Chapter 58
Grace, under the pretext of deciphering the true meaning of the book, had disfigured half her maid’s face with burns.
She comforted the maid, who believed it was merely her own carelessness, calling it an unfortunate accident. Then Grace set her sights on her mother.
Following the book’s instructions to the letter, her mother lost three fingers.
Amid the crowd’s murmurs of pity over the tragic mishap, Grace smiled with quiet satisfaction and turned her attention to Dominic’s parents.
She had discovered Dominic first, yet because Wendy was born just a little earlier, she was chosen as his betrothed in an arranged marriage—a fact that gnawed at Grace’s pride.
So she acted. Soon after, Dominic’s parents departed for a place from which they would never return.
Next in line was Wendy, who stood by Dominic’s side, laughing brightly.
If Grace could eliminate her, Dominic would be hers.
And when Wendy died, just as Grace had intended, Dominic fell effortlessly into her grasp.
Each time, the family’s book delivered results that filled Grace with contentment, and she came to trust it implicitly.
And so, at last, she felt ready to attempt it—the incantation that promised power to shake the world.
She slaughtered a thousand beasts. It was an arduous, drawn-out task.
Countless times, she wielded the spell to summon the creatures, only to kill them, strip their flesh, and harvest their blood.
With hands stained crimson, she inscribed the incantation.
Enduring the acrid stench of blood that pulsed through her body, she found the outcome deeply satisfying.
Grace felt a spark of power flare within her.
No longer did she need to bother with the tedious task of gathering materials—she could command monstrous beasts at will.
With a mere thought, she could banish spring and summon winter.
She could afflict people with sickness under the guise of nightmares. She could even put a period to a life.
What should she do with this power?
Overthrow Phaelon’s emperor and seize the throne?
Turn every land but her own into an eternal winter, forcing others to beg for spring’s return?
Make them worship her as a god?
Force the arrogant Dominic to grovel for her love?
Every thought that flickered through Grace’s mind thrilled her.
But there was one thing she hadn’t known.
She only realized it after carrying Angela in her womb.
As the moon waxed, Angela siphoned Grace’s power, feeding on it like nourishment.
Despite the strength Grace had gained, she could find no way to stop the theft.
As her belly swelled, Grace felt herself wasting away.
When the premonition struck that more than half her power had been consumed, endangering her, she could bear it no longer. She tore open her womb.
That wretched thief could not be allowed to remain inside her.
Yet Grace had no idea how to reclaim the power embedded in that tiny life.
She scoured the cherished book, but it offered no answers.
The day she realized this, Grace hurled the family’s book across the room in a fit of rage.
She considered destroying it but feared the power it held would scatter if she did.
So she sat, day after day, brooding over the little thief before her, wrestling with her dilemma.
Then came the day her frustration boiled over, and she unleashed her fury.
From the small, writhing creature rolling on the floor, a faint pulse of anguish seeped into Grace, restoring a sliver of her power.
Haha.
Grace laughed, a chilling sound.
“You’re insane.”
Angela believed every word from Grace’s mouth was utter nonsense.
She had never possessed such power.
To admit it existed within her was to brand herself a demon, so Angela denied it with every fiber of her being.
“I don’t have that kind of power. I’m not…!”
“You can’t steal someone’s power and then pretend you know nothing about it.”
Grace cut through Angela’s protests with a single, sharp retort.
“You’ve already used it, haven’t you?”
“No, I haven’t.”
Angela shook her head, her eyes narrowing with defiance.
Grace tapped Angela’s forehead, jabbing it pointedly.
“This head of yours should remember.”
Was Grace showing her something? Angela wanted to close her eyes against the images flooding her mind.
“Just die already, you wretch.”
A younger Angela’s voice rang out, directed at Grace.
It was right after she had cut off Beatrice’s hair, declaring she wouldn’t let Grace—or anyone—hurt her anymore.
Grace’s face betrayed a flicker of surprise for the first time.
After that, she began to waste away, bit by bit.
“I’ll kill you. Even if my heart bursts, I’ll make sure you die.”
This time, it was a silent scream within her heart, aimed at the men who had once harassed her.
Kalian had never spoken of it, but those men were likely already dead.
Kalian wouldn’t have let them live.
“That vile blonde wench would be better off dead.”
Next came a voice spitting venom at her own reflection in the mirror.
And that “vile blonde wench” had since fallen into the depths of hell.
Angela sank into silent despair.
Grace was right. She had cursed, and those curses had wrought real consequences.
“If you’d been unlucky, it could’ve ended right there.”
Grace let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. Angela, turning away from the theatrics, spoke.
“Are you saying this isn’t the end?”
“Of course it isn’t.”
Grace’s reply was resolute. Her story continued.
Feeding on Angela’s misery, Grace had been slowly, ever so slowly, reclaiming her power.
It was a sluggish process, but progress nonetheless.
She had discovered a method the book hadn’t revealed.
Angela, a child with so much to lose, was easy to wound.
On days she shed tears, Grace felt sated without even eating.
By the time Angela reached adulthood, Grace believed everything would fall back into place.
Then she would deal with the thief.
She would lock her in a winter forest and starve her to death.
The mere thought filled Grace with pride.
But awakening came without warning.
“Just die already, you wretch.”
The words, shouted with all the strength of that small body, pierced Grace’s heart like a dagger.
For years, she lay bedridden, unable to move.
She tried to endure, swallowing the pain Angela exuded as she sat by her side, but now it was Angela who was consuming her suffering, turning it into power.
If they remained together, Grace saw a future where she would be crushed by Angela’s strength.
That could not be allowed.
While she still had some power left, Grace needed to escape Angela and find a solution.
She chose death—or rather, the illusion of it. Using the last of her strength, she staged her demise and hid beneath a coffin.
Recovery was slow. For three years, she slept as if dead before emerging into the world again.
When she opened her eyes, a measure of strength had returned, coursing through her body.
But it was only enough to feel human. That wasn’t what Grace desired.
She needed to fully reclaim the power residing within Angela, that wretched girl.
Grace wandered Phaelon in search of a way, leaving no stone unturned. But the answer…
“It was in the most unexpected place.”
Grace had given up on Phaelon and crossed the border into an unmelting snowfield.
There, at last, she found her answer.
All she had to do was swallow the still-beating heart of that thief, pulsing with her stolen power.
“So, hand it over.”
Angela stared at Grace with disbelief, realizing the mother she thought she’d met in hell was hell itself.
“It was always mine. Time to return it to its rightful owner.”
Grace’s lips curled into a smile as she dragged the tip of her nail across Angela’s cheek.
Her claw trailed down, grazing Angela’s throat until it reached the center of her chest.
She pressed harder, as if her nail might burrow in at any moment.
“Don’t… touch me!”
Angela’s cry tore through the air like a scream.
In that instant, a blinding flash erupted, and Grace was flung backward.
Caught off guard by the unexpected force, a flicker of panic crossed her face.
Feeling her body suddenly free, Angela seized the moment while Grace was still reeling and bolted into the shadows behind her.
In the blink of an eye, she vanished from Grace’s sight.
* * *
Grace’s eyes snapped open, and she staggered to her feet, her body unsteady.
With a furious sweep of her arm, she sent the candle and a strange, bloodied lump on the table crashing to the floor.
The effort left her gasping, her breaths ragged as she leaned heavily against the table’s edge.
“Things didn’t go as planned, I take it.”
A man approached, his voice laced with unease as he spoke.
“She might soon learn to wield that power,” Grace replied without so much as a glance his way.
The man’s brow furrowed instantly, his pale blue eyes narrowing with distortion. “That’s a problem, isn’t it?”
“A problem,” Grace muttered, her voice low. “A real problem.”
Her mind drifted back to that moment when Angela’s single cry had sent her sprawling.
The shock of being overpowered by someone she’d always thought she could dominate was no small thing.
Running both hands through her disheveled hair, Grace turned to face the man, her expression venomous as she jerked her chin toward the bloodied heap on the floor.
“Prepare another one.”
The man nodded, then hesitated before adding, “This time, you’d better get something out of it.”
* * *
Angela.
Angela.
Angela.
Angela.
As she ran blindly through the darkness, a voice called her name.
Without knowing why, Angela knew it was a voice meant to save her.
It never faltered, guiding her like a beacon to keep her from losing her way.
Trusting this formless guide, she pressed forward, racing toward the source of the sound.
The moment she thought she’d finally caught up to it—
“Angela.”
Her eyes flew open, enveloped by a searing heat.
She was wrapped in air that burned with intensity, yet the arms holding her were warmer still. Whose arms could they be?
Who else would hold her with such desperate strength?
Angela knew at once the identity of this man who seemed to see nothing but her.
“Haa…”
She wanted to call out Kalian, but all that escaped her lips was a fragile, threadbare breath, on the verge of breaking. Whatever he heard in it, the arms clutching her tightened with fervent urgency.
* * *
“Have any of you heard the rumor?”
The question came from a noblewoman as she laid down one of her cards, drawing the attention of the other ladies seated around the table.
Pleased to have captured their interest, she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, despite the room being empty of prying ears.
“They say Lady Bilton is alive.”
The words hit like a thunderbolt, and the women couldn’t hide their shock—mouths agape, eyes wide in a display that bordered on unseemly.
“Oh… haha, what an absurd thing to say,” one woman managed, recovering first with an awkward laugh as she pretended to study her cards.
“How could someone who’s dead come back to life?”
Angela Bilton’s death was an open secret, though no funeral had been held.
The whispers of upheaval in the Bilton ducal house had long since spilled over the walls of their grand estate.
Everyone who was anyone knew the Earl of Florence had stolen Angela’s body and fled to his own lands, preventing any proper rites.
Bilton Castle was quieter than ever, a silence that screamed of trouble brewing within.
By all accounts, Angela Bilton’s death was certain.
At this point, people were more intrigued by when and how the two had kindled their romance than by her passing.
Some even called Kalian’s refusal to accept his lover’s death a romantic gesture, spinning his desperate act into something poetic.
Grief for the dead had been fleeting.
Alive? Preposterous.
“Come now, it’s been ages since word of Lady Bilton’s death spread. Alive, you say? You must have heard wrong,” another woman chimed in.
“Exactly. Must be some idle gossip. Unless Lady Bilton was possessed by some evil spirit, how could she…?”
“Let’s stop with the talk of the dead,” another interrupted. “It’s enough to give me nightmares.”
One by one, the women regained their composure, dismissing the claim with murmurs of agreement.
But the noblewoman who’d first spoken wasn’t swayed. Her face remained resolute, brimming with certainty.
“Do you think I’d bring this up for no reason?” she pressed.
Setting her cards face-down, she leaned in, her voice dropping even lower.
“My family supplies wine to Bilton Castle. Just a few days ago, some of our servants were there for a delivery and saw it with their own eyes—pandemonium in the castle because Lady Bilton had woken up.”
A hush fell over the table as she continued, her words cloaked in secrecy.
“Three physicians were summoned, and every outsider was promptly thrown out. What do you suppose that means?”
