Prologue
“Bionne Rossa Elient.”
Like watching a scene unfold on stage, I realized—at some point—I was witnessing the entire life of a woman.
She had been born the legitimate daughter of a marquess.
With her delicate beauty and the overwhelming power of her noble lineage, it was only natural that arrogance had taken root within her. No matter where she went, or what company she kept, she was always the protagonist. And around her, people never ceased to shower her with praise and admiration. Even when she rose to the highest place a woman could reach, she believed it was nothing more than her rightful due. That was her place—undisputed, unshakable. No one could ever challenge her claim to it.
“Foolish woman.”
It had all been an illusion—one that belonged to her alone. And illusions never last forever.
Time passed. The life she had scaled so confidently began to descend. The exalted throne she once sat upon turned into a blade—cold, sharp, and merciless—tightening against her neck. Those who once extolled her worth now descended upon her like ravenous beasts, snarling wolves baring their fangs to tear her apart.
Even in her final moments, she screamed in injustice. Cursing the world, she coughed blood as though her very soul was trying to escape.
A bitter sneer curled in the shadow of her downfall.
Why did she crave the love of those who never loved her?
Why covet what was never truly hers?
“You only had to cast aside those who did not love you.”
As if releasing her final breath, her body collapsed, crimson blood spraying like scattered petals.
And just when it felt like the end, she slowly lifted her head.
Eyes of deep emerald, clear as gemstones, gleamed with madness—and locked directly onto mine.
Her bloodied lips, painted as if kissed by flame, moved in a deliberate whisper.
“Don’t forget. I am you. L. I. A.”
Darkness surged forth, engulfing me whole.
*********
Act I – Bionne Rossa Elient
A hazy consciousness slowly began to return.
Like a panoramic play unfolding before my eyes, I had watched the entire life of a woman—her laughter, her tears, her screams.
And now… I opened my eyes.
The pale darkness of dawn clung faintly to the room.
Still lying down, I raised a hand before my face.
A small, pale, delicate hand came into view.
“It moves…”
I clenched and released it several times.
The hand followed my will obediently.
I sat up and slipped my feet out from under the covers.
Just as I’d suspected, the toes—white, soft-looking—wiggled slightly in response to my command.
I opened my palm again. Then glanced down at my toes once more.
It all felt… familiar, and yet strangely unfamiliar.
I pulled my feet completely out from under the blanket and slid them into the slippers at the bedside.
The chill of the dawn air and the prickly warmth of the slippers’ fur lining made me shiver.
‘Well, that woke me up.’
I rubbed my soles against the fur, savoring the ticklish sensation.
The tactile clarity of it proved this wasn’t a dream.
I straightened my slippers and moved.
Even in the dark, my body instinctively found the heavy blackout curtains covering the window.
I grabbed one side and yanked it open.
Instead of smoothly sliding aside with a soft swish, the curtain flapped once violently—then immediately fell back into place, covering the window again.
For a moment, I was confused by what just happened.
‘Why… why won’t it open?’
I lifted one side of the curtain again.
Though still dim, the soft light of dawn spilled gently into the room.
Keeping the curtain drawn, I looked up at the fixture holding it in place.
Instead of the curtain rail I remembered, a metal hook jutted out from the wall, holding the curtain firmly in place.
Familiar—but not quite right.
I unhooked both curtains from either side of the window and turned around.
Light, pouring in from the now-unveiled window, filled the entire room.
With sunlight reaching into every corner, I finally turned to seek the object I’d originally been after: the mirror.
It was right where I remembered it, sitting quietly in its usual place.
Step by step, I walked toward it.
Under the light, my hair shimmered in soft waves—golden-brown, nearly blonde—falling past my waist.
And in the mirror, a young girl stared back.
Her large, deep green eyes glinted like emeralds.
Slightly upturned eyes gave her a proud, cat-like expression—beautiful and cold.
I raised a finger and gently poked my cheek.
The plumpness of childhood flesh pressed in, then bounced back.
Familiar… yet unfamiliar.
I pulled at my cheek.
Like glutinous rice cake, it stretched before rebounding with a stinging ache.
It was a face younger than I remembered.
Or… exactly as I remembered it.
“Bionne Rossa Elient.”
The name echoed inside my mouth—familiar, yet strangely distant.
I stared into the mirror again.
The image of the plump-cheeked child disappeared, replaced by a grown woman’s face.
‘Don’t forget. I am you.’
The green eyes in the mirror, wild with madness, stared straight into mine.
Her crimson lips moved slowly.
‘Lee Ji-ah.’
In a blink, her image vanished—replaced by a face that bore fatigue and resignation.
Different from the woman I had just seen… yet oddly familiar.
It was like watching a performance, like being a third party to her story.
A life not my own… yet deeply intertwined with mine.
Am I the reincarnation of the deceased Bionne?
Or am I Lee Ji-ah, who yearned for escape from a dull life?
Or perhaps, a young Bionne who has glimpsed the future?
Which came first, and which came after?
The girl in the mirror—the young Bionne—was now staring directly at me.
“Maybe… all of this is nothing more than a dream. Not even memories.”
My head filled with question marks, yet oddly, I wasn’t confused.
With such tangled recollections, one might expect an identity crisis.
But my mind was surprisingly clear—almost as if someone had already whispered the answers to a riddle I hadn’t yet asked.
I was Bionne Rossa Elient, who cursed the world as she died.
I was Lee Ji-ah, who lived a quiet, unremarkable life before her end.
And now, I was Bionne Rossa Elient again, standing before the mirror, looking at myself anew.
“Oh, my!”
A startled voice pulled me from my thoughts.
I turned my head toward the sound.
A maid, eyes wide, had just locked gazes with me—then hurriedly covered her mouth and lowered her head.
“I-I didn’t realize you were awake, my lady! I’ll bring your wash water right away!”
Before I could say anything, she rushed out in a flurry of skirts.
Clearly, she hadn’t expected me to be awake this early.
Until yesterday, the “me” she knew would’ve already had everything perfectly prepared by now:
A bowl of lukewarm water, neither too hot nor too cold, delicately infused with fragrant petals, and my dress and jewelry for the day carefully arranged.
If even one detail was out of place, I’d have spent the entire day in a fit of irritation.
The staff had to be prepared for my every mood swing, regardless of the unpredictability of my waking hours.
At least… that’s how it was. Until yesterday.
“I-I apologize, my lady.”
The maid returned, kneeling and bowing low with the washbasin in her hands.
If I were the same person I had been yesterday, I would’ve exploded in fury.
But right now… I didn’t feel particularly angry.
‘It’s not rage… just uncertainty.’
I looked down at her, unsure of how to respond.
Her hands, clasped tightly on her lap beneath the hem of her skirt, trembled pitifully.
Rough, scarred hands—covered in small nicks and cuts.
“Your name?”
“…Pardon?”
“I asked for your name.”
She blinked, startled by the unexpected question, and looked up at me.
Though older than I was now, her face still held traces of baby fat—young and soft, darkened by the sun.
She must be among the lowest-ranking maids.
Even among maids, hierarchy mattered.
They could be divided broadly into two types: those who performed all manner of chores—washing, scrubbing, fetching—and those who served directly by their master’s side.
The latter were called ladies-in-waiting, not mere maids, and often acted superior, looking down on the others.
‘As if nobles could ever see the difference. To them, we’re all beneath notice.’
Those who did chores worked mostly outdoors.
Their skin, exposed constantly to the sun, naturally turned darker.
By contrast, the maids who stayed close to their masters rarely set foot outside. Their work mostly involved dressing their masters or running small errands.
They had their own troubles, but compared to the others, they lived with more time and comfort—enough to pamper their appearance, at least.
“M-my name is Marie, my lady.”
“Marie, then. Tell me—why are you here?”
Chapped lips. Sun-darkened face. Cracked hands.
She was clearly a maid assigned to hard labor—not one meant to bring my wash water or help me dress.
This world was ruled by rigid hierarchy.
Beneath the imperial family stood the nobility, then the commoners, and finally, the slaves.
The divide was so vast that a noble could kill a passing commoner without consequence.
A fine, perhaps—but never murder.
Those who saw themselves as “noble” were meticulous, even in who they allowed near them.
Anyone attending to their body directly needed to possess not just a pleasing appearance, but at least a modicum of intelligence.
I was the one and only legitimate daughter of a powerful marquess.
Only my wet nurse—who had nursed me as a baby—and handpicked ladies-in-waiting attended to me.
A lowly servant girl would never have had the right.
“T-the nanny… She made a mistake, my lady… Please forgive me…”
Marie’s face drained of all color.
With a single word from me, her life could end here and now.
She threw herself at my feet, trembling.
“Please, have mercy, my lady!”
What would the old me have done?
I looked at her—curled up on the floor, shaking like a leaf.
No doubt, I would’ve screamed, “How dare a filthy thing like you touch my things!”
At best, a flogging. At worst… execution.
I was eleven years old.
The very age of arrogance and bratty tantrums—too old to be innocent, too young to be wise.
I was raised in pampered hands, spoiled by nervous servants who scrambled to please me.
What did I know of real life?
If something displeased me, I smashed it.
If someone annoyed me, I tormented them.
To me, servants and maids weren’t even people.
Even the ladies-in-waiting—I never once thought they felt pain when beaten, or cried when humiliated.
But now… I did.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ✧: *. ꕥ .* :✧ﾟ. ───
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