When Your World Turns Upside Down
Episode 1
The winters on the planet rehardt were bitterly cold. There were only two seasons, summer and winter, and the people were very fussy and sensitive.
Agat had always found it irritating: adults wore their hats pulled down tightly, and even the children wandered the streets with sullen faces.
The central city was dismal, and the villages next to it were no better. It was a village on the fringes of the city.
The manor house, a long carriage ride past the massive clock tower with its interlocking clockwork, was rumored to be particularly dreary in the village and received no visitors.
Occasionally, however, a curious outsider would come by, only to scurry away after Agat had screamed like a madman.
Then a fresh round of scolding would fly straight at Agat. Mrs. Martinez was the epitome of feminine modesty.
She always wore immaculate, unadorned dresses, buttoned up to the neck, no matter how hot or cold it was. She had a black fan in her hand, and it was her habit to fuss and fuss and fuss.
Believing that God would help her daughter, Mrs. Martinez paced and spat out a shaky voice.
“Please, Agat. Be quiet! As it is, the queen is already in a bad mood. I can hear you at the top of your lungs.”
Agat only snorted. She shouldn’t, at least not if she had a conscience, Agat thought without hesitation.
Agat’s life was boringly the same every day.
Her mania would wreak havoc at night as she tried to imitate Lady Dojin, only to be subdued by the firm hand of her maid. She shattered every teacup and vase she could find, sobbing and giggling at every opportunity.
The Marquis de Martinez seemed to believe that Agat was firmly insane. Nevertheless, he insisted on marrying her off at any cost, and each time, Agat would be broken up with.
Once, she bit off her fiancé’s pinky finger, and another, a spunky blonde, tore off all her hair and scarred her face. Now, even the Marquis had given up, and all he could think of was how to tame Agat.
Madame Dojin. She was beautiful, with her long, silky white hair, but she had a soul more venomous than a viper!
No one liked Agat. Not even the two spotted dogs of the Martinez family.
Still, Agat had allies.
The out-of-the-way post office had no name and a shabby sign, but most people called it the Carmel Lighthouse.
The little post office in the lighthouse near the water’s edge came and went, not only from this town but from other towns as well, as long as they paid, but it had been around for a while.
Agat often stepped outside through a boarded-up hole she’d hidden among the bushes in the garden, and each time her footsteps led her toward the post office.
Her steps were firm as she made her way downhill, and the cloth she wrapped herself in never looked like a lady’s.
Agat stole her maid’s clothes and wore them, her hat tilted askew to shield her from the sun. With her dark green cloak, she quickly blended into the crowd.
The bumpy dirt road gave way to a well-paved brick path. Then, between the large buildings, the darkness of space peeked through the transparent curtain for a brief glimpse before it was hidden.
The airship drifted lazily over the town, the air cold.
The day was unusually cold. The cries of men breaking up the frozen railroad tracks echoed through the night. Agat deftly maneuvered through the alleyways as usual and entered the post office.
He knocked half-heartedly and frowned when the door swung open. The pale-faced boy’s face fell as soon as he recognized her, and he called out inside.
“Mitchell, Dagger’s here!”
Agat whipped around at the sound and pointed fiercely.
“I told you not to call me that, kid.”
“But that’s your codename.”
“I’m not saying it twice. Call me Agat.”
The boy grunted but didn’t argue further. When the boy turned his back, the faded blond swayed.
The boy kicked the basket in the corner with all his might and flopped back down on the couch, then, pretending to be unconcerned, unfolded the newspaper and awkwardly covered his face.
There was a rustling sound from inside. Agat shuffled his feet nervously, and a well-dressed, ashen-colored woman appeared.
The woman rushed in, smiling, unperturbed by Agat’s expression.
“Agat, welcome home. Are you here for my letter?”
Agat said bluntly, unlike the woman.
“Mitchell, I think it’s time you stopped cuddling.”
The boy stared at it, then snorted. The woman called Mitchell, who was nowhere to be found, grinned broadly and greeted Agat with a friendly smile as she wrapped one arm around him. Agat sighed but didn’t add “Moor” anymore.
Mitchell’s ash-gray hair was neatly coiffed, and she dangled a pair of large pearl earrings. The tip of his freckled nose wrinkled. Mitchell jerked his head toward the boy and spoke loudly.
“Jet, can you get me a letter from inside? It’s in front of the dagger. The sender is from the planet St. Gert.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Boy, Jet grumbled, but ducked inside and disappeared. Meanwhile, Mitchell grabbed Agat’s hand and led him to the couch. Agat looked around and asked.
“You don’t think anyone’s here, do you?”
“Don’t worry. I invented something new recently. I’ve invented something new, and I don’t think anyone will be eavesdropping on us. How did I do it?”
“I don’t want to know! More than that, what happened to that letter I sent you the other day?”
Agat interrupted Mitchell’s rambling. Mitchell puckered his lips in frustration before responding quickly and sweetly.
“It arrived safely. You know, St. Gert’s is a restaurant, not like ours, which means it’s more convenient. I’m sure it’s a bit of a hassle to have so many people coming in, but that’s a trade-off, isn’t it?”
St. Gert was a dwarf planet of rehardt. Agat had never been to St. Gert himself, having been born on rehardt, so he could only shake his head in agreement.
“I heard the queen was uncomfortable with the planting.”
“Well, isn’t the queen always like that?”
Mitchell chuckled, then finished.
“As I always say, the queen is stupid! I don’t think she realizes what’s happening to her planet.”
“Don’t forget the last revolution, Mitchell. It failed.”
“That’s why I don’t know. The military couldn’t have known we’d be alive. You know my skills, Agat.”
“Of course I do, Mitchell, you always make great things!”
Jet, rumbling inside, chimed in. Agat was about to say that he couldn’t rely on that forever, but he stopped himself. He didn’t want to fight, and neither did Mitchell.
Mitchell clenched his jaw and tapped one foot. Jet emerged a moment later, a package of five or so letters in his hand. He held it out to Agat with his shoulders proudly outstretched, and she coughed.
“Dagger, no, Agat. You’re leaving now, aren’t you?”
“You say that as if you wish me to disappear at once.”
“Oh, no, you won’t!”
“I don’t want to bother you either.”
Agat replied nervously, and Jet pouted with rounded eyes.
“You’re pretty diligent for a guy like that…….”
That’s when Mitchell jumped to his feet.
“Come on, Agat. I want to show you something.”
His face darkened as quickly as it had smiled. Agat gestured for him to lead the way, and Mitchell led the way out the back door. Jet flicked the lights off and back on out of habit, then followed with Agat.
The post office’s backyard was a wide expanse of sandy beach, its flimsy railing swaying in the ocean breeze. A shady spot in one corner revealed a deep trench in the ground. A dark, black coffin peeked out from within. Like a shabby grave, there was no headstone.
Mitchell hesitated, then spoke in a low voice. His voice was drowned out by the wind.
“Jett and I spent two days digging, because the device we set up to detect life in the vicinity responded every morning, but…….”
Mitchell pointed to the name engraved on the coffin. The handwriting wasn’t neat, as if someone had hammered it out with a penknife. Agat had to stare at it for a long time.
The wind blew uncontrollably, and his hair fell across his face. When he finally managed to make out the words, they were very short.
Ian.
The name was familiar, and immediately Agat’s face went white.
Clamping her jaw shut, Agat stared at Mitchell, then slid down the pit.
Her feet slipped and tapped lightly against the coffin. Mitchell stopped her from freaking out.
Agat pried the coffin lid off with little difficulty, then gasped when she saw what was inside.
Clasping her hands together, she held them close to her chest, the ring she’d hidden deep in her clothes, close to her heart, vibrating softly.
A lock of silky, golden hair, almost white, lay in the coffin, finely embroidered.
Agat remembered what the man had looked like in life. It had been a long time, but he was still dust-free and bug-free. His appearance reminded her of a funeral long ago.
He was a corpse, but he looked like the living.
His blond hair grew to his waist, as if time had stood still and refused to grow any longer. Behind his closed eyelids, Agat knew, rolled a pair of pale white eyes, bitterly cold.
The face and body, drawn in thin lines, were so familiar that Agat held her breath for a moment.
Time seemed to stand still.
Mitchell called out from above.
“Agat, are you okay?”
No, she wasn’t.
His heart was racing like crazy. Agathe could barely breathe.
Ian was asleep as if he were dead. No, maybe he was dead.
Ian was supposed to be dead. He was officially dead, even given a grand funeral by the queen.
He had been buried at Les
