The beloved daughter of the Northern Duke, Amir Le Vorndel.
With a face like a porcelain doll, long silver hair cascading like moonlight, and eyes that glowed like ice-blue jewels, Amelia was a living fairy tale to those who beheld her. A snow fairy, they whispered, blessed by the cold and untouched by the world's filth.
But fairytales were lies.
No one saw the scars she bore. No one knew the truths she carried, truths she should have never known.
She was bound to die before her coming of age.
---
Alistair, Year 731 - Midwinter
"Mummy?" A soft voice whispered through the dimly lit chamber, a small figure slipping past the heavy drapes into the warmth of the Duchess's room.
"Come here, my darling." A gentle hand reached out from the bed, weak yet comforting. "Could you not sleep?"
"I just woke up, Mummy! I had a wonderful dream!" Amelia beamed as she climbed onto the bed, her tiny arms wrapping around her mother's frail body. "I wanted you to be the first to hear it."
The Duchess smiled, stroking her daughter's soft silver hair, and listened. Until Amelia's words grew slower, sleep lulling her back into a world of dreams.
She never knew that would be the last time.
The next time she opened her eyes, she was being carried away. Her mother's room was a storm of movement—maids rushing back and forth, physicians whispering grimly among themselves.
"It's Typidia," one of them murmured. "It's far too late."
A sick feeling churned in Amelia's stomach. She turned her head, searching for her mother amidst the crowd.
"You mustn't see Her Highness right now, Young Lady." A maid held her back, eyes glistening with unshed tears.
"Mother!"
A voice called from the hallway—Azrael, her brother, pushing past the guards.
"No! I have to see her! Please!"
The guards held firm, but a sudden hush fell over the room.
"Azrael... Amelia..."
The Duchess's voice was barely above a whisper, yet it silenced the chaos.
Slowly, the guards stepped aside, allowing the children to approach. Amelia rushed to her mother's bedside, clutching onto the weak hands that had once embraced her with endless warmth.
And then, that warmth faded.
The embrace loosened.
And the Duchess was gone.
---
Alistair, Year 731 - Winter Solstice
"I want to see Mommy, Brother."
Azrael held her small hand as they walked through the vast halls of the palace. His steps were steady, his grip firm, but Amelia could feel the weight pressing against him.
She looked up, waiting for his answer.
Azrael knelt, brushing a strand of silver from her face. "Listen carefully, okay?"
She nodded.
"Mother's not with us anymore."
"Where did she go?"
"To a quiet and beautiful place. A field of white roses under a moon that never fades."
"Like the garden?"
"No… even more beautiful."
Amelia's eyes lit up. "Then I want to go there too!"
Azrael hesitated, then smiled—a soft, bittersweet smile. "Mother wants to be alone this time, Amelia. Maybe one day."
And so, the little girl believed him.
She smiled, played, and laughed, running to her brother with open arms whenever she could. Days passed, and though she still asked about their mother, Azrael always found a way to turn her thoughts elsewhere.
Then, one morning, she walked into the dining hall, excited as always—only to find silence.
At the head of the table sat the Duke.
It had been a month since she last saw her father. Heart swelling with anticipation, she ran toward him.
"Good morning, Father!" She reached out to embrace him—
But she froze.
A cold, suffocating aura pressed against her, pinning her feet to the floor.
"Where is your mother, Amelia?"
The room spun. Her heart pounded.
"B-Brother said she went to see the white roses within the moon that forever shines."
A sharp pain shot through her head, warm liquid dripping from her nose.
The door burst open.
Azrael.
She smiled at the sight of him—then collapsed.
---
Alistair, Year 731 - End of Winter
When she woke, the first thing she saw was her father.
"Father…" Her voice trembled. "What is dying? Am I dying?"
---
Alistair, Year 732 - Start of Spring
"You can't—"
"Brother!" Amelia cried, tears streaking down her porcelain cheeks as she clung desperately to Azrael's hand. "You can't leave me! You said you wouldn't leave me!"
Azrael didn't look at her. His expression was unreadable, his hand slipping from her grasp.
"Take her away," he ordered.
"No! Hic—!" Amelia sobbed, struggling against the maids holding her back. "Brother! Please!"
But he never turned back.
---
Alistair, Year 736
"I want to see Father."
The head butler, Johann, bowed at her request. "I shall inform His Grace, Young Lady."
Minutes passed. Then an answer came.
"You may discuss it with him at dinner."
That evening, she sat across from the Duke at the long dining table, carefully keeping her back straight.
"Father, I want to attend the Academy."
"No."
"But Father—"
"You already have private instructors. There is no need."
She lowered her gaze. The conversation was over before it had even begun.
The Duke rose from his seat and left the room without another word.
---
Alistair, Year 739
Laughter echoed through the grand halls.
"Pfft. It's her debut, yet neither the Duke nor the Young Master bothered to come."
"How pathetic!"
"She's the Duke's daughter, yet she's nothing special. Unlike Lord Azrael! A genius! Perhaps that's why the Duke never lets her leave—so she won't embarrass the family name!"
"Did you hear? The Duchess fell gravely ill after giving birth to her! And she died soon after! A bad omen, I say!"
Amelia locked herself in her chamber.
The heavy dress she wore, the glittering ornaments decorating her body—none of it mattered.
She clutched her chest, gasping for breath as the pain clawed through her ribs.
She cried.
She called for her mother.
For her father.
For her brother.
No one answered.
Misery wrapped around her like chains, suffocating, consuming.
Her body trembled as she choked on sobs. The taste of iron spread across her tongue, and when she coughed—
Blood.
Her shaking fingers reached up, touching the red that stained her lips.
And for the first time, she realized—
She was utterly alone.
---
To be continued...