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I asked in a calm tone. Taylor, who had been lazily laughing while twirling my silvery purple hair in his hands, stopped moving at the same moment as the question.

“Mel.”

“Answer me. Was it?”

“…I.”

Taylor’s tone was composed. No, he was pretending to be composed. His voice, trembling with faint displeasure and anxiety, was so low it was almost inaudible.

I felt like laughing.

“So, you wanted to change your ending?”

Taylor couldn’t answer. It was obviously a yes, but he was sensitive to my mood. It was clear from his inability to state the obvious.

Ah, villains. I finally burst into laughter in a languid voice. Then I put my arms around his back and pulled him closer for a hug.

To let him release me in surprise.

I took advantage of the momentary relaxation to leisurely step back. It was a cat-like movement.

Taylor approached me with a flustered expression as if I had taken his candy. I picked up a pillow from the bed with a nonchalant gesture, handed it to him, and placed my hand on his hair, stroking it.

Taylor, despite his secretive occupation as an assassin, was quite tall. Standing on tiptoe was quite annoying.

I only touched his hair a couple of times, and Taylor lowered his head to match my height, as if he regretted it. Seeing him act like a puppy, I couldn’t help but think he was quite a fox.

His hair, like a white thread, had become dry and rough from being confined for so long, but it was thin and soft to the touch.

In the end, Taylor neither pushed me away nor grabbed the hand stroking him but sat on the windowsill he had come through. His ears turned a pitifully bright red, looking adorable. I smiled faintly and asked,

“Did you get that advice?”

“…Why do you.”

“So, how much longer are you going to twist this ending?”

Taylor took a breath. It seemed that way.

I thought assassins were truly soundless beings. Until he moved from the window to the partially burned letter on the candle, I couldn’t hear any noise.

“Why do you hate it so much?”

He ended his question only after he was sure I wouldn’t continue my inquiry. I was pondering the need to show some coldness to these villains, who had committed a major crime of breaking out of prison just to see me, and then I confessed honestly out of growing frustration.

“Because it’s hard.”

Taylor jerked up as if wounded. I broke the silence that lasted for more than a few seconds and confessed.

“Because my sister couldn’t come out.”

It was a stark fact. I repeated, watching him blink his red eyes in confusion.

“The person I want to see the most is still there.”

Taylor ground his teeth at that. The sound was chilling. Nevertheless, his expression was pitiful and meek, looking as if he was afraid of being hated. It was similar to the description in the original work. I averted my sympathetic eyes from him.

Then I whispered firmly, as if brainwashing myself.

“That’s why I can’t afford to care about anything else.”

Taylor didn’t know how to respond to that. He seemed both despairing and slightly bitter, as if he had expected it.

I smiled and took in the sight of the pitiful, almost ephemeral-looking man. I didn’t even think of figuring out the meaning of his contradictory expression. I just felt sorry for his subtle behavior, unable to hide his obsession.

“That’s all there is.”

Yes, this lunatic had never been anyone’s first.

* * *

‘Surprisingly, the one whose mind works best might be Kestiel.’

With that frivolous thought, I turned my head. Thinking of the knight waiting outside, I wondered if he could hear the assassin’s movements or not, it was strangely quiet. I smiled at the thought that the knight with the stubborn impression might be deliberately making space for us.

‘If that’s the case, the real mastermind is him.’

Indeed, the Kestiel I had experienced over the past few weeks was astonishingly intelligent. He had accurately grasped from a single conversation on the day of that dream that the ending I spoke of included the suffering of the villains. No, even the fact that he quickly accepted living a life for someone else in itself showed he had an almost inhuman nature.

The key point was whether he perceived his and the other villains’ lives as destined or superstitious, or if he truly believed they were ‘created.’

It’s an attitude one can only have if they aren’t the main agent of their own life. Comparing my own cynical attitude, I thought his single-minded sense of purpose was slightly better, and I recalled the ceiling of my room from the dream.

A place dominated by the original work within the novel. A created world. People who seemed made of ink. Margaret Eilish reflecting in the mirror.

I had no attachment to this world. I was just clinging to Florencia, longing for the familial love I hadn’t felt in reality, aware of that shabby lingering attachment.

Days that would be dismissed as dreams if I went outside replayed idly and then disappeared in fragments. Jung Eunha, the real me, was closer than I thought.

“…Margaret Eilish.”

I kept having such thoughts until Taylor called my name repeatedly and tugged at my sleeve. And then, perhaps for the first time-

“I’m bored.”

-I confessed.

“Margaret.”

“Yes.”

I frowned at the voice, even tinged with a hint of tears. It sounded like metal scraping. Taylor, with eyes blurred to the point of unreadability, was holding back tears.

“Is that… what you want?”

Your sister? He added, looking up at me with the desperate face I had once seen from Carlix. The knuckles of his hand holding my clothes were white.

“Is that all? If you have that person, you won’t be bored?”

My mouth twisted. I seemed to know what he was hoping for. I neither confirmed nor denied it. Taylor seemed to be losing his composure more and more.

“I said I’d guide you through the commissions. That’s true. I’ll do anything for you.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll do everything. Whether it’s overthrowing the Crown Prince or rescuing your sister, the noble faction will soon be in chaos trying to repay their debts.”

“…That’s your job.”

“I want you to be the protagonist, Mel.”

Hearing the continuation, I blinked a few times. Protagonist. Is that what I wanted?

“Promise you won’t be bored. I’ll create a magnificent comedy for you.”

But Margaret.

He looked down at me quietly. His expression, which seemed on the verge of tears, was indeed wet. Taylor cautiously took my hand with both his arms. Scars, whose origins I couldn’t tell, covered his bare arms and hands.

“At that time, can’t I be by your side?”

Ah, Taylor. I called his name and smiled brightly. Poor villain. It seemed he was very accustomed to stirring sympathy to seek affection.

It reminded me of someone else, so I-

“I will give everything to my sister.”

I finally dropped a slightly more honest answer.

“After I tear those two apart with the money I’ve collected, after I make the man called my father kneel, after I prove this wretched world wrong, I’ll give everything that falls into my hands to Florencia. This was never mine in the first place.”

The moon-shaped seal. The hand holding it was as pale as ever. Taylor watched without a movement as I scribbled something on a new piece of paper. I vowed slowly and clearly, moving my lips so he could hear me well.

“I will do anything for my sister. Like you. If you help with that, it would make a pretty good story.”

Until then, I won’t leave.

Finally, the new commission was sealed. Taylor Knight looked up at me with a face close to admiration. The bright red ink was clearly reflected in his eyes.

His crimson eyes stared directly at it.

* * *

The underground level of Sinalore Prison was bustling. Florencia watched the guards pacing around, cursing, as if it were an amusing spectacle, and sneered.

“Idiots.”

The red wine had run out. Since Carlix’s jailbreak, the use and import of any flammable or combustible substances had been completely prohibited, so this was the last bottle. She clicked her tongue and brushed back her silvery-purple hair that resembled her younger sister’s.

The emperor and his son were finally trying to reform the prison rules.

However, considering Sinalore’s harsh conditions and the fact that most inmates were serving life sentences, cutting off things like cigarettes and alcohol, which helped alleviate mental anguish, was not a very good choice.

One of the consequences of the terrorist attack was that the use of running water was no longer possible. For Florencia and other noble-born prisoners who used solitary cells, this wasn’t an issue, but for the labor prisoners coming from the coal mines, the lack of communal showers was literally a disaster.

The impact extended beyond the inmates to the guards. They grew weary of controlling the increasingly irritable or lethargic prisoners – nothing could be more frustrating than labor prisoners refusing to work on restoring the water supply – and so their displeasure was reaching its limit.

“Goddammit, you bastard. Can’t you hear me? More cigarettes, damn it!!”

“Shut your mouth. Do you think I’m guarding your cell because I like it?”

“You crazy bastard. When I get out, I’ll—”

“Shut up. A noble who won’t even get out is acting all high and mighty.”

“You lunatic—!”

Indeed, it was truly chaotic there.

“When will this nonsense end, huh?”

Her mocking voice, cold and sarcastic, was perfectly villainous. Shaking her tortured hands and bruised limbs like a ghost, she lay down on the bed. She murmured that it would have been better if the torch burning outside her cell door was placed a little higher and then closed her eyes.

The solitary cell was better than the overcrowded rooms above ground, but that was all. The spacious area offered things that weren’t available above ground, but it also lacked many of the comforts of above. Like windows, or fresh air.

Apart from Alcatraz, meals in Sinalore were taken in the same place regardless of status, so this restriction hit hard. (It was a kind of consideration for the prisoners on the underground first floor, who couldn’t see the sunlight, but now it was suspended.) Florencia couldn’t tell if she would burn to death first or go insane.

Instead of the loud cursing, the screams from Alcatraz’s torture room echoed. It was probably an interrogation about the jailbreak. Taking out their anger on a scapegoat when there’s nothing to find out.

“His Majesty hasn’t changed. Once, I really liked that about him.”

Florencia thought of the man she once had a crush on and smiled like a cat. The villainess, wilting in her solitary cell, was still beautiful.

The former grand duke had successfully escaped. The assassin from Alcatraz did as well. Florencia knew that Margaret was going to find them. So she muttered,

“So kind.”

My lost innocence, my only sister, was truly kind. She looked at the small table where the ointment was placed. The motive for the escape of the prisoners was obvious.

“Crazy idiots.”

The deep blue eyes, reminiscent of the night sky, turned fierce. That child definitely knew what people needed most and how to give it at the right time.

Because of this, when that child decided to show kindness, many people flocked to them. So, Florencia could somewhat understand why those crazy-minded lunatics were favorably inclined towards her sister.

Of course, understanding and accepting are two different things.

“At this point, it feels like I should be getting out too.”

She spoke to herself. Though she never had any hope for life, Florencia occasionally muttered such things.

Margaret Eilish had tried tirelessly to give her hope for life. Florencia could easily guess this, and she also roughly knew that Margaret harbored hope that she might really be a villainess.

Florencia bit her lip. It was a habit that surfaced whenever she recalled that kindness.

“It’s too late. It’s far too late.”

The words that couldn’t leave her mouth finally forced their way out. Florencia knew her sister was really trying.

Even though she hadn’t sent a letter since visiting was cut off, considering the expressions and actions Margaret had shown, it was an easy guess.

But is it really possible?

Florencia recalled the moon-shaped seal she had given to her. She had predicted this outcome ever since handing it over. She answered her own question negatively and pulled the blanket over her head.

‘My pure sister. Knowing these things would only hurt you. This sister is scarier than you think.’

The words she had once said playfully were sincere. Florencia knew very precisely the things she hadn’t done but could do.

Including what she ‘had to’ do.

“It would have been nice if we could have stayed together a bit longer.”

Florencia whispered, recalling her sister who had embraced her while imperial knights shackled her arms and read out the list of her charges. Her sister had given her the comfort even their father couldn’t provide.

She remembered Mel, who was cynically similar to herself yet so kind, and how she had finally admitted in front of her that she was a villainess.

Florencia tried to recall the time before this farcical situation arose, when her sister had tried to persuade her.

The mind, damaged by torture and mental stress, couldn’t bring up the memory all at once. She clutched the blanket tightly.

With no windows, there was no way to tell how time was passing, whether it was day or night.

Florencia remained still for a long time in the paralyzed flow of time, searching for fragments of memory.

The guard sighed and sneered, “What a sight,” cursing under his breath.