The days of the little girl in the prison were lonely.

Her dull blue eyes stared at the iron bars with an expression that had long since stopped pleading for help. As she moved her feet, the chains binding them clanged softly, the cold metal echoing faintly in the small cell.

The discomfort of the dirt clinging to her skin was only overshadowed by the suffocating heat of the unventilated cells, mixed with the metallic odor of blood and dust. The rocky floor and the constant sound of pickaxes striking stone were the rhythm of her endless days and nights.

She had once tried to mark how long she had been there, but she gave up quickly. The girl, who only knew how to count up to twenty, was terrified of what would happen if the time stretched beyond that.

At first, there were still a few women from her village, along with strangers she had never met before. Though confused and hollow-eyed, they comforted her in the moments when she cried.

But, like her father, one day they too were taken away.

Inside the prison cell, where she didn’t even know why she was held, the little girl continued to spend her days alone.

Standing beside the solitary cell, two figures with silver hair watched the small girl with short hair curled up in the dirt as if she were a part of it.

“Why is she sad?” asked a childlike voice, tilting her head to get a better look. Her curious eyes followed the chained girl, who was being dragged away without resistance by a large armored man.

“Because she has no one left,” replied a cold, indifferent voice beside her.

“Where is she going now?”

“This is the day they took her left eye.”

Walking side by side, the two figures followed the small girl through the mines, the high-pitched squeal of carts full of minerals rolling along the tracks echoing all around.

“Why the eyes?”

Tilting her head in curiosity, two bright blue eyes looked up at the taller woman, who merely shrugged.

“They’re rare, like her hair.”

“That’s true. I remember Daddy saying they looked like a blue sky~” The childlike figure spoke with lyrical joy, her skipping footsteps echoing across the stone floor of the dungeon.

As they walked through the winding corridors, they reached a small room with a steel door.

The heavy creak of the door opening revealed the interior. A single chair dominated the space, with restraints on its legs and armrests, surrounded by tools gleaming under bluish lights.

The man led the girl inside. The sound of chains clinking filled the room as each restraint secured a part of her small body to the chair.

“What is it?” asked the childlike voice, attempting to step forward but held back by the taller woman. Her small fingers intertwined with the older one’s, her curious voice wanting to know why they didn’t enter the room whose door had just closed.

“There’s nothing to see here. Let’s go.” Shaking her head a few times, the tall woman in a black dress spoke in a melancholic tone, her fingers brushing over her face and fringe.

The two figures then walked away from the room, everything around them fading into a thick mist.

---

Inside the solitary cell, the girl with short silver hair lay on the bed, gazing at the world beyond the bars.

The flowers she had loved so dearly and worked so hard to collect in the forests now adorned every wall. They were so close, yet utterly unreachable.

Every day, the people worked mining there. She remembered trying to talk to them at first, but none ever responded.

Sometimes, one of them would collapse and lie motionless. Men in gleaming armor would come to take them away. The girl would watch the eyes of those men. Unlike the empty stares of the miners, their eyes held something different, but she never dared speak to them. It wasn’t kindness or love that resided there—there was something within their gaze, something cruel.

“Why doesn’t she work like the others?” the small girl asked, gripping the steel bars tightly.

“In the mine, only men or those with magical affinity work. Her value is higher if they sell her outright, but it must have taken time to find someone willing to pay their price. So, they began taking her apart, piece by piece.” The adult voice answered, bitterness lacing every word.

Walking up to the tall woman, the innocent voice asked curiously, her small fingers tugging at the black dress in front of her.

“What happened next?”

The little girl tilted her head in confusion as the adult gestured forward with her chin.

With the jingle of keys, the cell holding the girl was unlocked. Slowly, two men entered, their eyes fixed on the child with half of her face wrapped in bandages.

A cloth was stuffed into her mouth to keep her from making a sound. The girl, however, found the gesture pointless. She had no intention of speaking anyway. Her voice, as rare as the moments she didn’t cry, had long since become something she no longer cared to use.

She was already accustomed to being taken somewhere. Her hair wasn’t long yet, so the men hadn’t come for it. As she wondered which part of her body would be taken next, the chains on her feet were removed, and she was guided through the tunnels of the cave.

Though she was never good at counting or reading, she had a strong sense of direction. Even in a forest, she could find her way back purely by memory. She had walked these paths before—she was sure of it. But just as she couldn’t recall who had put her in that prison, she couldn’t remember how she had gotten there.

As the passages lit by bluish stones grew narrower, the girl felt the stifling heat give way to a creeping cold. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself for warmth, her single eye noticing the white mist slowly curling around her feet.

When she finally emerged outside, it wasn’t the sun that greeted her. As far as her small, ten-year-old body could see, there were houses, castles, walls, and mountains, all shrouded in a thick white fog. If her village had been the first world she’d known and the cell her second, this was as if she were stepping into a third for the first time.

Her contemplation was rudely interrupted when the men threw her into a barred wagon. Several crates were loaded alongside her, blocking the view of her compartment from the outside.

As the wagon began to move, the horses neighing and hooves clattering, she could hear the cheerful chatter of people on the streets. Children ran through the fog, their laughter piercing the haze. People hugged and smiled, their joy unaffected by the mist that obscured their world and made it harder to breathe.

Saying nothing, the girl simply watched it all through the gaps in the fabric lining the wagon. It was the first time in years that she had seen it.

Happiness.

Her gaze was intense as she took in the scenes outside the carriage. She wanted to remember this. And yet, as the wagon moved further away from the city, even the memory of what she had seen began to fade from her mind.

However, the feelings that had stirred in her heart continued to gnaw at her.

She had no idea how many days she had traveled or where she was headed. One night, deep in the forest, while eating the portion of rations given to her, she overheard the two men talking. Through the gaps in the wagon, she could see their cups filled with a strong-smelling drink, which they consumed steadily.

"Finally, we’ve got a buyer for this silver-haired bitch. But did we really have to travel this far for the delivery?" one of the men grumbled, taking another swig of his drink.

"Stop whining, you idiot! We’re getting a bonus for making the delivery ourselves. You’d better thank me—I’m the one who convinced the boss to choose us for the job."

"Didn’t I smuggle beer along for the trip? Shut up and drink."

The girl listened silently. Even a child like her could understand they were talking about her. Their client was waiting. Just like those who were taken from the cell and never returned, once she reached her destination, she would never leave.

Why? Why did she have to go through this? Why had she been denied the chance to live? Why was she not allowed to have what others did?

"And what did she do?" the childlike voice beside the carriage asked.

"She fought," the adult woman replied, her sharp gaze fixed on the darkness behind the large crates.

At that moment, a desperate scream erupted from within the carriage.

Both men dropped their cups and leaped up at the sound. Their drinks spilled onto the ground as they frantically began removing the crates, trying to find the source of the girl’s pained cries.

When they finally reached her, neither of them could understand what was happening. Writhing violently on the floor, the girl clutched her throat with both hands, her single eye wide with terror. The untouched ration beside her suggested she might be choking, but the fact that she could still scream hinted at something else.

Panicking, one of the men opened the cage and stepped inside to check on her, while the other searched for a healing potion.

The girl had never caused any trouble before—silent as a statue. Neither man had anticipated what she would do next.

Sinking her teeth into the fingers reaching for her, the girl darted under the man’s legs and out of the cage, slamming it shut behind her.

Without a moment’s hesitation, she bolted into the forest. The man trapped behind the bars stood stunned, the alcohol in his blood clouding his ability to process what had just happened. The other, however, pursued her desperately, crashing through the trees in pursuit.

Despite running with every ounce of strength she had, it didn’t take long for the girl to be caught. A child could not outrun an adult, let alone a mage.

"What’s he going to do?" the curious voice asked, watching the girl cornered at the edge of a cliff, the man approaching with a sword glowing with a blue aura in his hand.

"This was the price of wanting to live," the tall woman said, covering the small girl’s eyes with her hands. She watched as the blade struck, severing an arm from a body, the crimson blood painting the night. The girl tumbled backward into the abyss below.

---

Just like her village under the sun, the village shrouded in fog had no name.

But the girl quickly realized this place was nothing like where she had lived before. Here, no one extended a hand when she fell. No one offered her food when she was hungry.

The girl with only one arm and one eye was allowed to live in the village. But everything after that was a battle for her survival alone.

If she used the knowledge her father had taught her, she could sustain herself. Venturing into the forest daily, the girl gathered whatever herbs she could find to sell or trade for food.

Just like in her old home, month after month, year after year, she tried to create a small plantation. It took an immense amount of time and effort to harvest and find medicinal herbs in the forest, given her physical condition. But finally, she had built a small, sacred space she could call home.

She had been in that place for eight years.

The dense fog, turning days into shades of gray and nights into starless voids, was something she had never grown used to. The cold in the mist, which had once cut her skin and made her shiver, had somehow become natural to her. Yet, that normalization disturbed her.

The girl, expressionless, stared at the solitary piece of bread on the clay plate before her. Even though she did things the same way she had in the past, her family was no longer there to share it with her.

Even though she fought, she had achieved nothing.

Even though she tried to live, it felt as though she was already dead.

"Shall we go for a walk?"

Rising from the chair, the woman looked at the two figures near the door, her face blank and her single eye signaling them to leave the house.

"Where are we going?" asked the childlike voice, as the small girl held the hand of the black-dressed woman who never left her side.

"I just want to walk a little."

The one-armed girl stepped out of the house after closing the door, the woman in black and the small girl trailing a few steps behind.

The trio visited many houses during their walk. While the older woman found it monotonous, the village of a hundred inhabitants seemed completely fascinating to the small girl.

When they finished exploring the town, they reached a small river where villagers washed their clothes.

The river, icy and deep, made the older woman uneasy as she stared at it.

"Won’t you blame me?"

The voice of the woman in the black dress was reluctant, her eyes fixed on the back of the one-armed girl.

"For what?"

Falling to her knees by the river, the girl clenched her fists into the dirt.

"For failing to avenge Father!"

Her scream echoed across the horizon, her words filled with fury and bitterness as she clawed at the earth with all her might.

"Why would she blame you?" The silver-haired little girl walked along the riverbank with her hands behind her back. The cold breeze of the mist seemed pleasant to her, not something to despise.

"You wouldn’t understand! Every single day of our lives was worse than death!"

"But you survived." The blunt remark from the one-armed girl made the woman in the black dress lift her face in anger.

"Surviving isn’t the same as living! You fought to escape from there, and for what? Just to suffer more!?" she shouted again. "We had everything, and that man took it all from us. Father, our home, the village, our childhood! We lost everything! I had forgotten so much, but when I remembered everything I had lost, nothing made sense anymore," she confessed, her hands pressing against her head as if trying to contain something that had been trapped inside her.

"Then if you forget me, will everything go back to normal?" the small girl asked, tilting her head in doubt as she looked at the river. "If I’m the problem, then all you need to do is forget me, isn’t it?"

The little girl asked with a confident smile on her face, and upon hearing her, the woman in the black dress widened her eyes.

"If anyone should disappear, that someone should be me," the woman in the black dress declared as she gazed at her reflection in the river.

"Forgetfulness won't be your martyrdom, and guilt won't be your salvation," the woman with one arm said, looking at the two girls who were arguing.

"Then what should I do? I'm the only one who survived! There's nothing left, we've lost everything. This is a burden only I can carry!" the woman in the black dress shouted, but she was soon interrupted.

"Buh! Wrong! That's the wrong answer," the child puffed her cheeks in protest. "You've been wrong about something from the very beginning."

"How am I wrong!?"

"We didn't lose everything." Smiling gently, the little girl approached her. Taking her hand, dirty with soil and grass, she held it softly and placed something in her palm—something she'd forgotten.

The eyes of the woman in the black dress widened, and her words caught in her throat. In her hand now lay a small ornament of three flowers that she had made herself.

"You found it, didn't you?" the little girl asked softly.

"Found what...?"

Walking to the riverbank, the one-armed woman took slow, careful steps into the icy water. Gently, she extended her hand into the stream as if trying to grasp something. Her cheeks flushed red, and her lips curved into a wide smile, the joy in her words brighter than the sun she hadn't seen in so long.

"The third flower."

In her arms was a small, wounded, translucent sphere. The moment the woman in the black dress saw the metamorph, she ran toward her in desperation.

"No! No! I never wanted this to happen!" she cried, tears streaming down her face.

It was her fault that her wife was hurt. Because of her recklessness and the risks she'd taken, the person she loved most in the world had suffered.

"She stood by my side; she was the only one who stayed. And still, I made her go through this. I lied to her and made her suffer because of me." Clutching the metamorph tightly, the woman in the black dress spoke with anguish, her tears blurring her vision.

"So, what do we do when we've made a mistake?" Joining the group in the frigid water, the little girl asked playfully as she skipped about.

"Can I still change something?"

The voice of the woman in the black dress was confused, the desperation clear in her heterochromatic eyes. In response, the two versions of herself standing beside her let out soft laughter.

"The past can't be changed, but what you do from now on depends solely on your choices," said the woman in simple clothes, gently stroking the gelatinous surface of the metamorph with her one hand.

"Silly, didn't you say it yourself? Marriage is about that—supporting each other."

The child who had been lost. The teenager who had fought to survive. The adult doomed to bear the weight of what remained. All of them were parts of what was once a single self.

"Before, you said I found her, but that's wrong."@@novelbin@@

Placing the flower ornament in her silvery hair, the moment the three embraced the metamorph, a single joyful voice spoke:

"Gardenia found me."

Under the frozen lake, the girl closed her eyes and focused solely on the beating of her heart. Just like that day, even when everything seemed lost, she knew her beloved would come for her.

(Wake up.)

Shame, guilt, or helplessness—everything she'd tried to hide had to be laid bare. The girl understood this. No matter the cost, there was something she needed to say to the one she loved most in the world.

So she waited. The girl waited for the moment she knew would come.

There was only one way for that girl to be whole again: when her existence was called upon by that woman.

(Lily!)