There was a time when I naively envied stories about people who were unhappy, gloomy, and hated by everyone, yet endured trials and hardships to ultimately achieve a happy ending.
There was a time when I loved stories where the protagonist, who seemed rough around the edges but was deeply hurt by everything, loved intensely, and longed for the light, eventually found that light.
“Don’t even dream, Roxy.”
Bastian spoke to Roxy, frowning slightly.
“You wouldn’t last.”
He pointed at the book Roxy was holding, ‘The Crow Lady’, with his index finger.
“You grew up being loved. Your family loved you, you have lots of friends, and even a lover. You’re completely different from her, right from the start. You’re not cut out for it. You just share the same name. Why did they give your name to a character like that? It’s annoying.”
“I mean, well…I just envy her! And what’s wrong so with our Roxanne, anyway?”
“What do you envy? That’s not something to be envious of. Seriously, unbelievable. It’s moments like this when I really realize how spoiled you’ve been.”
At Bastian’s firm tone, Roxy looked down at the book, slightly deflated.
In ‘The Crow Lady’, Roxanne was the illegitimate child of Duke Beauchêne.
So all her misfortunes seemed somewhat inevitable. Being scorned by her family, constantly at the center of all kinds of gossip in high society. Forget a loving partner—her very fiancé hated her and openly cheated on her.
Being born out of wedlock was a complete denial of the doctrines upheld by the temple. Of course, Roxy believed that it wasn’t the fault of those who were born that way, but she also knew that society as a whole viewed illegitimate children negatively.
That’s why, when the book first came out, there had been talk of banning it because of the protagonist’s illegitimacy. In any case, it was from the moment Roxanne started to act to change her immoral and miserable situation that things began to shift.
Even through the middle of the story, many still hated her, but in the end, Roxanne seized her happy ending.
What Roxy envied wasn’t the happy ending. It was being mature and composed—far more than her own childish self. It was having the courage to call out injustice when it happened. That’s what she envied.
‘Why wouldn’t I be able to endure it?’
There’s a happy ending in the end. Roxy thought lightly of it.
Even in an unpredictable situation, she felt confident that she could do it. Because, because…
“Lie down, Roxy. You’re going to pass out with a fever again from staying up all night. Give me the book. You’re not a kid anymore, trying to sleep while hugging a book. How old are you, Roxanne Chastain? Do I have to do everything for you before you’ll listen?”
Despite his gruff words, Sébastian reached out to touch her forehead to check for a fever and smiled lightly as he spoke.
“Put the book by my pillow.”
“If someone takes it, I’ll buy you another one. Don’t worry and just sleep.”
“No! It’s a limited edition!!”
“Then I’ll search the whole world, even hound the publisher, and get you another one. So stop worrying and just sleep. Goodnight, Roxy.”
“Alright… You sleep well too, Oppa. If Mom and Dad come back, tell them I said we should have breakfast together in the morning.”
“Got it.”
Because stories always end in happy endings. Enduring a brief rainy season—she could do that. She surely could.
She ‘should’ have been able to.
Roxy’s bold words were shattered miserably after living just two years in ‘Roxanne’s’ life. There were far too many things about this life that Roxy didn’t know. For example:
“Ugh, filthy wench.”
“You reek. Don’t wander around the house. Just stay holed up in your room.”
That there would be no family running to her side, even when she was covered in filth.
That the very family who should have run to her would instead glare at her with cold eyes and spit curses.
“She’s unbelievably gloomy.”
“Isn’t that exactly why Sir Yanvier is always out and about?”
In the high society world once full of her friends, people now whispered scandalous rumors about her.
“Do you think I got engaged to you because I liked you? Know your place, Roxanne Beauchêne.”
“You don’t need to worry, Lady Dubois. Let her be. She’ll leave on her own.”
Even after hearing such insulting remarks from her fiancé, who didn’t love her, she couldn’t voice a single protest.
Yes, Roxy knew none of this. And all Roxanne knew was only this.
It was only belatedly that she realized—becoming ‘Roxanne’ wasn’t a stroke of luck, but a curse.
Maturity beyond one’s years came hand-in-hand with pain, and this life demanded that very kind of premature maturity.
It didn’t take long before Roxy could look at the world the same way Roxanne did. Two years. In just two years, Roxy was able to wear those lifeless, blackened eyes.
At the tail end of February when she painfully realized that her stupidity and pride were nothing more than immature arrogance.
It was the day the original story—once vaguely anticipated and once vaguely remembered—finally began.
“She’s back again. The crow.”
“Does she even know what shame is?”
“She’ll probably lash out at poor Lady Leana again this time.”
At the murmuring voices, Roxy bit the inside of her cheek and straightened her shoulders that had involuntarily curled in. She’d been hearing such things for years, yet not one of them had grown familiar. Her body nearly crumbled, but she forced it upright.
She knew how hard it was on her to be hurt every single time, yet she couldn’t easily fix it. Because only now did she realize—getting hurt was easy, but growing numb was the hard part.
In Roxy’s dark, lifeless eyes, the central floor was reflected.
More precisely, the two people dancing—just the two of them, as if they were the only protagonists, as if they were the main characters of this world—were reflected.
Staring blankly at the strands of hair fluttering in the air, hair brighter than Roxanne’s own, Roxy forgot to breathe as she remembered who the woman was.
It didn’t take long to retrieve the memory. Leana Dubois. Pierre’s lover of about a year and a half, who changed lovers every three months.
In the original work, she had appeared briefly before disappearing—a villainess in passing.
‘……In the book, Roxanne dyed her hair to match that color, probably.’
White hair didn’t just symbolize a desire to be loved by her fiancé. It symbolized everything Roxanne could never have.
It symbolized House Beauchêne, known for their near-platinum hair.
It symbolized the lingering attachment she couldn’t shake off in a social circle that treated black hair as taboo.
It symbolized her wish for a harmonious relationship with Pierre, who adored bright hair as if he revered it.
The day Roxanne, always acted aloof, dyed her hair white—whether it was on a whim, or a final desperate struggle at the edge of a cliff.
The day she plummeted into filth.
That day, ‘Roxanne’ realized it with painful clarity.
That things like hair color weren’t what really mattered.
That no matter what it meant to her, it could never hold the same meaning to ‘them’.
Because even if she had bright hair, ‘Roxanne’ was still ‘Roxanne’.
That alone was a stigma she could never escape—a swamp, a pit.
But there was something even ‘Roxanne’ didn’t know.
That if ‘Roxanne’ tried to shed her identity by wearing a smile full of vitality and speaking in a gentle tone—
‘They,’
—found that, in its own way, just as horrifying.
Roxy, not Roxanne, knew that painful truth deep in her bones. Truly—deep enough to make her bones ache.
“……Ah.”
A faint moan, like a sigh, slipped out from her slowly parting lips.
At the sight of the single strands of hair dancing through the air, the fact that today marked the beginning of the original story struck her like a chill cutting through flesh.
The day the original story ends is five years from today.
The moment the people around her begin to regret is only one year before the end.
So, from today—four more years.
Four more years—
She would have to endure.
Endure even more contempt, hatred, blame, and insults than now.
“Ha-ha.”
A slow laugh stretched out honestly. Four years? Another four years? The last two already felt like twenty, and now four more…
At the subtle sound of laughter, the people who had gathered around like they were watching a spectacle slowly drifted away from Roxy.
The first paragraph of ‘The Crow Lady’ began with ‘Roxanne’ stepping into the center and slapping Pierre’s cheek. Slapping the cheek of Pierre, who was smiling as if he were happy, and then vanishing like the wind.
It wasn’t something she did with the future in mind. When reading it, no one paid much attention to plausibility, so when everyone debated why Roxanne suddenly did something so foolish, Roxy just smiled brightly.
Because to Roxy, it had seemed like a really cool scene. Wasn’t it a moment where she clashed passionately against her wretched fate? It was the starting point where, finally, something began to change.
‘No, that action wasn’t taken to change anything.’
Now, she thought she understood. It wasn’t just a “cool” scene.
It was… in other words…
Roxanne…
‘…wanted to die.’
Both socially and physically.
She hadn’t considered the aftermath. But she knew better than anyone what the consequences would be. No—she didn’t even have to guess.
Because she knew exactly what kind of discipline the Beauchêne Ducal House preferred. They trained people like beasts, locked them up in trauma-filled spaces, and imprisoned them.
In the name of “mental discipline.”
Despite knowing all of that, Roxanne acted as she did. That meant she was very close to giving up—something Roxy vaguely realized.
‘But what can you do, it seems the world wanted to keep you alive…’
The consequences of that single action were devastating.
The next day, starting in the morning, an official letter of protest arrived from the Marquisate of Yanvier, and Roxanne was disciplined like an animal and locked up in the attic. Even though they knew she was afraid of the dark.
Her only meal was a thin, watery gruel given once a day. No medicine—nothing. Even as Roxanne groaned in pain, they still carried out the so-called ‘discipline’ several times. Yes, to put it crudely, they beat her
Whenever she seemed to regain even a little bit of consciousness, violence would come flying at her. Even though Roxanne accepted the discipline without any hint of resistance—she couldn’t die. While Roxy was horribly frail, Roxanne was horribly healthy.
That’s why she couldn’t die.
‘If I go in there and act like in the first paragraph…’
Roxy would likely end up in the same situation as Roxanne.
That was what awaited Roxy now.
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