Chapter 8
“Sister…”
“Remember this: if anyone sees your face, I will kill them all. If you’re curious whether I’m serious, you can try walking around without a mask and see for yourself.”
Desdemona threatened Fiorentia and blocked all her social activities.
However, she allowed Fiorentia to move freely inside the mansion if she wore a mask. Desdemona presented it as a kind of mercy.
But Desdemona would never allow Fiorentia’s face to be damaged. Fiorentia’s face was only a copy of Desdemona’s own. Anyone seeing it was essentially seeing an illusion.
If the real Fiorentia’s face was hurt, the same spot on Desdemona’s face would be harmed as well.
As a perfectionist and aesthete, Desdemona saw even a small flaw as unacceptable. So, while using Fiorentia’s face, she avoided touching it even when punishing her physically.
Instead, she tormented Fiorentia mentally, showing her disgusting and cruel things.
‘The real Fiorentia already trembled in fear just being near Desdemona.’
Yet Desdemona also knew that no matter how often she admired herself in the mirror, the face wasn’t truly hers.
This made her desire Fiorentia’s face even more. She wanted to truly possess it.
So she obsessed over experiments separating the soul from the body. She claimed it was for the crown, but in reality, it was to satisfy her own greed.
“Don’t touch. Come here.”
A faint whisper brought Fiorentia out of her thoughts.
A maid was pulling her colleague away from Fiorentia.
Fiorentia watched the servants avoid her and pressed her lips together. She didn’t like it, but she had no intention of showing it or criticizing them.
‘Yes. This distance is better.’
It would be exhausting, but she didn’t want to form attachments or create weaknesses. She just wanted to leave.
‘But where should I go?’
Having been confined to a side building most of the time, she rarely visited the main house. She didn’t know where the entrance to the underground prison was.
‘I’ll need help…’
She couldn’t just ask anyone without raising suspicion—Desdemona would notice immediately.
At that moment, a butler was descending the stairs, busy looking at some documents and unaware of Fiorentia. She quickly approached him.
“Ah, Butler. Perfect timing. You don’t need to go all the way to your office.”
“…Miss Fiorentia? What brings you here?”
Surprised, he stopped in his tracks, frowning. Fiorentia ignored him and stated her purpose.
“I want to know the location of the underground prison. It’d be better if you could guide me.”
“Why do you suddenly need to know?”
“Why? You must already know. Last night, my sister left the beast’s care to me.”
“Ah.”
The butler acknowledged her, realizing the matter.
“I see. But haven’t you already treated it?”
Fiorentia nodded.
“I want to check on the beast. That’s why I need guidance.”
The butler frowned, hesitating. Fiorentia was irritated by the delay but decided to act politely.
“Yes. You’re right. But think about it, Butler.”
She stepped closer, surprising him, but he didn’t pull back. She whispered as if sharing a secret:
“Consider my sister’s intentions. You’re good at understanding such things, aren’t you?”
She hinted that following Desdemona’s orders blindly might not be wise. His eyes flickered. Fiorentia smiled behind her mask and lowered her voice further:
“My sister loves beauty. She doesn’t care how broken the beast’s mind becomes, but she wants it to look perfect, right?”
“….”
“Remember what happened to the maids who damaged her belongings. You handled the aftermath yourself, so you must remember.”
Desdemona’s obsession with perfection was extreme—she wouldn’t tolerate even tiny flaws in porcelain or picture frames. Servants always suffered because of this.
“How dare you bring a flawed item into my room! How could you show me this trash?”
The butler’s throat moved nervously as he imagined her hysteria. He seemed convinced by Fiorentia’s words and finally agreed to guide her.
“This way, please.”
Unlike before, he led the way cooperatively. Fiorentia followed him quietly, thinking:
‘Just as I expected. Only a few in the main house know about Theodore.’
It was good for her; fewer people knowing made it easier to hide him later.
They moved quietly to avoid being seen, arriving at a small side gate behind the mansion. It connected to the sewers and was shaded, damp, and dirty.
A puddle for flies, broken furniture, and scrap materials littered the area. It was filthy and uninviting.
‘Exactly. No one would want to come here.’
Fiorentia held her breath, struggling with the smell but unable to remove her mask.
The butler hurried, seemingly noticing her discomfort.
“This is the entrance to the underground prison.”
“I see.”
“Shall we go in?”
He opened the door and gestured inside.
