Chapter 8
Inside the carriage on the way back home, Charlotte was staring blankly out the window.
Although it was a dream, it felt strangely real, and her heart ached.
She was grateful to see him in the dream, but paradoxically, she felt the urge to wake up quickly.
As Charlotte thought about what she would do once she woke up from the dream, she mentally organized her tasks.
“I should visit Noctem’s grave before going to the Huryll Trading Company.”
She had never complained in front of his grave. She felt she wasn’t someone who deserved to.
For three years after their marriage, Charlotte had never been affectionate towards him, not until the moment he died. No, the day he died. That day was supposed to be the day she died too, so she had planned to at least be kind to him on that day.
But that too turned into a futile wish, so whenever Charlotte stood in front of his grave, she felt like a sinner.
But perhaps on days like today, she thought, maybe it wouldn’t be so wrong to throw a small tantrum—not out of resentment, but just to say that she hated him, that she was sorry for not saying “I love you,” and that she truly loved his original self.
“Please, in this dream tonight, smile brightly and come to me,” she thought.
Charlotte clenched her fist so hard that her dress crumpled. Her hands grew cold, but no one would be there to hold them.
The carriage quickly left the palace and headed toward the Duke’s residence. Charlotte took a small breath as she approached the Duke’s mansion after two years.
After Noctem’s death, her father, the Duke, changed the way he treated her. Now, she was the owner of the Duke’s mansion.
After marrying Dana off to a nobleman of his choosing, he tried to bring their child into the mansion, citing Charlotte’s lack of children.
If it had been the old Charlotte, she would have obeyed his words without question. But now, with the novel’s plot completely twisted and the loss of her loved one, she no longer cared for his opinions.
“I will no longer call you father.”
“What… What?! You ungrateful wretch! How did I raise you?!”
“Don’t romanticize violence, Duke. This will be a difficult battle from now on.”
“Charlotte Daphsine!”
“Oh, I gave up that surname a long time ago. From now on, call me Duchess Afros.”
Leaving the Duke behind was easier than expected. The saying that blood is thicker than water was proved wrong. When you pour enough hatred into it, everything turns black.
So, she severed ties. More precisely, she became the leader of a completely opposing faction, trying to tear each other down politically.
But now, to return to the position of father and daughter in her dream… Noctem must have been very angry with her.
“Let’s take the flowers he raised when we leave.”
Though they were Charlotte’s birth flowers, she hoped it might calm her heart.
After a while, the carriage arrived at the Duke’s mansion and stopped.
Charlotte had expected no one to be there since everyone was at the ball, but to her surprise, the Duke was present.
She stopped and looked at him. Like Adrian, the Duke appeared quite young. His eyes, however, were filled with venom and desire, which she no longer recognized.
“Useless thing.”
He staggered toward her, clearing away wine bottles scattered under the table. Charlotte knew what the Duke was about to do.
“You caused such a ruckus, claiming you wouldn’t be a Duchess unless it was the Grand Duke. And now look at you, trying to seduce him—what’s so hard about that? Just smile and drag him into your bed with that devilish face of yours, just like your mother did!”
Just like your mother! The Duke said sharply, his words soaked with poison.
Normally, Charlotte would have responded with a malicious look, but now she felt nothing.
Normally, the Duke would have stopped right there at her cold response, but he was already heavily drunk.
“Why did I have you?! Not only are you a disgrace to the family, but don’t you think you deserve to die?”
The Duke poked her shoulder with his finger, his drunken state causing him to lose control of his strength, and Charlotte was pushed back several times.
“Yeah, I guess you didn’t think so, which is why you crawled in here. Ha, I’ve wasted my life. I wasted it raising a thing like you!”
His eyes turned red as he returned to the table and knocked over every bottle on it.
Crash!
The sound of breaking bottles filled the room, and shards of glass flew everywhere. Charlotte stood at the center of it all.
Not just her face, but her whole body was hit by the sharp glass pieces, yet she silently endured the pain.
“Heh, huh…”
Exhausted, the Duke sank back into a chair and poured more alcohol into his throat.
Silence filled the room. The glass shards lodged in her body stirred something inside Charlotte, waking up the anger she had been sleeping with.
“How laughable.”
Even knowing it was a dream, she couldn’t rebel against the Duke.
“Rebel? I’m so stupid that I let the wine bottle hit me.”
She couldn’t bear how pathetic she felt. Wiping the blood dripping down her cheek, she bitterly smiled.
It was a laugh directed at herself. But the Duke, startled by her expression, yelled at her.
“Ha, do I look that funny to you? Huh? This is why you’re a delinquent. A princess? Even a lowborn would have a better disposition than you!”
“…”
“Get out of here! I can’t stand to look at your face!”
The Duke grabbed the last remaining bottle and threw it at her. The bottle, which should have missed, hit her head directly.
Crash!
Drip, drip.
The red wine soaked her blonde hair and dripped to the floor.
The loud noise startled even the drunken Duke, but Charlotte remained expressionless, calmly brushing her wet hair away.
And at that moment…
“What’s this…!”
The Duke, who made eye contact with Charlotte, felt a chill run down his spine for the first time.
The original Charlotte Daphsine had been a woman who would throw a tantrum over even the slightest wound.
But look at her now.
Despite the visible wounds all over her body, she was staring at the Duke as if she didn’t feel any pain, like a doll.
The Duke felt an inexplicable sense of unease from her appearance and instinctively leaned back.
He knew that the rumors about Charlotte learning black magic were false, but for some reason, she now seemed capable of anything.
But unlike the Duke’s unease, Charlotte did not use black magic or anything else. She simply spoke calmly.
“Did you ask me to leave? Shall I do that? Forever?”
“What, what are you saying?”
A response that should never have come from Charlotte flowed out of her.
The Duke, without realizing it, widened his eyes and leaned forward.
It was in his actions, not his words, that his true feelings could be read.
Charlotte, watching the Duke, smiled a small, bitter smile. This time, it was truly a sneer aimed at the Duke, yet he didn’t notice.
All of his attention was focused on the words she had just spoken.
“Such a father.”
Even in a dream, you were so cruel to me.
Though all of this should be a dream, there was a bitter taste in her mouth.
Ignoring the Duke, who was shouting at her in anger, Charlotte turned toward her room.
Tap. The still-wet red wine slid down her cheek and dropped toward the floor.
It almost seemed like her tears.
That night, Charlotte had the same dream she had the night before.
It was the dream where she became the foolish villain, causing chaos.
This time, the dream began from her childhood and spanned a full 20 years, showing everything before coming to an end.
By the time the dream ended, Charlotte couldn’t tell whether it was reality or a dream, as it was so vivid and long.
But she had assumed it was just a dream…
Tap, tap!
The next day, Charlotte woke up to the sound of someone knocking on her door.
Thinking it might be the attendant, she was about to speak, but when she saw the ceiling, she froze.
“This isn’t my mansion…”
Blinking, Charlotte tried to gather her scattered thoughts, whether because she had just woken up or because of the lingering effects of the long dream.
At that moment, a man’s voice came from outside the door.
“Lady! His Excellency sent me. After the treatment, he asks that you come to the office.”
It was someone she knew—the priest who had treated her many times before.
But Charlotte ignored the priest’s voice and hurriedly approached the full-length mirror in the corner, almost in a trance.
She saw her youthful face, still with baby fat. The wounds from the wine bottle the Duke had thrown were also clearly visible.
“Why am I still having this dream…?”
She touched the swollen, red wounds from the glass bottle.
A sharp pain spread, and it felt strangely more vivid than before.
“Lady! Please finish the treatment and head to the office quickly!”
The priest’s voice, filled with concern and urgency, reached her ears. Charlotte walked toward the door and opened it wide.
The priest, who had been waiting for the command to enter, instinctively hunched his body when the door opened suddenly.
If it were the first princess he knew, she would have immediately struck him.
But strangely, nothing of the sort happened. Instead, Charlotte looked at the priest, who was overly defensive, and spoke gently.
“Priest.”
“Yes, yes!”
However, the priest did not let his guard down. He nervously composed himself and answered in a loud voice.
Then, he began to anticipate what sarcastic remark might come…
“What day is it today?”
“…Pardon?”
“What is the date in the Imperial Calendar?”
Her tone was calm but oddly assertive. It was the first time the priest had heard such a tone from her, yet it felt more oppressive than if it were laced with irritation.
The priest, bewildered but still on edge, stammered a response.
“Today is the 19th of June, 844 in the Imperial Calendar, Lady.”
“…I see.”
Charlotte’s response came a bit delayed. She nodded slightly, looking somewhat dazed, then passed by the priest and began walking down the hallway.
The priest, who had just regained his senses, called out to her, but Charlotte ignored him and simply walked toward the Duke’s office.
