That scene…
A scene that could never be erased, no matter how I tried.
The sky over the Eastern Empire of de Alian was shrouded in heavy mist, its hue inclining towards a dark orange, as though the very sunset itself mourned what was to come.
In the vast courtyard of the Imperial Palace, people from every station had gathered, their voices mingling like turbulent waves—merciless, without compassion.
Knights clad in armour stood in orderly ranks, their lances gleaming beneath the dim light, their eyes vacant, devoid of feeling.
And in the centre of the courtyard…
There was a girl.
Her hair was dishevelled, her face pallid, her gown torn, and her hands bound cruelly.
Her body was frail, scarcely able to resist, and her knees trembled as she was forced to kneel upon the cold ground.
Then rose the voice of one of the knights—sharp, formal, carrying not a trace of hesitation:
"Princess Viola Flynn…
shall be executed this day on the charge of high treason against the Empire."
The courtyard erupted.
"Traitor!"
"Kill her!"
"Death to her!"
Before her stood one man…
The Crown Prince.
Max de Alian.
He stood tall in his regal attire, his green eyes cold, his short golden-blond hair catching the fading light, and beside him stood the Saintess Laura Min, who appeared as a symbol of purity in the eyes of all.
Max raised his hand slowly and gestured to the knights.
"Seize her."
Then he spoke in a clear voice, brooking no dispute:
"She has attempted to murder the Saintess.
She is a traitor to the Empire."
Viola lifted her head with difficulty.
She was weeping.
"Please… Your Highness, Crown Prince…
Do not kill me…"
But the clamour of the crowd drowned out her voice.
"End her!"
"Now!"
Then Max uttered the words that brought everything to an end:
"Now… the execution."
And the sword fell.
***
A new morning had begun.
The Grand Palace of Flynnga, in the uttermost north of the Empire.
Winter was at its height.
The mountains surrounding the palace were blanketed in thick layers of white snow, the sky was grey, and the cold was so severe it pierced one's very bones.
Outside, the garden lay submerged beneath the snow.
Yet within…
warmth prevailed.
Inside a spacious bedchamber, a small girl lay upon a sumptuous bed.
A slight frame, short black hair, and a peaceful, childlike face.
But…
The dream had been terrifying.
And suddenly—
She opened her eyes.
Golden eyes, widened in terror.
"No… do not kill me!"
She sat bolt upright, breathing rapidly, her heart pounding violently.
She looked about her…
The chamber was not the execution ground.
A white nightgown, heavy curtains, the scent of warm timber.
She approached the looking glass.
Short black hair.
Golden eyes.
She placed her hands upon her cheeks, then froze.
"…?!"
A small body.
A child.
"I am…?"
Her age… eight years.
She stepped back, then burst into bewildered laughter.
"I have returned…?
Truly returned?!"
Her memory had come back in full.
She was Viola Flynn.
The tyrannical villainess of the original tale.
Commander of the Black Knights, who had attempted to murder the Saintess Laura and met her end at the hands of the Crown Prince.
"How has this come to pass…?"
Before she could complete her thoughts, there came a knock upon the door.
" Princess!"
You are late. You must come for breakfast!"
She answered with feigned composure:
"Very well, I shall come presently."
Then the maid added"
" Her Highness ,the Grand Duchess "
"Charlene, awaits you."
After the voice had departed, Viola remained alone.
She clenched her fist.
"This is my second chance…"
I shall not be that villainess again."
She raised her head, her eyes gleaming with resolve.
"I shall protect the North…"
and I shall save Archduke Aslan de Alian."
She recalled the original tale.
Aslan… the secondary hero who had perished in the campaign to subdue the monsters, never to return.
She changed her clothes, donning an elegant blue frock, then went forth.
The corridors were long and silent.
And upon the wall…
portraits.
She paused before one of them.
Grand Duke Reinhard Flynn.
An imposing man, with short black hair, sharp blue eyes—the gaze of the Lord of the North.
"Father…"
She spoke in a low voice.
"House Flynn…"
the mightiest family in the Empire.
A family without sentiment… who fight the monsters."
She drew a deep breath.
"Yet I… am his daughter."
She entered the dining hall.
Her mother, Grand Duchess Charlene Flynn, sat waiting for her.
Her long red hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her golden eyes were warm.
"Good morning, Mother."
"Good morning, my daughter."
After their conversation, she learnt that her father would return this very day.
Her heart tightened.
"I shall see him… for the first time."
She left the hall and made her way to the training grounds.
They were deserted.
Silent.
And in the centre…
a sword.
She looked at it.
"This sword…
I shall bear it once more."
Her eyes shone.
And suddenly—
The sound of footsteps.
A towering shadow.
She turned.
A tall man, his form encased in heavy grey armour, a blue cloak upon his shoulder, a sword suspended at his side.
Short black hair, and sharp blue eyes.
The Grand Duke…
Reinhard Flynn.
He spoke in a heavy voice:
"What are you doing in the training grounds?"
Then—
his features changed.
He smiled.
For the first time.
He lifted her into his arms.
"My daughter…"
I have missed you."
"Father…!"
"I shall change my attire, then teach you the lessons of the sword."
He departed.
And Viola remained alone.
Gazing at the sword. After Grand Duke Reinhard Flynn had left the training grounds, the yard returned to its customary silence.
The snow accumulated along the edges of the ground was melting slowly beneath the traces of the heavy footsteps that had departed moments before.
Viola remained alone for a moment, gazing at the place where her father had stood.
***
She walked through the palace's long corridors, her small footsteps creating a faint echo upon the polished stone flooring.
The heavy curtains, the high walls, and the suspended candelabra…
Everything was familiar, yet strange.
As though she were walking within a world she knew… but had never truly lived.
She reached her bedchamber.
She raised her small hand, opened the door, then closed it quietly behind her.
She made her way to the chair near the wooden table, sat down, and rested her hands upon the cool surface.
Her fingers were short, childlike—nothing like the hands that had once borne a sword.
She closed her golden eyes.
Then opened them slowly.
"Why do I think so much…?"
She said it to herself in a quiet voice.
She remembered.
Father…
Reinhard Flynn.
He had returned from the campaign to subdue the monsters.
A year ago.
"I was seven when he departed…"
She murmured.
Her mother had always been by her side.
Grand Duchess Charlene, with her warm smile and unwavering care.
But her father…
He was the man whom everyone feared.
Stern, severe, never displaying his feelings.
Yet…
"When he looks at me… his features change."
She placed her hand upon her head and laughed softly.
"Is that not amusing?"
Silence prevailed.
Then another thought crept in.
The original work.
"Archduke Aslan de Alian…"
That name.
The person who knew the meaning of feelings, despite existing in the cold court of the Eastern Empire.
The Fourth Prince.
The Emperor's grandson.
She knew not why…
But she remembered.
Her previous life.
A quiet night in a great city.
Inside a small flat, a girl sat upon the bed, a book between her hands.
She had been reading.
Page after page.
The novel.
The original heroine:
Saintess Laura Min.
The original hero:
Crown Prince Max de Alian.
Max had loved the Saintess, cared for her, and stood by her side until the very end.
And she… had saved the Empire.
As for the villainess…
"Myself."
Princess of the North, Viola Flynn.
Who had deceived everyone.
Who had attempted to use the Crown Prince to seize control of the Empire.
Who had failed.
And the North had fallen because of her.
But her favourite character had been neither of them.
"Aslan de Allen…"
His eyes, blue as crystal ice.
Quiet courage.
Loyalty that sought no recompense.
Protector of the East.
Its Duke.
Then came the Imperial decree.
To face the monsters.
He went.
And never returned.
"His death was proclaimed…"
His body was found beneath the snow.
A silent sacrifice.
And after his death…
Viola was executed.
And the tale was closed.
She closed the book.
She went out into the street.
Then…
"The motorcar…"
A short laugh, devoid of spirit.
"Everything ended there."
She opened her eyes.
She rose from the chair and went towards the window.
She opened it slightly.
The snow was falling quietly.
The white garden stretched before her.
The air was cold.
"Winter has begun in the North…"
She smiled faintly.
"But… what ought I to do now?"
Then she stiffened.
"Is Aslan alive?"
She closed her eyes.
Then opened them forcefully.
"Yes."
She said it with conviction.
"So long as I am alive now…
he too is alive."
She smiled.
"I shall save everything."
She clenched her fist.
"I shall not permit the past to repeat itself. Never."
And suddenly—
A gentle knock upon the door.
"Who is there?"
"'Tis I."
She opened the door.
A small boy entered, his red hair short, his eyes icy blue.
Only six years of age.
"Audelet!"
She smiled.
He was her elder brother.
Quiet, a man of few words.
"Sister… where is Oscar?"
"I know not. Perhaps with Mother. He shall return."
Audelet nodded, then departed.
Afterwards, Viola changed her clothes.
She donned her training attire, arranged her short black hair, and took up the wooden sword.
She went forth.
The corridors were long.
And at last…
the training grounds.
The guards opened the doors.
The knights were training.
Viola stood in the centre.
"Why has Father not yet arrived…?"
Then—
"His Grace, the Grand Duke, has entered!"
She turned.
Reinhard Flynn entered, clad in training garb, black gauntlets, a wooden sword in his hand.
"Father!"
"Yes. We shall begin now."
The training began.
A strike…
and a parry.
Viola's movements were light, swift.
Her father's movements were powerful, steadfast.
"You are exceedingly strong…"
"Concentrate."
The wooden sound continued to echo.
Until the training ended.
"How did I fare?"
He looked at her.
"You require much more training."
Then—
"Tomorrow we shall continue."
The maid came.
"My lord, the previous Duke has arrived."
Viola froze.
"Grandfather…?"
"Yes."
They went out together.
The reception chamber.
An elderly man, his hair grey, his eyes blue.
Armand Flynn.
"Reinhard."
"Father."
Viola stepped forwards.
"Good day, Grandfather."
Armand rose.
He placed his hand upon her head.
He smiled.
"You have grown so much."
He embraced her.
"I have missed you, Grandfather."