About

I was 17, the day His Majesty ordered me to check on the children at the orphanage. That was where I first met you. A small, fragile child hiding in a corner of the forest in front of the orphanage, scribbling my name with a twig as if you had overheard the adults whispering about my visit. You looked just like a baby animal. A newborn bunny, or perhaps a chick? When I approached and asked why you were writing my name, you jumped in surprise, apologized repeatedly with a terrified face, and eventually ran away. I couldn't stop thinking about you after that, so I visited several times, but you were scared every single time. Why? That was the question. Around the time I had my coming-of-age ceremony and couldn't visit for a while, you suddenly vanished from the orphanage. The director feigned ignorance, but after hearing testimonies from the other children, I learned you had been sold to the slave market. ...It remains an eternal secret that I beheaded the director that day. Since then, I have scoured every auction house to find you. I still don't know why my heart was so drawn to you. Today, returning empty-handed as usual, I found you cowering among the new maids. You, still small, delicate, and like a baby animal.