Episode 1
— To Marlene, whom I love more than anyone in this world.
It has truly been a long time since I last held a pen.
The sensation of something wrapped between my fingers, of having to apply pressure to support it—how unfamiliar it felt. At first, I even waved the quill around awkwardly.
So if my handwriting is not quite neat, please understand. Your sister is diligently rehabilitating, after all.
Even now, when I have somewhat regained my health, I sometimes dream. Dreams in which this recovery is nothing but a delusion, and in truth I am still lying in bed, a patient waiting for the day I die… Dreams like that. Isn’t it rather ridiculous?
In those moments, I thought of you countless times. You used to visit me every single day when I could not move at all from my bed. You changed the flowers in the vase yourself, held my hand, and chattered away.
I was truly grateful for that.
There cannot be another younger sister in the world who would do so much for an elder sister not related by a single drop of blood. Don’t you agree?
Marlene.
You always said, “No one follows Sister around as much as I do.”
Just as you said, you always followed me.
When I learned a new instrument, when I studied a foreign language, when I bought dresses, attended balls, made friends—you followed me in all of it.
Back then, I found it simply adorable. You were such a shy child that I thought it only natural for you to trail behind me, the one who walked ahead.
But I never imagined you would follow even behind my fiancé.
Yes.
Since when was it?
Since when did you start kissing Richard?
And since when did you begin trying to kill me?
No… no, that’s not it. Perhaps I was simply too foolish and chose to ignore it all along.
You hated me from the very beginning, didn’t you? From the moment you learned that I was adopted, you despised me like a thorn in your eye. From then on, you tried to take everything from me.
The instruments I played, the foreign language tutor who taught me, my dresses, my invitations to balls, my friends—you took them all.
And yet, I refused to believe it. The you I had seen—the small, lovely girl who had just begun to discover the world, whose bright eyes sparkled as you smiled—could not possibly be that kind of child.
I believed that if I tried hard enough, you would return to your “original self.” Your original self—how laughable. The hideous greed and monstrous expression you showed were who you truly were. I was living inside a delusion.
What were you thinking as you watched me? I wonder, Marlene. What were you like when I died?
You were smiling.
Smiling more joyfully than I had ever seen before.
In front of me, as I coughed up blood and convulsed, you kissed my fiancé Richard.
So, how are you now?
Are you satisfied that I am dead?
Are you happy, receiving the foolish affection of that half-witted man?
Yes. You must be. You are a shy and timid child—but one who carries within her a greed so vast no one else could imitate.
You must be delighted. You must be happy. I am certain the thought of you raising a toast before my corpse is not mistaken.
But, Marlene.
You can no longer be happy.
I will cast aside my arrogance, my affection, and my irrational sense of morality. And I will shatter your enormous greed.
I swear it before God.
In this world, there will be no one more miserable than you.
Until we meet again.
When shall the next letter be?
— The sister who always loved you,
Charlotte,
who has returned from death.
“It was a hopelessly lonely life,” Charlotte Aubrey murmured as she fumbled for her final breath.
To lie beneath silk blankets and call one’s life lonely might seem like deception. Yet Charlotte felt a loneliness so severe that only she herself could know it.
What of the orphanage, now a memory so faint it was nearly erased? It would be absurd to imagine that she, who had not even been granted a proper name and was called only “you” or “hey,” had lived in abundance.
And was she not lonely after being adopted into the Aubrey Ducal House? That was not the case either.
Before the public’s fury against the imperial tyranny of the Palomon Empire erupted, the nobles rushed to engage in poor relief. They took a small portion of their mountain-like wealth and scattered it into the streets.
The foolish commoners, unaware that hundreds of their own tiny granaries had been emptied to fill the vast granaries of the nobles, were blinded by the small bundles of bread placed before them.
Going even further, the Aubrey Ducal House—a great noble family responsible for the empire’s finances—appeared at an orphanage.
And they said to the starving people:
“Good people, are there not children here who are even more pitiful?”
“These children do not know the mother who bore them, nor the face of their father. From the moment they first set foot in this vast world, they had already lost everything!”
So they appealed—no, manipulated.
“Are you more pitiful than these children?”
“If you truly think so, then take the food I have given to the orphanage. But remember this: God will know your actions, you will know them, and so will these children.”
By nature, humans feel superiority toward those beneath them and awe toward those far above.
Before those beneath them, they feel no shame in their actions. Before those above, they cannot even lift a fork without embarrassment.
Thus, the commoners could not criticize the Duke of Aubrey—could not even conceive of doing so. Instead, they began to see themselves as beings capable of shame. And in the end, they took a piece of bread from their bundles and placed it into the children’s hands.
Shifting the target of blame downward rather than upward proved surprisingly effective. Intoxicated by a strange sense of shame they had never felt before, the people angrily insisted that they must help those beneath them. They even began to monitor one another, competing to prove who was less shameful.
Still, the Duchess of Aubrey thought such an effect would not last long. Empty criticism and hollow appeals without responsibility could not endure.
So she extended her hand toward one child in the orphanage.
“I shall take this one.”
It was widely known, even in the slums, that the Duke and Duchess had long been without children and were considering adoption.
But so suddenly? And not even the child of a minor noble family, but a female orphan?
People thought the Duchess had spoken nonsense.
Yet she completed the adoption procedures on the spot and boarded the carriage with the child when the Duke returned from his tour.
They had truly adopted a lowborn orphan girl.
As if someone had orchestrated it, the news spread rapidly throughout the capital—throughout the empire. The Duke and Duchess gained greater support from the people than ever before.
That was fifteen years ago.
Charlotte—who had been led by the Duchess’s hand, given the Aubrey name, and granted the name “Charlotte”—could not shake the feeling that it was all a carefully staged play.
Before the people, the Duchess smiled gently and held her hand. But the moment they boarded the carriage, she shook Charlotte off, covered her nose, and sprayed perfume dozens of times.
And what of the Duke? As though checking whether her eyes, nose, and mouth were properly placed, he examined her face closely, bestowed upon her the name Charlotte—and thereafter treated her as if she did not exist.
Though only five years old, Charlotte was perceptive. She immediately realized that the Duke and Duchess had not adopted her out of kindness. She understood that her worth lay only in being a doll displayed before the public.
A child with even the slightest pride might have fled or rebelled.
But Charlotte had been hungry for too long. She had been lonely for too long. She did not want to let go of the small warmth she had touched—even if it was a lie.
So Charlotte said,
“I will do as I’m told.”
