A Butterfly Through the Mist - Chapter 147

Seraphine stood still for a while, unable to comprehend why her head had turned.

Why? Why am I not looking forward, but at the floor at an angle?

Having never once been exposed to violence in her life—and always the subject, never the object, of such acts—Seraphine simply couldn’t fathom the idea that she, too, could be struck.

‘…How dare she!’

Thus passed what felt like an eternity for the pampered princess.

‘How dare that wretch raise a hand to me!’

At last realizing the name of the act committed against her, Seraphine glared at the barbarian before her with eyes like a volcanic eruption.

“Someone like you…!”

But just as she cried out and raised her hand again—

Tilia, squinting slightly and not even looking at her but somewhere beyond her shoulder, pulled something from her bosom and tossed it forward.

“I have a question for you.”

Naturally, Seraphine’s gaze followed the fluttering sheet of paper that fell in front of her.

“The letters I sent from Ontaroa to Arkansis—why did you steal them?”

The paper that landed bore Seraphine’s signature, scribbled like a scrawl.

Anyone not involved wouldn’t know, but Seraphine, who had issued the orders herself, knew perfectly well where the document had come from.

She stole that from me.

Only then did Seraphine understand why her scheme had failed. Why the seed of distrust she had planted never took root. Letting out a hollow sigh, she realized—

She found that in my shadow’s cabinet. That’s why she never trusted me from the start.

Ah, I should’ve realized sooner.

Forgetting even the fact that she was to die today, Seraphine made a resolution: next time, if her shadow failed a mission, the first thing to do would be to dispose of all the evidence.

She glared at Tilia.

“If you’d just let my letter reach its rightful recipient, none of this would’ve happened to you.”

At Tilia Ambrose’s foolish words, Seraphine let out a loud scoff.

“Just let it go?”

Her bluish-gray eyes—the same shade she had passed down to her son—looked down at Tilia with arrogance.

“Why would I? For whose benefit?”

Watching the woman’s jaw stiffen, Seraphine sneered.

“Because of him, I lost everything. I had to give up both my husband, who served as a decent enough shield, and the heir I struggled to produce. And now I’m supposed to let a letter dripping with your lust safely reach him? Why should I?”

Finally shouting about the second son who took everything from her, Seraphine’s voice rose shrilly.

“If he read it, he’d be the only one happy. Why would I allow that? A wheel that veers off course must be broken. A part that fails to serve its function must be replaced!”

“…A wheel? A part?”

“Yes, wheels and parts. Components meant to live lesser lives in service of more important ones.”

As Tilia stammered out the words, Seraphine explained in a condescending tone.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t know? Everything in this world has its role. Ilex was born as my second son, meant to serve as a punching bag for his father and elder brother.”

Recalling the days when everything moved smoothly, without a single creak, Seraphine let out a sigh from deep in her gut.

“He was created for that purpose. If I’d known he’d ruin everything, I wouldn’t have birthed him.”

“…Shut your mouth.”

“I really should’ve. Now that I think about it, the signs were there when he was young. He flinched when hit. Aah, I should’ve just killed him then.”

So lost in her lament of better times, Seraphine failed to notice the trembling hand of the woman before her slowly rising.

“When he started getting higher marks than his brother—no, when he first dared to form his own identity. That’s when I should’ve—”

Thud. A dull thump followed by the sensation of her shoulder being dislocated. Eyes widening from the unfamiliar pain, Seraphine finally realized that Tilia had shoved her with all her strength, sending her toppling onto the sofa.

“What do you think you’re—!”

“I told you to shut up.”

Tilia, having knocked her down with overwhelming force, grabbed a cushion from the sofa and pressed it over her mouth. Mmph, mmph! A garbled voice leaked out, too muffled to be coherent.

“When I told you to leave if you didn’t want to die, it was for Ilex’s sake.”

Whether the woman pressing down on her had inhuman strength, or it was simply the positional disadvantage of being on her back while the other loomed over her, the pressure was impossible to escape.

Let me go! Feeling her breath cut off, Seraphine thrashed harder.

“Because I thought Ilex might one day regret it. That he might feel even a hint of guilt. That’s why…”

Busy searching for air, Seraphine didn’t even register that Tilia was muttering something.

Haaah. After several desperate struggles, she finally managed to push the cushion down below her nose and sucked in a ragged breath.

“That’s… what it was.”

With air finally reaching her lungs, she could now see clearly. The face of the woman straddling her, flushed as if she too had been suffocating. The once-clear whites of her eyes now bloodshot, as if she’d been hit.

What is this? Seraphine furrowed her brow in disbelief, unable to grasp the context of the tears staining Tilia’s face.

Why is she crying? I’m the one who suffered barbaric violence.

While she stared at Tilia in bewilderment, the woman hastily wiped her tears and whispered again, face now cold as ice.

“But now that I think about it, I was worrying over something that didn’t require even a moment of concern.”

Tilia looked down on Seraphine with a calm, steely gaze, as though she had never cried.

“Who would feel regret or guilt after taking out the trash? Maybe a sense of satisfaction—but never remorse.”

“…What did you say?”

Seraphine’s eyes widened, only now realizing that the vile word being spoken referred to her, and she raised her nails like claws.

You learn after the second blow. Just as she readied herself to retaliate like a savage—

“Never show yourself before me again.”

Tilia, glaring down at Seraphine with contempt, stood up firmly. Seraphine, who had been mid-swing, slashed at empty air, and her eyes blazed with humiliation.

But it wasn’t because Tilia Ambrose had dared to evade her attack, nor because she belatedly realized she had stooped to act so disgracefully for a royal of Ontaroa.

It was because, now that Tilia’s body no longer blocked her vision, she saw the door was wide open. And beyond it, Ilex Davenport stood with a terrifying expression.

When had the door opened? She could’ve sworn it had been firmly shut.

Retracing her memory to find the sound she must’ve missed, Seraphine met her son’s gaze and curled her lip.

No matter how many people he had devoured, or would in the future, he was still the child formed from her womb. Seraphine, who remembered him begging for affection, could never see Ilex Davenport as an object of fear.

Even in a moment like this—at the edge of death.

“How dare you…”

Just as she spat out words to belittle her second son, as was her habit—

“Live like a worm.”

Tilia’s sharp voice rang out as she stepped between them like a wall.

“That’s your new role now. A life worse than any slave’s—one you’ll live for a very, very long time.”

With those words, Tilia Ambrose didn’t look back.

Her eyes fixed only on the man in front of her, she strode across the threshold.

“Let’s go, Ilex.”

He, too, had been focused solely on her. From the moment Tilia spoke again, Ilex had seemed to forget anyone else was in the room. He followed the command she gave him without a word.

Click. Fingers intertwined like tangled vines, the two left the room and closed the door behind them.

What remained was silence—and a darkness now even deeper than before.

“…How dare they, how dare those disgusting things…!”

Within that silence, the snarling cry of Seraphine, cast aside like a worm just as the scabby baron’s daughter had once predicted, echoed pitifully—her now-meaningless sense of entitlement crumbling to nothing.