~Chapter 2~
“Remember this well: this will be your only worth, and the thing that keeps you alive.”
“Mother, I don’t want to eat this… I’m so sick…”
In the bitter chill of her childhood, Camilla’s mother forced her, time and again, to swallow the juice of poisonous herbs in their mountain hut.
Each time she drank, her stomach would burn like fire, and she would vomit again and again. The agony was so intense that she pleaded, breathless, to be spared.
“Endure for ten minutes, and I’ll give you the antidote. If you can’t even bear this, you’re worthless.”
No amount of begging changed anything.
By the age of six, Camilla realized that it was better to curl up and wish for time to pass swiftly than to hope for impossible mercy.
After ten minutes, her mother would indeed give her an antidote, and sometimes, if Camilla endured especially well, she would gently stroke her hair.
Thus, Camilla came to know the taste of countless poisons that built up within her, and, in equal measure, she grew addicted to the fleeting warmth of her mother’s touch.
When Camilla turned twelve, her mother said,
“This will be the last time.”
“Really?” Camilla, filled with joy, took the poison from her mother’s hand. And then—
“Please! Spare me!”
The pain this time was unlike anything she had ever known. She wept, screaming for her life, coughing blood, unable to do more than writhe feebly in the fire that consumed her insides.
She gaped, wordless, up at her mother.
‘Mother, please… please save me…’
Was it a hallucination brought on by agony?
‘Why are you smiling, Mother?’
Whether it was real or not, Camilla’s mind faded into darkness.
When she awoke, her mother whispered tenderly,
“Now, no poison will ever kill you. Unless it’s from the legendary land beyond the sea, nothing can harm you.”
She did not know what it meant, but seeing her mother smile, Camilla felt her own heart grow light.
Yet Camilla did not realize—
That this would be her last day with her mother.
For the next morning, strange men and armed soldiers came pouring into the mountain hut.
“Mother?”
Awoken by the orderly clatter and rising commotion, Camilla rubbed her eyes and stepped out, only to find herself greeted by a stranger.
He was a man with fierce eyes and a well-groomed mustache, clad in a fine cloak—an aristocrat sprung from the pages of a fairy tale.
Camilla’s mother pushed her trembling daughter toward the nobleman.
“Take her with you, Baron.”
“What…?”
To Camilla, it felt as though her world was crumbling. Her mother, wearing an expression Camilla had never seen, whispered as if in a dream,
“I’ve wagered everything to raise her. She’ll be far more useful to you than I ever was. In exchange, give me just one chest of gold coins.”
The man called Baron seized Camilla’s shoulders.
“Drink this.”
From his breast pocket, he produced a clear vial and pressed it into Camilla’s hands.
“Hurry, do as the Baron says!”
At her mother’s urging, Camilla took the bottle with trembling hands and pulled the stopper. The sharp, bitter scent was achingly familiar.
‘It’s the poison I took during my last lesson…’
Would her belly burn again? Would she collapse?
Though trembling in dread, Camilla drank every drop. The bitterness lingered, but this time, nothing happened.
The Baron, his eyes glinting with greed, looked down at her.
“Impressive. What is your name?”
“Camilla… I have no surname.”
“My poor child. You have grown up not even knowing your father’s name.”
He swept her into his arms.
“You are of the blood of House Mowin.”
Camilla, who had never known the embrace of an adult, shivered in his grasp.
‘He’s warm…’
The man, who smelled of tobacco and starched cloth, was, she realized, her ‘father.’
‘Fairy-tale heroines always set out in search of their noble fathers. And in the end, they found them and lived happily ever after. But… somehow, this doesn’t feel like that kind of story.’
“From now on, you will go to your true home.”
There was no place for her mother in those words. Camilla raised her head and asked,
“Then… what about Mother?”
“Your mother is free now.”
Startled, Camilla looked back at her mother, who spoke in a hoarse voice.
“Go with the Baron.”
“But—!”
“Will you keep blocking my path to the end?! Go, at once!”
Camilla nodded, her face wet with tears.
The Baron placed Camilla in the carriage, whispering as she kept her eyes fixed on the ramshackle hut vanishing behind them.
“You are going to a very precious place. Promise me you’ll be good.”
“Yes… I promise.”
“If you behave, I’ll let you see your mother again.”
Clutching her small bundle, Camilla hesitated, then spoke.
“One more time—let me see Mother just once more!”
Before the Baron could reply, she flung open the carriage door and ran, breathless, to the hut, pounding on the locked door.
“Please, just a moment!”
She dodged the arms of the servants trying to restrain her and peered through the keyhole. Her eyes widened.
“Ah, at last, I can breathe again! My youth is returned to me!”
Beyond the keyhole, Camilla saw her mother, wild with laughter, clutching the chest of gold coins.
That was the last glimpse she had, before the servants dragged her away.
‘Mother abandoned me.’
It took half a day to reach the ‘precious place.’
Having never ridden in a carriage before, every part of Camilla’s body ached, but she endured with open eyes, the sight through the keyhole tormenting her heart.
“From now on, you are my daughter. Forget the hut.”
“…Yes.”
When she finally stepped out of the carriage, a grand mansion far grander than the village chief’s home filled her view—a mansion so imposing, it seemed a castle from a fairy tale. On either side of the carriage, servants lined up to greet them.
“A banquet awaits you, my daughter.”
Camilla was led into a vast dining hall.
As she entered with the Baron, a severe-looking maid silently helped her to a seat.
She stared in awe at the lavish spread before her—roast goose glistening with fat, risotto, and pudding crowned with cream.
‘So colorful! I’ve never seen anything like this.’
Though thoughts of her mother nearly split her heart in two, hunger overcame her after the long journey.
The Baron nodded at her to begin.
“Why isn’t Father eating?”
“Didn’t I say this banquet was for you?”
Nervous, Camilla swallowed and raised her spoon. The moment she tasted the pudding, her eyes widened.
‘Delicious!’
Sweetness melted on her tongue, a blush rising in her cheeks.
‘Just one more bite…’
As she reached for the pudding again—
Crack!
Camilla flinched.
The severe maid had struck the table with a rod.
“Only one bite from each dish, miss.”
She nodded, shrinking back.
‘Of course. Something so delicious can’t possibly all be mine.’
Carefully, she reached for the goose, cut into perfect slices.
Once again, the taste was heavenly. Before she could reach for more, the menacing sound of the rod stopped her. Though limited to one bite per dish, there were so many kinds that, for a child, it was plenty.
She patted her now-full belly.
‘It was so good!’
But she could eat no more. When Camilla hesitated, the maid spoke sharply.
“You are to take only one bite from each plate.”
“But…”
She glanced at her father, but since the meal began, he had never intervened, only watched her with cold, expectant eyes.
“…Understood.”
Camilla nodded and dutifully took a single bite from every remaining dish. But when she finally tasted the gnocchi, she wrinkled her nose in confusion.
‘Is it supposed to taste like this?’
It was unbearably bitter. The maid, watching her closely, ordered a servant,
“Fetch the chef.”
With a crash, the servants dragged the trembling chef into the hall and flung him to the floor. Camilla froze.
‘What’s happening? Why did they bring him?’
“Feed him.”
This time, it was Baron Mowin who spoke. At his command, the servants seized the chef and forced the gnocchi into his mouth.
He choked, clawed at his throat, and collapsed to the ground.
