted soul, focused only on earning enough to pay for her parents’ treatments.

She had no interest in love or relationships, despite receiving countless flirtatious advances. Her coworkers at the factory couldn’t stand her calm demeanor and beauty. They whispered behind her back, accusing her of arrogance. And when she ignored them, they plotted against her—falsely accusing her of stealing fabric from the factory. Their plan worked, and she was fired. One of them even spat out cruelly:

“If she can’t stand working with us, let’s make it easier and get her thrown out.”

Louisa left the factory broken, but not defeated. She scoured the newspapers for work opportunities, flipping through ads for hours. One day, she came across a listing for a maid position at a royal palace in a nearby city. She hesitated at first, but the promised salary was enough to cover her mother’s medical costs—so she seized the chance.

She packed up the little savings she had, left a portion with her father, and prepared for the journey. It was long and exhausting, and the stares from strangers—especially men—wore her down. They were stares full of hunger and curiosity, increasing her fear and discomfort.

At last, she reached the palace gates. It was a grand, imposing structure guarded heavily. She underwent a thorough interview process and waited several days before receiving a formal letter at the inn where she was staying: she had been accepted.

On the appointed day, she returned to the palace and was officially welcomed. She was led to her new residence in the servants’ wing, and that night was the first time she felt a glimmer of hope. Training began the very next day, supervised by a senior servant called “Vora”—a title granted to those who had served for over fifteen years. The training was rigorous, lasting a full month and covering every detail.

Louisa proved to be clever and diligent, quickly mastering her tasks—which even impressed Vora himself. After a month of continuous work, she received her first paycheck. She sent most of it home and kept a little for herself. Over time, she became known among the servants for her precision and dedication.

Two years later, she was assigned as a personal maid to the king’s third wife, the youngest among them, who had just given birth a few months prior. The queen was fiercely jealous—especially of Louisa. Her beauty outshone even the most extravagant jewels, and the queen often humiliated her, throwing things at her and ordering her around. Despite the mistreatment, Louisa endured it all—for her parents’ sake.

One evening, while assisting in preparing the queen’s bath, the king entered the room. He was thirty-four at the time—tall, sharp-featured, and imposing. He was known then as “The Ice King.” It was the first time Louisa saw him up close. He asked everyone to leave, but before she exited, his eyes landed on her.

Their eyes met for the briefest of moments—but it was enough to leave a lasting impression. From that day on, they crossed paths often—oddly often. And each time, he found himself more intrigued by her. Louisa, on the other hand, ignored him completely, never showing the slightest interest—only fueling his obsession.

Days passed until she received a formal summons to the king’s office. A heavy feeling settled in her chest, but she had no idea what awaited her. She entered quietly—he was seated, watching her with a cold gaze. He asked her to sit and questioned why she was at the palace.

She answered cautiously, hiding her true identity. She told him she was an orphan supporting herself. He smirked darkly, then went silent for a moment before saying suddenly:

— “Did you know I can end the lives of everyone you care about with just a flick of my finger?”

Louisa froze, heart pounding, fear flooding her face—fueling his ego.

He continued:

— “You lied to me. That’s considered treason. In my kingdom, traitors are executed. But execution is… too simple. And I don’t like simple.”

She cried out in fear:

— “But I haven’t done anything worth being executed for!”

He revealed that he knew she had falsified her records—that she wasn’t an orphan, that she sent money to her family in another city. He even named them. They had been spying on her, uncovering her deception.

Then he said:

— “But I’ll forgive you… on one condition.”

She hesitated, her heart racing.

— “What’s the condition?” she asked.

— “That you become my secret doll. My mistress.”

Louisa felt sickened by his filth, whispering bitterly:

— “I won’t be able to satisfy your desires… I’ve never been with a man before.”

For the first time, he laughed—a cruel, chilling laugh.

— “That makes it even better. I prefer things… unused.”

He stepped closer and said in a low, menacing tone:

— “Choose: your life and your parents’ lives… in exchange for becoming my doll… or death for all of you.”

Louisa froze, then whispered in a trembling voice:

— “I’ll agree… on one condition.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused.

— “It seems the quiet ones hide some cunning. Tell me your condition.”

With tension but resolve, she said:

— “I want a written promise—handwritten and sealed with your royal crest—that you won’t harm my parents.”

He laughed again—this time, a terrifying sound that chilled her blood.

— “Do you think you’re in a position to question a king’s word?”

— “I’m not questioning it… But the agreement must be documented. I want a written contract stating you will not harm my parents. Otherwise, I won’t accept.”

He smirked inwardly, thinking her request was trivial—and agreed. He wrote the contract, and both signed it.

Louisa returned to her room, dead inside. That night, she wept for the first time with true anguish. She cried until she passed out on the floor, clutching that folded piece of paper—her only shield.

She had altered her records hoping for swift acceptance and to protect her parents from anything that might happen inside the palace. And though it was a clever move—deep down, she knew it was the worst decision she had ever made.

Two days later, she was summoned for the first time to a private wing, late at night—

where her true nightmare would begin…