She stares at it with half-lidded eyes before letting out a crooked laugh and knocking her forehead lightly against the table.
Damn you, Adrian…
Damn your face, your voice, that warm, lying smile of yours…
She mutters curses that are anything but polite—words slurring together as the alcohol takes hold. Her head rests against the cold wooden table, black cropped hair spilling over her eyes, hiding half her face like a worn-out curtain.
“Lucky…”
she murmurs.
“Lucky I haven’t seen his face for a full two weeks.”
She exhales deeply…
Then a sound slips in from the neighboring table—casual chatter, low laughter… and a single name that stings her ear.
“—Did you hear? The Marquis… lost his sight.”
Time stops.
She slowly lifts her head, as if her neck were made of glass.
Her blue eyes struggle to focus.
The glass slips slightly from her hand.
“…What?”
she asks hoarsely, barely audible.
“Lord Albric.”
“He woke up suddenly… can’t see a thing.”
“The doctors don’t know why.”
She stares at them for a moment…
Then laughs.
A sharp, uneven laugh—there’s something hostile in it.
“Bullshit!”
“You’re just spouting nonsense!”
“This district is full of stupid rumors!”
She swears at them crudely, enough to make them fall silent and exchange looks. Then she drops her head back onto the table again, with a dull thud.
But her mind… doesn’t fall with her.
The Marquis…?
Her thoughts freeze.
In the original story…
he was never mentioned.
She had always believed Adrian was an orphan.
No father.
Only one parent—Lady Seraphina.
If he has a father…
…what does that change?
Elizabeth staggers through the streets like someone who’s lost all sense of direction.
She laughs—loud, uneven.
A laugh that sounds more like an explosion than joy.
The city glitters at night.
Streetlamps melt in her vision.
The pavement twists beneath her feet.
She passes women who exchange looks. Some giggle, toss out light flirtatious remarks—mistaking her for a handsome boy wandering the night.
One waves at her.
Another whispers something she doesn’t hear.
She doesn’t turn back.
Only lifts a hand—an indistinct gesture—and keeps walking.
I’m tired…
So tired of people…
She suddenly veers off the lit road, slipping into a dark, forested path.
Thorns scrape her legs.
Branches lash at her arms.
She curses them under her breath—broken, angry words.
“Damn it… damn all of you…”
At last, she pushes through the trees, breathing hard.
And there—
The rear iron fence of the manor appears.
Silent.
Black.
Far too familiar.
She smiles in triumph.
My wonderful secret passage…
Below it—the narrow gap.
The one she’d discovered one boring night on patrol.
The one that shouldn’t have existed.
She drops to her stomach.
Crawls painfully slowly.
Still her breathing.
Watches the shadows.
Carefully squeezes herself through.
The back garden spreads before her—
grass, dampness, the scent of earth.
Then—
She stops.
Frowns.
Moves again.
Nothing.
Her waist… stuck.
“Huh?”
She exhales, tries to push.
Pulls herself with her arms.
The iron doesn’t yield.
“…No. No, no, no…”
She finally rolls onto her back, her head against the cold grass, staring up at the sky as it slowly spins.
“I swear…”
“It was never this narrow before…”
She tries one last time.
Fails.
She laughs.
A short, exhausted laugh—half a sob.
“Great…”
“So I’m staying here, then.”
She gives up completely.
Lets her body sink into the grass.
Her cheeks flushed with drink.
Her eyes half-closed.
Until morning…
It’s fine…
She exhales—
A long, heavy sigh,
as if releasing everything she never managed to say.
Then a voice cuts through the night.
Calm.
Too calm.
A calm that doesn’t belong to the dark—or to danger.
“How strange.
Do thieves come out of the ground now?”
Her mouth opens, sarcasm spilling out before her mind can catch up—
“And is this the first time you’ve seen—”
She stops.
Her neck stiffens.
The air freezes in her lungs.
Her eyes widen—slowly, horribly—as realization hits.
That voice.
No.
No… no no no no—
She lifts her head as if raising a gravestone.
Heavy.
Painfully slow.
And sees him.
Right in front of her.
Crouched low, knees drawn to his chest.
Pale blond hair glinting under the moonlight.
Azure, sky-colored eyes fixed on her with a deep, still stare—
a depth without life, without mercy.
His fingers are faintly pink from the cold.
His neck is bare.
His expression—
Empty.
Her entire body locks up.
Inside her—
A scream.
A deafening scream that tears through her mind:
NOOOOOOOOO—!
Why you—why now?!
What brought you here?!
I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.
She throws her head back onto the grass at once, as if not looking at him might make him disappear, and mutters in a strangled voice:
“…Nothing…”
He cuts her off instantly.
His tone cold—sharp as a blade.
“Don’t speak.”
She stiffens even more.
Even her breathing stops.
Then…
He smiles.
A small, hollow smile.
And says, softly—terrifyingly:
“Which hand should I cut off first?”
Her heart shrinks.
Fear numbs her limbs.
He tilts his head slightly, studying her like something placed where it doesn’t belong.
Then asks—
“Who sent you?”
She stays silent.
Silence—heavier than any scream.
And only the moon bears witness…
That she is trapped, with no way out,
facing the boy she should never have met here.
Inside her…
another voice rises.
Quieter than terror.
Stronger than fear.
It’s time.
Plan B.
The backup.
Just like my father taught me.
She lets her body go limp all at once.
Her head drops to the ground as if she’s given up.
Short hair scatters through the grass.
Her voice slips out—warped, broken, unfinished:
“…If… if I were…”
Inside her mind, she focuses with everything she has:
If he’s curious… he’ll come closer.
He’ll try to hear me.
Come closer.
Come on… closer.
A moment.
Then another.
And—just as she hoped—
his shadow moves.
Adrian tilts his head slightly, curiosity overtaking caution.
His eyes narrow as he strains to catch her words.
Now.
She snaps her head up violently—
And screams with all her strength:
“QUADRUPLE HEADBUTT!!!”
Impact!
Her forehead slams into his chin with brutal force.
A dull crack.
A flash of pain.
His head jerks back hard.
His hand flies to his chin, eyes widening in shock.
At the same instant,
she tenses every muscle she has left—
Slides free.
Inside her mind, a wild scream of triumph:
I did it!
She vaults over him in a blur,
rushes past his body while he’s still clutching his chin.
Her hair whips through the air.
Her feet hit the ground—
Free.
Behind her—
Adrian stands half-bent,
one hand on his chin,
his expression not angry—
but pure disbelief.
A hand shoots out—
Clamps around her ankle.
She’s yanked back violently.
Crashes to the ground.
Grass scrapes her skin as she’s dragged toward him—
Until he stands over her.
His voice is cold.
Terrifyingly cold.
“Who sent you?
Money?
Curiosity?
Or stupidity?”
She turns her head slowly.
A strained, awkward smile pulls at her lips,
and inside her mind there’s only one thought:
I was so close.
She speaks with feigned confusion, waving a hand weakly:
“Just a little theft…
I wasn’t going to take much—”
His grip tightens suddenly around her ankle.
Controlled.
A silent warning.
She gasps, and he cuts her off in a calm, lethal tone:
“Thieves always say that.”
She exhales at last.
Lets the fight drain out of her shoulders.
In a flat voice—her usual feminine tone slipping out unintentionally—she says:
“You caught me.”
Silence.
He sits down in front of her.
Doesn’t release her ankle.
His hand is steady.
His eyes… study her.
She sits opposite him, staring off to the side, tense—
aware of his gaze dissecting her features like a puzzle half-solved.
She sighs irritably and snaps:
“Stop looking at me like that.”
Then—
She suddenly reaches up.
Moonlight spills over the scene.
Her hand lifts—
and pulls off the black wig.
Her long black hair cascades down in one smooth fall.
Free.
Soft.
Brushing her shoulders.
She says calmly, decisively—
like drawing a curtain on a stage:
“The act is over.”
Adrian is silent.
His eyes glint for a split second—
not full shock,
but confirmation.
As if…
he had suspected it.
He says nothing.
Just stares at her—
and the night between them grows heavier.
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