The Duke's estate was quiet.
Not the comforting kind of quiet, like the stillness of a well-tended library or a field of spring blooms. No—this was the heavy, oppressive silence of a place where people didn't speak unless ordered, and no one dared breathe louder than their betters.
Da-eun—still a kitten and still soaked—peeked out of the crook in Lady Virelle's arm as they stepped past the wrought-iron gates. No one greeted them. Not even the gatekeepers.
The guards looked the other way. The maids vanished. Footsteps echoed like a secret.
Da-eun had worked in plenty of corporate offices to know what silence meant: fear.
They walked through endless marble halls, tall windows covered in thick curtains that blocked out the sun. Portraits lined the walls, all of grim-faced nobles in darker shades of nobility—no smiles, only steel in their eyes.
So this is where she grew up, Da-eun thought, heart sinking. No wonder she turned into the coldest villainess in the novel. This place could freeze tea in your throat.
When Virelle finally reached her wing of the estate, she stopped before a worn door and nudged it open with her foot.
Her room was… sparse.
Large, sure—luxuriously so—but almost empty. The furniture was cold wood. The bed was neatly made but without warmth. There were no toys, no books, no evidence of the girl's personality beyond the single charcoal sketch of a woman in a locket frame on her dresser.
Her mother, Da-eun guessed.
Virelle sat on the edge of her bed and gently unwrapped the cloak, placing the tiny kitten onto a folded towel. For the first time, she smiled—just a flicker, a twitch at the corner of her mouth.
"Don't get sick," she murmured. "If you die, it'll be my fault. I'm not strong enough to handle another corpse."
What a cheerful welcome, Da-eun thought, heart aching.
The next few hours passed in restless stillness.
Virelle disappeared briefly, returned with a chipped saucer of lukewarm milk and a crust of dried bread for herself. No one knocked. No one offered proper food.
Not even for the Duke's daughter.
She ate mechanically, then curled on her bed without changing clothes. Da-eun settled in the corner by the pillow, watching the rise and fall of Virelle's breathing.
Then the door slammed open.
"You left the estate."
The voice cracked through the air like a whip.
A woman stepped in—tall, severe, and cruelly beautiful. Her hair was silvered blonde, braided into a tight crown, and her eyes were cold garnet stones.
Lady Mirane. The stepmother.
Virelle didn't answer.
Her small hands folded in her lap, chin raised. She looked like a noble in a courtroom, not a girl about to be punished.da-eun hiding from her back
"You had no permission," Lady Mirane snapped, walking slowly into the room. Her heels clicked across the floor like clockwork. "No guards. No servants. I could say you ran off to shame the house."
"I was only in the lower market—"
"And what filth did you bring back with you?" Her eyes scanned the room.
Da-eun froze.
Oh crap—
In a panic, Virelle rose and shoved Da-eun into a nearby wooden box before Mirane saw her. It was old and half-filled with blankets. The lid snapped shut just in time.
Darkness swallowed the kitten whole.
I can't move. I can't see. She can't find me or she'll throw me out—or worse.
No—no, I can't help her like this. Please don't hurt her.
Thuds. Footsteps. A muffled struggle.
Then a sharp, echoing crack.
A hiss of pain.
Another. And another.
From inside the box, she could only hear it—but her imagination filled in the rest.
She's hitting her.
There was the sound of leather striking flesh—a belt, maybe. And each blow seemed to land lower.
"You will not defy me," Mirane snapped. "You are not the lady of this house. You are a defective product—damaged from birth. I should've left you with the grave diggers."
No response.
Only soft, shaky breaths. Stifled sobs.
Another blow.
"You want to be a street girl, then? Fine. I'll make sure you're treated like one."
You monster, Da-eun thought, claws digging into the wood grain. If I was human—just give me one hour in my real body, and I'd—
And then—silence.
The door closed. Heels retreated. A lock clicked.
Light returned.
The lid of the box creaked open.
Virelle pull the cat and sit her on bed, but she stand there pale, stiff.
Her sleeves were rolled up, her arms red with angry welts. Her knees trembled beneath the weight of pain. She hadn't even bandaged herself yet.
But her expression wasn't anger.
It was hollow.
She sat on the edge of the bed and slumped forward, arms hugging her knees. Her braid had come undone, and her hair hung in loose curls around her shoulders.
Then, very softly, she spoke.
"I'm pathetic, aren't I?"
Da-eun didn't move.
"I couldn't even protect a cat. What's the point of living like this? If everything is pain… if everyone hates me… why keep going?"
Silence.
"I'd kill myself," she said flatly, "but Father says suicides go to hell. I don't want hell. Not after this. I want to go to heaven. But that means I have to suffer quietly until I die properly."
She's thirteen, Da-eun thought, chest cracking. She's talking about strategic suffering. About how to earn heaven points by enduring abuse. What kind of world makes a child think this way?
Something in her snapped.
She jumped from the bed and threw herself into the girl's lap—pressing her little paws against Virelle's chest, reaching with every fiber of her furry, squishy soul.
And in that moment… Virelle noticed.
She stared at her —really stared.
"…Are you crying?" she whispered.
Da-eun's wide blue eyes were wet. No meow. Just silent tears.
The girl's hands trembled. She pulled the kitten close—against her cheek, her chest.
And then she cried.
Silently, brokenly.
Her breath hitched once, then again, before she buried her face in the cat's fur.
"Please," she whispered. "Please stay with me. Don't leave me, little cat. Don't disappear like the rest."
She couldn't speak. Couldn't promise.
But she nodded.
She nodded—a jerky, clumsy, unmistakable nod.
Virelle froze. Then smiled, trembling.
"…You understand me."
And for the first time since her mother's death, since the world turned against her, Virelle Elerian fell asleep holding something warm. Not a weapon. Not a responsibility. Just… warmth.
And Da-eun as a cat, tucked in her arms, kept watch with tear-bright eyes.
I'm going to change your story, she vowed. Even if I stay a cat forever, I'm not letting this be your ending.
Outside the window, the rain turned to snow.