GIOB 02

CHAPTER 02

The Monster Noble Daughter

My final wish—that nothing would exist after death—was in vain.

I must have fallen into hell after dying. There was no other way to explain this unbearable pain. Every organ in my body felt twisted and crushed. In life, I was constantly suffocated by my enormous size, always feeling pressure on my lungs. But I had never known pain like this—like my whole body was being wrung dry.

I screamed, but no sound came out.

It was like being trapped in a nightmare, like my vocal cords had disappeared. I gave up trying to scream and instead gritted my teeth, enduring the pain as best I could. I was already far too used to enduring things.

If there was a sin that condemned me to hell, it was probably being born a monster.

The sin of driving a nail into my mother’s heart by being born as I was. The sin of bringing shame to my noble house. The sin of frightening others with my hideous appearance.
…And the sin of meeting Lydia—kind and beautiful in both face and heart. The sin of meeting her refined friends. The sin of going on a vacation to the villa with them, even if it was at Lydia’s suggestion. The sin of feeling secretly excited about my first-ever trip.

Unconsciously, I bit my lip with all my strength.

The sensation of flesh tearing was vivid. The metallic taste of blood spread over my tongue. And then, the emotion I thought had long since been scorched away from within me began to rise again, smoldering.

But it quickly sank once more.

Something inside me tickled my throat, like it was trying to escape—but I never found out what it was.

Then came a pain more excruciating than before.

I flailed my arms and legs, but it felt like I was tied down. I couldn’t move. In the end, all I could do was keep biting until my lips were torn and shredded.

“Shhh. There, there… good girl.”

Someone’s voice reached me, but my consciousness faded again. I struggled to escape the pain, and eventually passed out like someone drowning.

If she was light, I was shadow.
If she was clarity, I was murkiness.
Whatever she was, I was always the opposite.

My childhood friend of 12 years, Lydia, was a true beauty.

As if someone had assembled the very image of perfection, there was not a single flaw from head to toe. Her blonde hair shimmered like honey and flowed down to her waist. Her skin was pale as snow, and her jade-colored eyes—like the vast sea—were serene and radiant.

With a slender frame that looked like it could fit into one’s arms, she was the embodiment of beauty as defined by the Welton Empire. I always admired her appearance.

Even if she simply stared off into space, she became a portrait. Her eyes shimmered with angelic hues that changed depending on the angle. Just staring into her gaze was enough to lose track of time.

From the moment she debuted in society, it was inevitable that she would rise to the top. Everyone fell in love the moment they saw her, desperate to give her everything.

And me? I followed behind her like a lost puppy, enchanted by her dreamlike glow.

I was the second daughter of House White.

Lydia always called me gently, “Eily.”
But that didn’t mean I was special to her. She was kind to everyone. That same kindness extended to me, someone no one else even noticed.

I—Eily White—had been sick since the moment I was born.

Every renowned physician had been summoned to treat me, but none could cure my condition. My face was round like a full moon. My belly protruded abnormally, as if I were pregnant. My limbs were thin like sticks, too weak to support me.

I looked bloated, like I was filled with water.

Hair covered my body, my skin was red, and my face was littered with severe acne. I looked nothing like the daughter of a noble house.

“It’s not an illness. It’s a curse.”

People whispered as if I were a monster from a legend. No one wanted to come near me. The moment they saw me, their faces twisted in disgust. Some even vomited.

I had never once stepped outside the mansion. After a while, I didn’t even leave my room. I was just a breathing creature sealed away.

I tried everything to lose the weight—dieting, exercising—but nothing worked. The bulge in my belly didn’t feel like fat. It felt like a giant tumor. Or maybe… a parasitic lump that had come to devour my life whole.

I imagined cutting it off with a knife hundreds of times. But I couldn’t actually die.

Books said that people who took their own lives lacked the courage to go on. Then what did it mean that I was still alive?

Astonishingly, it meant I was full of courage.

Even when I was crushed by shame and harsh words, over and over again, I couldn’t die.

My family eventually accepted that I would never look “normal.” So they turned away.

My mother never visited me, not even once after I was born. Maybe she hated the fact that she had carried this monster in her womb for ten months. She died giving birth to my younger brother when I was five.

I never saw her face again.

The brother born that year—I never once saw his face either. My father told him I was “too ill to be seen.” He never brought him near me. “Wouldn’t a child be traumatized if that… thing was his sister?” he said.

Now that child was fifteen. And still, I had never seen him.

I understood. No one needed to tell me—I knew better than anyone that I was a monster. I was House White’s shame. A stain they wished they could erase. Everyone wanted me dead.

“Eily.”

But even to a monster like me… one person still reached out.

She was Lydia Cardiman, the flower of the Empire—beloved and idolized by all. The only daughter of House Cardiman, treasured like gold. She was truly a saint, capable of reaching out even to a wretched creature like me.

When I looked at her, I thought:
People are loved because they deserve to be.
Or maybe… they grow lovely because they are loved.

Either way, she was someone who deserved love. And I loved her, too.

Or rather… I had loved her.

She was radiant. But because she had always been loved, she couldn’t understand someone like me—someone who was despised for simply existing.

Looking back, I don’t think she ever even tried to understand.

People bent over backward to please her. All of Lydia’s followers were nobles with easy lives, untouched by hardship. Those with ease become generous. And so her followers accepted everything about her as natural.

Lydia was always kind.

That was the problem.

Kind cruelty smothers a person.

The Welton Empire held its coming-of-age ceremonies when people turned twenty. Regardless of status—commoner, noble, or royal—everyone who turned twenty that year celebrated on the same day.

It was a major annual event, as important as the Harvest Festival or Founding Day.

That year, the Crown Prince turned twenty.
And so did Lydia, the beloved jewel of the empire.

The palace held a grand celebration. Every noble who had debuted in society was invited. The capital itself had been in festival mode for a week.

Of course, none of that had anything to do with me.

I wasn’t even known to society. I was the cursed monster hidden away in the White family mansion.

People thought of me like my brother did:
“A frail noble daughter who can’t leave the house.”

But no matter how hard Father tried to hide me, rumors had begun to spread—that I was the cursed monster of House White.

Still, aside from occasional guests or a few servants, almost no one had seen my face.

That was… until Lydia came to House White with five young noblemen in tow.

It was the year we both turned twenty.

My angel. My savior. She came to me, not with an invitation to a party… but with mud-stained shoes that crushed the sanctuary I had clung to.

She had just come from the party.