【This chapter is from the perspective of the Duke’s Daughter】
The thick, pitch-black night hung heavy, a Blood Moon—rare to see in several years—glowing ominously in the sky.
In the forest, the dark gray Castle appeared eerie and sinister in the cold night, with not a single sound around.
Inside the Duke’s Daughter’s exclusive room.
Little Motifira lay on the two-meter-wide grand bed, her fine golden hair spread over the pillow.
She wore an exquisitely ornate princess dress, the diamonds on the hem scattering fragmented colors.
Her eyes were tightly shut, her small brows furrowed deeply, as if trapped in a dreadful dream.
Uneasily, she shifted closer to the front of the bed, wanting to return to her mother’s warm embrace, only to grasp at empty air.
She blinked in confusion, finding no sign of her mother.
Rubbing her sleepy eyes, she called softly, “Mama?”
No answer.
Outside, the Blood Moon cast a strange red light, unsettling and eerie.
Little Motifira hugged her teddy bear tighter in fear, the plush toy nearly misshapen from her grip.
She threw off the covers and left the warmth of her bed, clutching the bear and stepping barefoot softly onto the floor.
Her skirt swayed lightly as she moved. Motifira tiptoed to the door, reached up, and pressed down on the golden doorknob.
The door opened, and her feet stepped onto a soft carpet without making a sound.
The Castle was vast and shadowed, only one lamp burning faintly.
The hallway’s depths were swallowed by darkness, and within that darkness seemed to lurk an unknown terror that no one dared approach.
The dim light stretched out Motifira’s lonely silhouette.
A chill crept into her heart. The frightened little girl’s voice trembled as she called again,
“Mama?”
Not far off, the Duke’s Room was open, moonlight spilling from within.
Thinking her mother might be there, she inched closer step by step.
The nearer she got, the more uneasy she felt. Her little heart pounded wildly, and her small hands squeezed the teddy bear until it twisted out of shape.
Under the blood-red moonlight, a man with curly hair held a bloodied knife. His gem-like red eyes were terrifying in the dim glow, dripping with bloodlust.
On the floor lay a woman in a white dress. Across her back was a fresh, several-decimeter-long bloodstain. Her golden hair was matted with blood.
The Duke’s eyes were filled with disgust. There was no remorse for killing his wife—instead, a faint excitement shimmered in his gaze.
He began to deal with the body. In the moonlight, his face twisted into a grotesque mask.
He wiped the Duchess’s wounds clean and arranged her body to look as if she were peacefully sleeping.
Outside the door, the tiny golden figure bit her lip to keep from screaming. Tears slid down her hand, her eyes—so like the Duke’s—held equal parts fear and a hatred far beyond her years.
She made not a sound, quietly taking in the entire staged scene of this murder disguised as an accident.
She recorded every detail with sharp clarity.
……
“Mama!”
The golden-haired woman on the bed suddenly opened her eyes, her chest rising and falling sharply. Cold sweat drenched the strands of hair on her forehead.
She reached for the tattered teddy bear on the bedside and hugged it tightly, burying her face inside and closing her eyes gently, as if that could bring her a sense of safety.
After a while, her emotions slowly calmed.
The Duke’s Daughter expressionlessly put down the bear, her eyes returning to their usual icy coldness.
Since the day her mother was murdered, she had relived this nightmare over and over, her body forced to endure the most painful memories to remind her never to forget revenge—to kill the wretched man responsible.
“Knock, knock, knock.”
“Come in.”
The Headless Maid pushed open the door respectfully and said, “Miss, your coffee.”
“Leave it there.”
She had no appetite. It felt as though her body no longer needed food or water, yet she kept up the habit every day.
Now the sole ruler of the Castle, the Duke’s Daughter controlled everything here but still seemed to possess nothing—forever alone.
The Duke’s Daughter opened the wardrobe. Inside stood a man with black curly hair and red eyes. She roughly yanked him out and threw him to the floor.
She raised her foot and crushed down hard on his head, a crunch echoing beneath her sole. Yet her fury remained unsated.
“Get lost.”
She kicked the Duke, who crawled away like a dog.
The cruel Duke had killed countless people in his lifetime. Even now, the punishment was far too lenient.
He had once dismembered a little girl to make exquisite dishes, drenching them in meat sauce, and feasted upon them at the Castle’s long dining table.
In front of everyone in the territory, he had personally executed those who dared show discontent toward his tyranny with the Execution Device—breaking every finger before chopping off limbs, then soaking them in a corrosive chemical potion as they writhed in agony.
And, of course, he brutally murdered his own wife.
The Duke’s Daughter scornfully threw the shoe she had kicked him with into the trash.
Though she had already turned the Duke into a doll, making him into the lowly Butler he hated most; had killed the Butler who harassed the maids and secretly drugged her mother; had cut off the Gardener’s finger for purposely ruining her dolls and bullying her because she was just a child—her heart still felt empty, and her hatred had not lessened one bit.
She always felt things shouldn’t be this way. Her life shouldn’t be like this. Her parents had treated her so well. They were happy. And then there was…
Who else?
Every time she reached this thought, her memories would abruptly stop, as if a name hovered on the edge of recall—just out of reach. She repeatedly went over her memories, trying to find a clue.
But there wasn’t even the smallest hint.
She always stood by the window waiting. She didn’t know who she was waiting for—just standing there, through endless years, seemingly repeating this timeless vigil.
From a certain day onward, this place was no longer just the arrival point of waves of Players—some curious, some seeking challenges, some selfish, some violent and aggressive.
The Castle came alive, receiving different Players every week.
One group after another came here; some broke the Rules of the Castle and died, some survived by luck.
Her only daily pleasure—if it could even be called that—was watching these Players through the eyes of the Duke and the Maid.
For some reason, she longed to see Players who were different, but with each disappointment, her patience waned.
……
Until.
It was a night no different from any other, when yet another wave of new Players arrived.
On the first night, the Duke’s Daughter could not leave her room.
She, as usual, observed the Players through the Maid’s eyes—faces uninteresting, personalities dull, everything mundane…
Until, through the blurry gaze of the Headless Maid, she turned to look at that person—soft black hair framing a sweet face, a calm expression that made her heart race.
In that moment, for the first time, she felt her blood boil, her spirit blooming like fireworks.
She remembered.
Long time no see, my heart’s desire, my…
The beautiful young girl handed a handkerchief to the Maid.
“Take this.”
She ordered the Maid.