#001. My Grave
Beyond the forest lies a cursed monster.
Anastasia Étranger would often look at the crumbling castle deep within the forest and think that her own circumstances were no different from that monster’s.
“Miss, are you ready?”
Her personal maid, Diana, impatiently called to her from outside the door.
“…Almost. Could you wait a little longer, Diana?”
Soon after, a sharp voice came back in response.
“So I have to get scolded by the lady again because of you, miss? Please come out at once!”
Anastasia let out a sigh. But she could not disobey.
She understood better than anyone else her position within this household.
The Great Witch of Osmanthus.
That was how the world referred to her.
But that was nothing more than an empty title given by outsiders, born out of a certain awe toward her power.
Silently, Anastasia tied up her waterfall-like golden hair.
All of this would end today.
“Tell Mother to wait a little as well. It’s her daughter’s last day, after all. That much should be allowed. For you as well.”
At her calm voice, Diana had nothing more to say. Rather than truly understanding the plight of the young lady imprisoned at the very top of the Étranger ducal tower… it was more that she felt uneasy.
The possibility that a dying person might curse her.
“…Fine. Just hurry up and get out.”
Heavy footsteps descending the stairs echoed beyond the door. Judging by the clattering sound that followed, the lock had been undone before leaving.
“…Yes.”
Anastasia quietly murmured toward the empty space beyond the door.
She intended to take everything she needed with her. After all, this mission would be her last.
If she could kill the monster in the forest, she would finally be recognized by the ducal family and the royal household.
The bloodline of a witch.
A disgrace to the ducal house.
Though it was the Duke of Étranger himself who had fallen in love with a witch and fathered her, Anastasia did not know why such a stigma had been placed upon her.
No—she was not even allowed to wonder.
“From my emptiness, grasping the hand of a demon, with the desire that lingers on the reverse side.”
All magicians and witches are fine poets and singers.
By instinct, they are able to compose prayers in verse—songs offered to a universe that would willingly extend a helping hand.
As her slender white fingers traced the air, space split open with a sharp “crack,” like the pupil of a cat.
Anastasia placed several spare beeswax candles, powdered gold and silver, and a narwhal’s horn into the subspace.
“If I can be acknowledged, even in death, that is enough.”
She had no greed.
She simply wished for the words “our beloved daughter” to be engraved upon her gravestone.
Now it was time to go kill both the monster—and herself.
Anastasia opened the door and looked down at the faraway ground below.
She did not even need to recite a spell aloud to slow her fall.
Without hesitation, she threw herself toward Diana waiting far below.
“Would you like some tea?”
That was their first encounter.
Anastasia quietly shook her head. She had a task to complete.
She had broken through the cursed forest and arrived at the abandoned Aquila Castle where the forest monster was said to dwell—for the purpose of killing it.
She silently opened space again and took out a beeswax candle, placing it atop the tip of her staff.
A golden candlestick staff.
The medium and very essence of all her magic.
In her left hand, she held the narwhal horn like a greatsword, and fixed her gaze firmly upon the monster of Aquila Castle.
“So that is your answer.”
From deep within the castle, in the throne of the audience chamber reserved for its sole master, the monster rose.
Gaunt, yet with a tall and imposing frame.
A helmet that concealed even the face, beneath which long black hair flowed.
A body wrapped in distorted, crumpled silver armor.
And a longsword that shone with an unnaturally pure and vivid brilliance.
Countless questions swirled in Anastasia’s mind. The connotation of the word “monster” did not match the man standing before her.
Only the piercing blue glow visible beyond the visor made the hairs on her skin stand on end.
Anastasia felt the need to speak at least one word. As a witch, it was an instinct imposed by the world.
“…You.”
The monster raised the blade he had been lifting and pointed it at her nape, whispering in a low voice.
“Continue.”
Anastasia was not afraid. She merely spoke what needed to be said.
“…You are my grave.”
The tip of the blade trembled for a moment. Anastasia softly began the final incantation.
“From my deepest essence—”
The monster—no, the man before her—still seemed to hesitate.
“—upholding the sanctity that gazes down upon us—”
Before the second line of the chant could finish, the silver blade pierced her chest.
“If he had aimed for my throat, he could have stopped the incantation,” Anastasia realized.
This man, too, must have been exhausted by long despair.
“—with a resounding cry that brings a radiant end…”
The final line of the spell flowed from her small lips.
In an instant, the space that contained the two monsters hated by the world was filled with a blinding white radiance, as if divine judgment had descended.
Anastasia poured everything she had into it. The power of the spell was akin to a miracle.
KWA-RRRR-BOOM—!
A brilliant lightning bolt descended from the heavens, striking deep into the crumbling heart of Aquila Castle.
But before she lost consciousness, the last thing she felt was warmth.
Tap. Tap.
Something shook her body.
A touch that could not even pretend to be gentle.
“Wake up, sis.”
The voice was full of mockery.
Anastasia slowly and laboriously lifted her heavy eyelids.
It wasn’t only her eyelids that were heavy.
Something was wrapped around her body. Heavy and weighty. Yet strangely hot.
“…Aslan?”
Cold navy-blue eyes looked down at her. Their color was strikingly similar to her own, but the emotion within them was entirely different.
“Can’t get up?”
Her younger brother, Aslan Étranger, crouched before her collapsed form and snickered.
It was laughter.
Without a doubt… laughter.
“Could you… help me… out…?”
What followed was even louder laughter. Behind Aslan, two more silhouettes appeared.
Her father.
The head of the house, Sorvan Étranger.
And her older sister.
The imperial princess known as “the one color of the empire,” Janice Étranger.
Aslan ignored Anastasia’s weakly outstretched hand and returned to the embrace of the family.
The head of the house spoke in a low voice.
“Well done, Anastasia.”
In his hand was a magical tool used to forcibly invoke spells through witch’s blood—“Illyset’s Orb.”
“Father, p-please… get me out…”
Anastasia pleaded desperately.
In truth, she already knew she could not survive. Still, at the end of her life, she had hoped to be saved by her family’s hands.
…She had simply wanted to die in their arms.
That was all.
“It’s a pity your blood has come to its end.”
Sorvan Étranger calmly sat before her and took her wrist, cutting it open. The opened orb quickly filled with fresh blood.
Anastasia lowered her head quietly. Drip, drop—the darkened sky began to pour rain at last.
Her empty hope had finally become reality.
“Your name will be erased from the family registry, Anastasia. This place will be your grave, your lowly bloodline’s grave. Do you understand?”
Janice’s cold voice.
Sorvan’s frozen gaze.
Aslan’s sneering smile.
They did not stop their ridicule until her faint breath ceased.
That was the end of Anastasia Étranger—the Great Witch of Osmanthus, a genius who inherited the lost arcane vision of magic and incantation said to have vanished from humanity for 500 years… and the girl once beloved by the universe.
In the silent darkness, Anastasia hoped that the place she had reached was truly the afterlife.
That her heart would no longer be trampled.
Though slightly unsteady, she wondered if a ferryman of the river might be carrying her to the far shore.
Had she ever felt such comfort in the world?
Anastasia quietly shook her head. If this was the afterlife, she could remain forever on the other side of that river of oblivion.
But it was not.
“Wake up, miss!”
A furious voice.
The sharp gaze that always awakened her.
Anastasia jolted upright at the harsh urging. It was night, and through the familiar window, only the sky could still be seen.
The top of the imprisoned tower.
Anastasia slowly turned her head. Diana stood there, her face flushed red.
“How many times do you think I told you to get up?!”
In an instant, her cheek burned hot.
It was a familiar pain. Diana’s hands were always sharp.
“…What is this…”
“What do you mean, what?! Hurry up and get up!”
The calendar on the wall showed a date from six years ago—the day before her nineteenth birthday.
Unless this was a nightmare… she had undoubtedly been given a second chance.
But unlike her previous life, she could no longer expect any reward for her obedience.
Strangely, she felt anger rising.
Her eyes had been praised as shining like lapis lazuli—but not at this moment.
Now, their color resembled the deep sea.
Anastasia quickly accepted that her values had been changed by humiliation and a crushed spirit at the moment of her death.
Resignation, pain, rage, and tears quickly swept through her soul.
“Hah! Are you still sitting there like an idiot? Didn’t you hear me?”
There was no longer any reason to endure it—and no desire to.
Even the iron shackles bound around her ankles to prevent magic and escape had already crumbled to pieces.
Anastasia quietly murmured:
“At the edge of life, writhing like a serpent, hanging upside down like a bat.”
The sacred will of the world willingly accepted her prayer woven into verse and song.
“Aaah—AAGH!!!”
Outside the open window, Diana was suddenly hung upside down.
“A-A-Aaaah! Miss! Miss!!!”
That “miss.”
Anastasia looked down at Diana, hanging by her ankles outside the window, her dark, deep-sea eyes gazing downward as she whispered softly:
“The one who will save your life is not ‘miss,’ Diana.”
With a flick of her fingers, Diana’s body spun once in the air.
A terrified scream followed. Strangely, Anastasia found she did not dislike that scream.
“From now on, it’s Lady Anastasia Étranger. Speak properly.”
After a brief pause, she added:
“Before I really let you fall.”
Strangely, she felt a sense of relief.
