The night in the ruins, the fallen angel folded her black wings and walked through the long corridor.
She stopped at Yisela’s door.
A sliver of light seeped through the crack—the nightlight Yisela insisted on keeping.
“This princess is afraid of the dark.”
Those words came from that silver-haired little girl herself.
She said it with her chin raised high, as if declaring some grand command.
The fallen angel stood at the door.
She remembered. She remembered clearly.
She remembered that day, when the silver-haired little princess was tied up in a big X shape by slimes, crying out in shame, her voice enough to lift the roof.
She remembered in the hot spring, when she plastered rose petals all over her face, laughing like a triumphant little fox.
She also remembered how, while cursing “poker face,” she secretly pushed the biggest piece of roasted lamb leg over, stubbornly saying, “This princess just doesn’t like this piece. It’s a reward for you.”
She remembered so many things.
But logically, she shouldn’t.
A puppet has no need for memories.
Memories in the mind are nothing but extra trouble, only dragging down efficiency.
The master’s orders are absolute; the core command is the only rule.
Take care of the silver-haired little princess’s daily life. Prevent her from escaping.
That’s all.
As for whether this girl kicks off her blankets in the dead of night, has nightmares, or cries out for “Saint Sister” in her sleep—none of that falls under the instructions.
The fallen angel slowly raised her hand, her fingertips hovering over the door handle, not lowering it.
She peered through the crack in the door.
Yisela was sitting on the bed hugging a pillow, staring blankly at a moonstone.
That usually fierce little face now looked completely listless.
Her silver hair spilled over her shoulders.
“Are the Four Elders really on their way?”
Yisela’s voice was very small, muttering to herself, as if afraid someone might hear.
“Are they going to trick me again…”
“Like last time, throwing me out of the Dragon’s Nest, saying the outside world is wonderful, but not even giving me travel expenses!”
She looked down at her hands, at the faint black veins beneath her skin, her eyes reddening.
“The curse is devouring my power…”
“Before long, they won’t be able to sense me at all.”
“When that happens, I’ll really be all alone.”
The fallen angel’s finger twitched slightly.
A barely audible click came from the door handle.
Yisela snapped her head up.
“Who?”
The door swung open.
The fallen angel stood in the doorway.
Moonlight outlined her tall figure, her black wings casting a large shadow behind her.
Her face was beautiful, but utterly expressionless, her pale golden eyes calm like stagnant water.
“Your Highness, it’s very late.”
“I saw you crying. Would you like me to prepare some calming tea?”
Yisela was taken aback, then turned her head away, wiping her eyes roughly with her sleeve.
“This princess was not crying!”
“No!”
“You’re seeing things!”
“I saw nothing.”
“You clearly did!”
Yisela grabbed her pillow and threw it, which the fallen angel caught steadily.
“No!! You poker face, not sleeping in the middle of the night, spying on me—are you afraid I’ll run away?!”
“Let me tell you, this crappy ruins doesn’t even have a window. I… I couldn’t run even if I wanted to!”
The fallen angel held the pillow, silent for a long moment, then walked into the room and placed it back on the bed.
“Your Highness, if you can’t sleep—”
“I can sleep!”
“I’ll sleep right now!”
Yisela yanked the blanket over her head, her voice muffled and indistinct.
“Get out!”
The fallen angel didn’t move.
“This princess doesn’t need your company!”
She stood there, looking at the small lump under the blanket, watching it tremble slightly.
She remembered.
Vaguely, she remembered many years ago, someone else crying like that under a blanket.
That person had golden hair like sunlight, and clear green eyes like a stream.
That person also curled up in the darkness, clenching their teeth to keep from making a sound.
Because a bastard had no right to cry.
A long, long time ago, before she became a puppet.
That person’s name was Victor.
The fallen angel’s eyelashes trembled slightly.
“I’ll be right outside the door.”
“Your Highness, call me anytime you need.”
She turned and walked toward the door.
“Hey.”
The fallen angel stopped.
“Is it cold out there?”
“Puppets don’t feel cold or heat.”
“I asked if you’re cold, not how you feel!”
Yisela poked her head out from under the blanket, eyes red, but her chin still raised stubbornly.
“Those black wings of yours don’t look warm at all, like burnt chicken wings.”
“If you freeze to death, who’s going to give this princess a massage tomorrow?”
The fallen angel was silent for a long time.
“I’m not cold.”
“Liar.”
Yisela muttered, then pulled the blanket back over her head.
“Whatever.”
“Stand there if you want. Freeze to death, see if I care.”
The door closed softly.
The fallen angel leaned against the door panel and slowly slid down to sit.
Her black wings drooped to the floor, like two huge feathers, looking exhausted.
She looked up at the fake starry sky on the vaulted ceiling.
In her pale golden eyes, something seemed to be cracking.
“I’m not cold.”
Her voice was so soft, as if convincing herself.
“Puppets don’t feel cold.”
But her fingers were trembling.
Not from cold.
Victor’s phantom had long since dissipated, and the magic crystal had gone dark.
Deep in the ruins, the secret chamber.
But the fallen angel knew that her master’s eyes were everywhere.
The familiars lurking in the shadows, the surveillance arrays embedded in the walls—they were all faithfully recording her every move.
Don’t cross the line.
Core Command One: Take care of the Silver Dragon Princess’s daily life.
Core Command Two: Prevent the Silver Dragon Princess from escaping.
Every action beyond that is superfluous.
Puppets don’t need superfluous things.
But why… why did she remember that golden-haired boy curled up in the corner of the monastery?
Why did she remember the fire burning in those green eyes, the fire that refused to be crushed by fate?
Why, when she saw Yisela crying under her blanket, did the spot where her heart should be—that heart that should have stopped beating long ago—feel a dull ache?
She shouldn’t remember.
She shouldn’t have a heart.
The fallen angel closed her eyes, forcefully pushing the surging memories back into the depths of her consciousness.
There was a locked door there.
Behind that door was sealed everything from when she was human.
Her own name, her past, why she became a puppet—all locked behind that door.
The master had said that door should never be opened.
Because once opened, she would no longer be a puppet.
Inside the door.
Yisela lay in bed with her eyes open, staring at the fake stars on the ceiling.
“Fine, I cried a little.”
“But that’s only because the Four Elders said we definitely can’t win—absolutely not because they said ‘You will always be our princess.'”
“Absolutely not.”
Yisela turned over and looked toward the door.
That poker face was really guarding outside.
“Idiot.”
“Obviously there’s a room to sleep in, but you choose to guard the door.”
“Puppets aren’t guard dogs.”
She muttered softly, but quietly got up, grabbed a spare blanket from the bed, and tiptoed to the door.
She cracked it open.
She saw the fallen angel sitting against the door panel, black wings spread on the ground, eyes closed, breathing steady like she was asleep.
Yisela crouched down and gently draped the blanket over her.
“Don’t think this princess cares about you.”
She lowered her voice, her tone fierce.
“I’m just afraid you’ll freeze to death and no one will bring me breakfast tomorrow.”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
Then she stood up, ready to close the door, but suddenly stopped.
“Hey, poker face.”
“You said puppets don’t have names, but I think everyone should have their own name.”
“Once this princess gets out, I’ll give you one.”
“Ten thousand times better than ‘puppet.'”
Yisela closed the door, crawled back into bed, hugged her pillow, and curled up.
Outside the door.
The fallen angel slowly opened her eyes.
She looked down at the blanket on her, reached out, and touched it gently.
It was very soft.
She withdrew her hand and closed her eyes again.
But this time, the corner of her mouth seemed to curl up just a little.
Puppets don’t smile.
That was probably just an illusion.