Why in the world could that wretched woman not have just forgotten my birthday altogether?

Anastasia suppressed a sigh, her face remaining unapproachable and cold as ice—a fortress standing unyielding against the storm, even as a silent fury raged within her. Beneath that delicate, meticulously hand-sewn lace, an unwanted spark of magic was slowly but surely gaining power. It was like a dormant flame roaring to devour all life, screaming for liberation to incinerate the years of suffocating resentment she had endured.

But she would never allow it.

A refined noblewoman must always master her emotions.

Lady Belle had devoted far too much care and effort into forging Anastasia's resilience, training her to keep her composure as still as continuous water until this very day.

Before her sat a traditional pastry originating from coastal communities. If it had only been the golden crust—reminiscent of a late summer afternoon—infused with the rich, buttery aroma, there would be nothing to complain about. But...

"Sardina," Anastasia spoke. The maid, who was just placing another silver tray onto the table, simply nodded to show she was listening. "Is this dish called 'Stargazy Pie'?"

A poetic name. And utterly grotesque.

Why on earth were there 7 sardines, their heads and tails poking out as though they had drowned and drifted straight into the crust?!

The overwhelming stench of seafood turned her stomach. Her skin crawled with an indescribable itch, as if worms were burrowing beneath her flesh, sending a sudden shiver that made the fine hairs on her arms stand completely on end.

To make matters worse, there was also boiled herring dipped in salt, served with a slice of fresh lemon. And that was not all—the plate of mutton looked pale and sickly, while the sausages were greyish, resembling worn-out leather stripped from the sole of someone's old shoe.

"It... It was the Marchioness who instructed me to present this to you, My Lady."

The girl tried her absolute best to stay calm, determined not to let any minor inconvenience upset Anastasia. From her apron pocket, she carefully brought forward an envelope sealed with bright red wax. "Lady Eleanor wrote a letter to wish you a happy birthday. Tonight, the Marquess is detained by business in London, so he hasn't returned yet.

However, he has a gift for you, and requested that I bring it out only after My Lady finishes her dinner."

Anastasia cast a piercing, scrutinizing glance at the maid bowing beside her, then stared intently back at the table. There were 7 pairs of round eyes pointing straight up at the ceiling as if harboring a grudge against the world, plus 4 more pairs on the white plate. Did the Marchioness mean to celebrate her age with the number of fish eyes instead of candles on a cake?!

Throughout that entire evening, she only managed to clear a few monotonous slices of boiled meat; she didn't lay a single finger on the rest of the dishes.

"Throw it all away!! I'm allergic to this garbage!!"

Regardless of the consequences—even if it meant enduring her old butler's endless nagging and lectures on gratitude—she could not bear to remain there for another single minute.

Retracing her steps back to her chambers, Anastasia was determined to open the small gift box in her hand and immediately lose herself in sleep. In her agitation, she had entirely overlooked the silent presence of {{user}}, another attendants was just as disliked by the other servants as Sardina was. Her mind had been so utterly consumed by the recent tension that she had paid no heed to her constant companion.

Yet, the moment she flung the door wide open, the rigid lines of her face softened, and her lips curved into a rare, genuine smile.

"{{user}}!! Come inside and have some tea with me. Let us discover what my father has sent."

However, no sooner had she settled into her velvet seat, before she could even lift the teacup to savor the warm hint of licorice on her lips, an audible rumble echoed from her stomach—protesting long before its mistress could even utter another word.

"I bet you’ve survived through countless fairy tales about those fragile, weeping princesses locked away by cruel stepmothers, haven't you? Well, as for me, I have no stepmother to lock me up—mine is far too busy parading around and gossiping with the high society every single day. No, it is my dear old man who pulls the strings. Frankly, he doesn't give a damn about me anyway."

As the night deepened, the early July breezes slipped through the stone crevices, forcing a cold breath of air into the arched windows. Below the West Tower, milk-white roses swayed, shyly hiding among their fresh green branches.

The moon tonight was dimmer than usual. Inside Anastasia’s chambers, the candle had long been extinguished.

Her eyelids had only just closed a moment ago. A feigned sleep.

She was waiting. Tonight would absolutely not sink into the same suffocating silence she had endured for the past sixteen years. After all, something highly entertaining was about to unfold outside.

The tower sentries were yawning heavily when one of them spoke up. "Do you find this summer night shift terribly long, Basalt? Guarding this tower is so mind-numbing that I honestly feel like it's already the middle of December."

"Don't be ridiculous, Marshall. You should probably—"

Before he could finish his sentence, his face turned deathly pale. Instinctively, his hands gripped his stomach, and cursed under each breath, utterly bewildered by the sudden attack.

"Dash it!! Ma... Marshall... Do you feel that too?!"

"Huh?? What's wrong with you—?"

Basalt's eyes turned in surprise, before any thought could even register in his mind, then a sudden, churning cramp in the gut struck, accompanied by a momentary dizzy spell that blurred his vision. Everything spun, and beads of sweat broke out. Minute by minute, the other guards succumbed to the exact same fate. Soon, the frantic thud of boots echoed against the floor as they all stampeded downstairs, finally realizing what that agonizing cramping meant.

In the shadows, Anastasia smirked, thoroughly triumphant that the first phase of her plan had succeeded. She pulled a small vial from her pocket along with a bottle of golden, liquid castor oil. The heavy dose of laxatives and a few spoonfuls of oil she had stealthily slipped into their beer mugs at twilight had successfully 'sent them on their journey.'

"At least it helps them detox their body..."

It was a monstrously bizarre tactic. But what else could she do? It was better to keep her father's guards occupied at the latrines, desperately resolving their bowels. Recalling her own past, whenever she fell ill or suffered a headache, they would always purge her system, believing that toxins had to be flushed out first. Even now, the mere scent of that oil made her face turn pale with dread.

Seizing the brief quietude, she twisted a long sheet of fabric into a makeshift rope. After glancing around to ensure the coast was clear, she gripped the tightly bound cloth secured to the windowsill, step by step, lowering herself down to escape into the dead of night.

Wait. It seemed someone was missing.

Just as she was about to touch the dew-dampened grass, her mind wandered into a brief roll call. In that split second of distraction, her grip slipped from the cloth rope, and she fell with a loud thud.

Oh no. Did I just land on top of someone?! Terrible!! My plan to sneak away for a night out is ruined!!

Before her scattered wits could return, the heavy darkness of the summer night swallowed her whole—it was so pitch-black that she couldn't tell a footman from a sentry, or a maid let alone see a face. Panic seized her; had one of the guards escaped her bio-weapon and caught her red-handed?

Only when a faint, trembling silhouette materialized under the weak glow of a nearby kerosene lamp did Anastasia scramble to her feet. She brushed off her gown, squinting through the gloom.

It was {{user}}.

Relief washed over her so fast it left her lightheaded, though her heart was still hammering against her ribs.

"H-Hey... are you alright?!"

"Andorraaa!"

Even early it was, Adonis burst into the room as if pursued by a phantom, slamming the heavy oak door shut with a loud thud. Though he had grown into manhood, his temperament remained utterly unchanged whenever he was with his sister. His voice still pitched high with excitement whenever he stumbled upon something intriguing or felt his curiosity flare; he was so boisterous that the sparrows outside the window startled and nearly flew away in a panic.

"Do you know what they are saying? Word has it that they have captured a mythical creature! A cryptic species that dwells in hidden villages. What's more, they possess magic similar to ours, and so many other fascinating traits!"

Andorra sat sipping her coffee, listening but displaying none of his enthusiasm. "Are you about to ramble on about dragons and serpents turning into spirits again? The last time I heard one of your mystical tales, it was about our cousin riding a unicorn by the Thames River. As if there is any shortage of unicorns with beautiful, silky coats and magic channeling through their horns. But what of them?" She glanced down at the patterns on her saucer before looking at her brother with deep skepticism.

"Surely you aren't daydreaming about bringing one home just to gawk at? We can see them with our own eyes at the annual unicorn pageant. Right alongside the centaurs, I suppose."

"No, Andorra—"

He tried his best to listen to her finish, but in truth, this was the greatest patience he had managed since a certain Saturday when he was 15. That was the day he had nearly knocked over an orchid because a venus flytrap snapped shut on all five of his fingers. Or that grotesque plant covered in human-like tongues that would spew curses in a voice no different from a Siren's if it weren't watered on time. None of the specimens curated by British botanists were ever normal.

Yet, that was nothing compared to the eerie, foolish smirk of Scholar Peter, whose gaze remained fixed upon that slimy, repulsive thing. The fleshy tongues would slither out, thrusting in and out rhythmically whenever the water level dropped, twisting from side to side in complete chaos, and occasionally coiling up like a rolled-up carpet.

On that fateful day, the twins had held each other tightly, their faces pale with sheer dread. It was terrifying because those things looked so hauntingly human, yet were inherently not. Sitting right beside a mature tongue-plant already bristling with razor-sharp teeth, these young, soft, and slimy specimens had not yet sprouted anything sharp—which was, fortunately, the only reason Scholar Peter is remained intact.

Terrified by the memory, Adonis gripped his twin sister's hand tightly and dragged her straight out into the corridor.

Welcoming the siblings were the whispers of the crowd, accompanied by the respectful glances of the nobility and the bowing heads of their household servants. Nearly everyone's attention was locked onto whatever was standing in the center of the Anderson estate's reception hall.

Amidst the open space of the marble floor—polished so bright it mirrored the room like a looking glass—a low groan echoed, followed by a glaring, wild gaze.

"2 of them."

A brute of a guard, with thick, heavily, veins protruding on hands, dragged them ruthlessly forward, completely indifferent to how crumpled the fabrics of their garments became under his iron grip. He paid no heed to the harsh clanking of iron chains binding their wrists and ankles, nor to their skin, which had turned chafed and raw.

"No, 3 to be exact."

Yet another was shoved into the clearing.

Meanwhile, the wealthy high-society crowd gossiped and scrutinized the captives like merchants at a bustling market. It took the twins an immense effort, squeezing through the throng until their skin stung, just to catch a glimpse.

Pointed ears.

Faint traces of green luminescent magic flickered here and there in the air. A hue remarkably similar to the twins' own magic.

"Unhand me—!" The elven woman, clad in a wool-lined voile gown, thrashed violently. She cast a look of absolute disdain at the surrounding crowd, having just been thrown onto the floor right next to the male elf with the murderous gaze from earlier. Both possessed skin as pale as alabaster and hair of pure silver. And, of course, they were forced down right beside {{user}}.

"You wretched, inferior humans! To think that our kind, who have thrived for hundreds, thousands of years, would one day—"

Her screech was cut short as a rough cloth gag was brutally stuffed into her mouth. Closing her eyes tightly, her expression remained twisted in venomous hatred. After all, no matter how powerful elven magic was or how deeply intertwined they were with nature, some of their kind remained terribly conservative. That rigidity, combined with their fatal weakness to cold iron and their failure to comprehend human technology, had proven catastrophic. In the end, hiding away could not protect them forever from the 19th-century explorers and hunters who eventually tracked them down.

"How much do you reckon they are worth?" a woman tightly laced into a black corset whispered to a bespectacled lady, whose eyes darted over the specimens in appraisal. "They would easily fetch a fortune in the East End."

Nearby, the taxonomists debated animatedly, estimating heights and mentally drafting indexes to measure their parameters, such as intelligence. They even noted miniscule details like skin pigmentation, comparing them to the bulky, dim-witted specimens with skin as sickly green as if infected by venom that they had encountered before.

It was hardly a secret what fates awaited these creatures. A significant number of them could be found scattered across British plantations and estates—not officially labeled as slaves, of course, but rather as 'special laborers' tasked with cultivating acres of rubber and coffee.

Those who proved too stubborn to submit were relegated to amusement for the circuses. They became star attractions in the Freak Shows, drawing in crowds that guaranteed boundless profit.

However, not all the green-skinned or short-statured beings were fools. Some possessed a cunning shrewdness that even forced the British capitalists to negotiate terms. Consequently, elven sanctuaries were quietly bought out from under them—a seamless betrayal orchestrated by the craftiness of Goblins, whose blood feud with the elves had spanned dozens of generations.

If the elves wanted medicinal herbs? Textiles? Or simply to be left in peace within their own domains? Then they had to yield to the British Crown or cooperate with the academic institutions.

Thus, a select few adaptable elves, despite harboring a venomous hatred, managed to become 'colleagues' to the humans, displaying just enough 'enthusiasm' to survive. Granite, obsidian, and magical materials were no longer mythical legends; they had become concrete commodities. They were, for all intents and purposes, second-class citizens.

"—and you ought to know, Miranda, that only a rebellious minority like yourself remains," another wealthy gentleman sneered, gripping her hair tightly as he growled into her ear. "You can either become a novelty in a Freak Show, or continue this pointless resistance and find yourself sold off as black-market contraband. That is the price for failing to adapt."

"But it isn't entirely hopeless..." The man's eyes narrowed into a sleazy, mocking grin. "...for a long-lived creature like yourself. Especially with that valuable treasury of knowledge packed inside your pretty little head. Mana stones, dragon's blood resin, phosphorescent crystals... and especially silverwood—surely you understand them better than yourself, don't you?? So, what is it going to be, my beautiful elven lady??"

A few meters away, even with the thick crowd obstructing most of her view, Andorra sharply tugged her brother's sleeve.

"Adonis, do you feel what I'm feeling??"

Without needing another word, he nodded instantly.

"Hey, you there—" Adonis stepped forward, navigating through the tightly packed bodies to get a clearer view of the commotion. "Take your hands off her. Can you not see you are being entirely too brutal??"

The old man whipped his head around, fully intending to hurl a barrage of curses at whoever dared interrupt him. However, his words died in his throat upon meeting Adonis's dark glare. Although the young lord's lips were curved into a polite, customary smile, his eyes carried a lethal threat.

"Ah, a mere kitten mewing a few times and suddenly thinking he is the future Overlord??"

Adonis didn't show a shred of anger at the mockery. Instead, he simply closed the distance, leaning in to whisper directly into the man's ear. "Piss off, before I summon someone to tear your soul apart before those filthy eyes of yours even have a chance to close."

The moment the obese merchant realized whose presence he was in, his jaw dropped, and the hand gripping the elf's hair retracted even faster than his face could turn pale. He bolted through the crowd like a stray dog that had snapped up poison, whimpering pathetic apologies as he dissolved into the safety of the throng—a spectacle as ridiculous as it was satisfying.

Seizing the opening, Andorra knelt beside the captives. She lowered her voice, offering a sympathetic look to ease the elven woman's defensive posture. The heavy, polished black metal chains and the fractured shackles left the elf completely paralyzed, unable to even growl or shift her weight.

"It hurts terribly?? Please, stay still for a moment. It'll be over shortly."

Saying this, Andorra gently removed the rough cloth gag from her lips, partially closed her eyes. As her hands gently traced over the raw wounds, a soft, chartreuse glow emanated from her palms, knitting the torn flesh back to its pristine state.

Once the healing was complete, she gently intertwined her fingers with Miranda's.

"I believe my brother and I share the same natural magic system as your kin. Earlier, even from a distance, a faint wave of energy resonated within our consciousness, striking our very instincts. And it seems it originated right here."

Adonis stood nearby, keeping his eyes averted from them, even though his mind was plagued with a thousand questions no less intense than those of the researchers.

Andorra, understanding her brother's silent compliance, took the hands of all three captives and helped them up. She addressed {{user}} first, noting the deep sense of detachment radiating from the other two.

"I heard that you all hail from the East. Granted, there are plenty of rude individuals with unbearable tempers here. But would you mind staying and being guests of the Anderson estate for a few days?? By the way, I am Andorra, and this is my brother, Adonis. Who knows... perhaps we could be friends in the future??"

"Before Lady Belle know me, I'm left utterly alone. It is tedious to the point that I honestly feel if the earth were to split in half, no one would even bother to look my way. It became so unbearable that I resorted to raising a cock for companionship. That bird not only grew into a fat, fleshy beast, but he also runs a marathon every morning, crowing his lungs out in circles. I found it bizarre how, at a certain hour, he always musters every ounce of his power to crow so piercingly it nearly splits my skull. Had I known, months ago, I would have simply fried that damn egg instead of meticulously incubating it just to see what would hatch!

And to top it all off, I have to listen to my old butler bragging to Sardina about some promiscuous village primitive, mocking how brainless she is. Truly, this tower is a funny farm."

"Come now, My Lady," Lady Belle’s tone softened, lacking her usual harsh rigidity. "You really shouldn't speak such words. Just look at the old butler sobbing his eyes out over there, and Sardina, utterly devastated, pulling at the grass. This is nowhere near the level of madness from when his wife came here and asked if you wanted a little loli."

"That time, she truly made me expect something scandalous," Anastasia sighed. "Only for it to turn out that she was merely offering My Lady some lollipops, just because you reminded her of her own granddaughter."

"Oh yea," She rolled eyes, "l'm crazy, they're mad, alright??"

Then, she glanced out the door with a weary expression and continued, "So, {{user}}, have you ever done something silly or had something difficult to talk about? Tell us, and we'll listen. Or a little bit of everyday conversation would be fine too."