Chapter 11
From that day on, Talia could barely eat anything at all. She simply couldn't trust what might be hidden inside her food.
Her nurse, baffled, grew increasingly frustrated. She simply assumed Talia had become picky and difficult.
Without explaining anything, Talia survived on the small amounts of fruit and honey her nurse occasionally brought her as snacks.
Loneliness and isolation were no longer even the problem. In the most opulent, luxurious place in the world, she found herself locked in a battle against starvation.
Some days, when the hunger became unbearable, she would reluctantly reach for the food the servants brought her. But without fail, something would turn up inside it—a bug, a rat, or sometimes a tangled clump of hair whose origin she couldn't begin to guess.
After enduring that a few times, she reached a point where she couldn't bring herself to touch anything at all. Within a few weeks, she'd grown pitifully thin.
Eventually, even her thick-headed nurse seemed to notice that something was seriously wrong. She marched straight to the Empress and made a fuss, insisting that her only daughter was wasting away to death.
Thanks to that, Talia finally got to see her mother's face after months apart.
"How did you end up looking like this?"
That was what Senevier said, the first time she visited the annex, after having seemingly forgotten her daughter's existence entirely.
Compared to her own thoroughly ruined appearance, Talia looked at her mother—blooming vividly, like a flower in summer—and felt her eyes burn. Watching that innocent, almost childlike bright face, a wave of fury surged up inside her.
She'd meant to be angry with her. She'd planned to scream at her, demanding how she could be so utterly self-absorbed. But the moment she opened her mouth, sobs burst out instead.
Talia wailed like a newborn, pouring out everything that had happened. She confessed every detail, one by one—the horrific things the annex servants had done, all the cruelty she'd had to endure. Until the whole story was finished, Senevier simply sat beside the bed, listening in silence.
Talia assumed she was staying quiet, holding back her fury. That she must have been rendered speechless by the horrors inflicted on her only daughter.
So Talia grabbed her mother's arm and shook it roughly, demanding urgently,
"Mother! Make them stop tormenting me! You have to do something right now so no one can ever hurt me again!"
"Why should I do that?"
Senevier said, tilting her head.
Talia was stunned by the unexpected reply. Senevier's face was filled with nothing but pure, genuine curiosity—the expression of someone who truly, sincerely couldn't understand why an exhausted, abused child would come to her for help.
"Talia, this palace is your palace, and every servant in this castle belongs to you. You're nine years old now. Why would you throw a tantrum at your mother just because you can't manage your own belongings properly?"
Talia was left utterly speechless.
Senevier cupped her own cheek with one hand and sighed, sounding genuinely disappointed.
"You're the Emperor's daughter. I truly don't understand why you're letting yourself be victimized one-sidedly by people so far beneath you. It's honestly baffling that my own daughter could be this naive and weak."
"M-mother..."
Senevier gazed thoughtfully at a candle flickering by the window. Her chillingly beautiful face showed not a trace of anger over her daughter's abuse—only a faint disappointment, a kind of impatience, and the look of someone seriously considering how best to enlighten a slow-witted child.
Talia felt as though she were dealing with some insect skillfully mimicking a human form.
After a long moment of thought, Senevier snapped her fingers.
"Let's do this. I'll leave you a capable guard to look after you. A man I've trained thoroughly, over a very long time. Handled properly, he'll prove quite useful."
As though that settled the entire matter, she rose to her feet.
Talia desperately clutched at the hem of her mother's dress.
"I don't need someone like that! I want to be with you, Mother!"
At the anguished cry, a flicker of disgust crossed Senevier's face. Talia went pale with shock.
Senevier peeled her daughter's fingers off her dress, one by one, then leaned down toward her. She clicked her tongue, sounding genuinely pitying.
"Talia, all of this began because of me. And yet, do you know why no one dares put a rat in my soup?"
Talia froze like a mouse before a snake, unable to answer.
Senevier continued softly.
"Why is my bathwater always warm and fragrant? Why is my table always overflowing with food? Why don't they dare do to me what they do to you? Shall Mother tell you the secret?"
Her blood-red lips brushed close against her daughter's ear.
"It's because they fear me. That's why none of them would ever dare try something like that against me. In fact, some of them even hold me in something close to awe. Of course, there are countless others who feel disgust and contempt toward me too. But even they see me as something to be wary of—not something to torment. Because I am a deeply threatening presence."
She stared straight into her daughter's eyes. Talia could catch a glimpse of something dark and coiled, lurking within Senevier's gaze.
Straightening back up, Senevier offered one final piece of advice.
"Remember this. Something strong and beautiful becomes an object of fear and admiration. But something beautiful and weak becomes easy prey. Especially here, in this palace. If you don't want to be mercilessly trampled by all the beasts who'll come after you from now on, you'd better make sure no one ever discovers that you're weak."
With those final words, she left—leaving her thoroughly weakened daughter behind her.
That night, Talia turned her mother's words over and over in her mind.
The weak get trampled. And Senevier, it seemed, had not the slightest intention of protecting her fragile young daughter from being mercilessly crushed.
Perhaps this was how a defeated soldier felt, having lost even their last stronghold. Her whole body trembled with fear at the thought that even more horrific things might await her.
Even if she were subjected to worse treatment than this, no one would protect her. If even her own mother had turned away from her, would the Emperor ever spare a glance for the illegitimate child who was, essentially, his own shameful secret?
Curling herself up tightly under the blankets, she anxiously gnawed at her fingernails. The image of the servants' feet, seen while she lay retching on the dining hall floor, flickered through her mind.
Those indifferent feet, bustling busily around her wretched, collapsed body... She could easily imagine those same feet trampling her like some insignificant insect.
Her eyes burned like fire. Her mother was right. Before long, she would be crushed into nothing.
And she'd been driven into this situation entirely because she had cast herself as the guilty party. Her own sense of guilt was what had made her weak.
The moment she'd begun acting helpless, as though she deserved whatever was done to her, they had instinctively sensed that she wouldn't fight back. In her cowering posture, her downcast eyes, her hesitant way of speaking... they had spotted the shape of a victim, and had begun growing crueler without restraint.
When morning finally broke, Talia understood, with absolute clarity, exactly what she needed to do.
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