The projection then focused, showing the day after Alice was comforted by Sylvaria. The mother and daughter walked toward Edwin’s grave—and something was sleeping on it. It was a dog: well-fed and healthy, not too small and not too big, with a coat of brown fur.

  It raised its head when it saw the mother and daughter approach, yet it didn’t run away.

  “Hello, little guy… what are you doing?” Sylvaria crouched to look at the dog.

  The dog wagged its tail. Alice was taken aback by how cute it was. She wanted to keep it, yet she knew it would only be another burden for her mother.

  “Hmmm… I don’t see a collar. Maybe it’s just a stray—a very tame one, it seems,” Sylvaria said. “Alice, do you want to keep it?”

  “No, Mom… it’s okay.” Alice smiled as she lied to her mother.

  “Well then, if you don’t want to keep it, I will,” her mother declared, picking up the puppy. “From now on, your name is Wan.”

  “Ahhh, no, Mom! I wanted to keep it!” Alice said, jealousy creeping into her voice.

  “Hehe, then you should’ve said so. I told you not to pretend to be strong for me,” Sylvaria said as she handed Alice the puppy.

  Alice smiled as she held the dog. Though the thought of taking care of it brought her happiness, it was her mother’s warmth and protection that truly reassured her.

  The memories then continued, depicting several months after the dog’s adoption. Most of it showed the same image—Sylvaria coming home under gray skies, her shoulders slumped under the weight of another failed attempt. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the door latch, her breath uneven, half a sigh and half a curse swallowed before it escaped. The spark in her eyes had dulled; even her steps seemed quieter, as if she no longer wanted the house to know she had returned empty-handed.

  Alice knew, in a way, why finding work was so hard for her mother. It was because of her—because of her silver hair, the mark of the Faintborn’s blessing—an existence cursed by mana itself.

  Edwin had been a kind man, too kind, and the thought of him fathering a cursed child was unthinkable to the townsfolk. They easily assumed that Sylvaria had been unfaithful and that Alice was the reward for her sin. That was why the town had never been kind to either of them.

  The realization plunged Alice deeper into guilt. Not only had she become a burden to her mother, but she had also doomed her to poverty. And yet still she tried to help her mother in anyway she could. Waiting for her to come home with a smile hoping that it could at least brighten her mother’s day.

  On one projection, Sylvaria came home drenched in rain. With her hair still damp and her face weary, she stepped inside the house. Alice had been waiting for her the whole day since school ended.

  Alice wasn’t sure, but it felt like she heard her mother whisper, “I can’t do this anymore…”

  “Welcome back, Mother,” Alice said in a cheery tone, trying to ward off the lingering echo of that whisper she thought she’d heard.

  “Hi… Alice…” Her mother forced a smile. “Why haven’t you gone to sleep?”

  “I was waiting for you, Mom. Khh—khh! Hhk—khuuh!”

  “Oh no, why are you coughing?!” Sylvaria quickly checked her daughter’s forehead.

  “It’s nothing, Mom. It’s just a bit dusty.” Alice smiled.

  “How can it be nothing?! Now we have to buy medicine—and it’s never cheap!” Sylvaria shouted.

  Hearing her mother’s voice suddenly rise was like being struck by lightning. She probably caught the cold because she had stayed up late, waiting for her mother so faithfully.

  You really are a burden, aren’t you? The voice inside her head whispered.

  “I’m sorry, Mom… I’m sorry.”

  Sylvaria blinked, as if snapping back to herself and realizing what she had just done. “I’m sorry, Alice… I don’t know why I shouted. Maybe I’m just tired. I’ll buy the medicine, okay? If you’re better by Sunday, we can go to the park, yeah? We could also bring Wan along; I’m sure he would like it. So please, get well soon, okay?”

  “Okay, Mom… sorry…”

  After that, the projection showed how guilt took the reins of Alice’s life. One scene showed the voice tormenting her when she accidentally broke a plate, or when she fell asleep while waiting for her mother to come home—telling her she was a selfish child, that while her mother was out there trying her best to find work, she couldn’t even stay awake to greet her with that worthless smile.

  One projection appeared, focused on Alice’s bedroom. The same familiar walls and window were there, yet everything felt different—like some other place entirely. The room was painted in gray instead of the golden rays of sunlight it should have had, especially since the weather outside was clearly sunny.

  Alice was looking at the mirror as her mother cleaned up her dress.

  You’re bothering her, you know? She could rest, but instead she had to play with you! Please, just give her a break.

  Alice didn’t know if she was seeing things or not, but it felt as if her own reflection had said it to her—with fiery, accusing eyes.

  “Alice? Are we going?” her mother asked.

  “Ah… Mom, I think I forgot my homework, hehe… I’m sorry, maybe we can go outside another day.”

  As she said it, Alice wasn’t sure, but her mother’s shoulders eased and the tension in her brow faded. The corners of her lips twitched—not quite a smile, just the faint exhale of someone relieved she wouldn’t have to pretend she still had energy to spare.

  Sylvaria stood up. “Okay… I’m going to sleep, now. Let me know if you need anything,” she said as she walked toward the door.

  “Okay, Mom… I love you.”

  Alice didn’t hear a reply. The silence lodged in her heart like an obsidian spear—but from it, she realized that her inner voice had been right all along. She really was disturbing her mother when she should have been letting her rest. So after making sure that her mother was asleep, she slipped into the backyard, playing with her only friend. Wan.

  After that, the projection continued for a while, showing the passing months in which Alice stopped asking her mother to play—hoping to ease her burden.

  Sylvaria still came to her room every Sunday, asking whether she wanted to go out, and Alice—always thinking of her mother—found excuses so her mother could rest instead.

  At first, Sylvaria kept asking why, and Alice dodged the question with cleverly crafted reasons. One Sunday however, Sylvaria paused at Alice’s door, her shadow spilling under the crack. For a moment, Alice thought she’d knock, and she braced herself to lie again. But then the shadow turned away, leaving only the sound of rain against the glass.

  Then a single projection came into focus.

  “Alice, please don’t cause trouble at school again.”

  “Yes, Mom. I’m sorry.”

  “I honestly don’t understand what you were thinking,” she continued.

  “But he called you a whore. He said you killed Father and I’m a bastard. And he kept trying to forcefully kiss me.”

  The projection deepened in color as she spoke, as if reddened by her anger. It was clear Alice couldn’t let that slight go unpunished. No matter how much she hated herself, she couldn’t allow those words to be ignored.

  “Yeah, but you pushed him down the stairs. Now his family is asking for compensation, and I told you we don’t have that kind of money, Alice. I only hope that boy quickly regains his consciousness.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom.”

  She didn’t answer. After a while, she finished tidying up Alice’s uniform. She turned to the mirror.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The uniform highlighted her features: black fabric paired with a silver tie, white trimmings edging the collar and sleeves. Her hair was tied back, pure silver strands framing her face and brightening it. Such a shame, she thought, that her mother’s visage had been given to a bothersome girl who could never seem to stay out of trouble.

  “Thank God the suspension is finally over. Three weeks, Alice—you’ve missed too many lessons. I don’t want you to be left behind.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  “Good. I need to leave for a job interview,” she said, straightening her uniform.

  Alice watched closely. Once, her mother had seemed majestic—dark hair cascading in waves, silk blouses and embroidered skirts glittering brighter than the house itself. Now there were no jewels, no gowns, no perfume. Only a plain black-and-white uniform clung to her figure. Yet beauty lingered still: the sharp lines of her cheekbones, the quiet grace of her movements. Among the black strands, Alice noticed a thread of white hairs.

  She knew she had sworn to lighten her mother’s burden by not asking her to play, and she had kept that promise for months. But now—right at this moment—she couldn’t help it any longer. She missed her mother like a traveler longing for a sip of water in the desert.

  “Mom, can I massage you? We still have a few hours befor—”

  “Not now, Alice. Just go to school and come straight home after.”

  “Okay, Mom. Sorry.” She looked at the floor while she said it.

  Lina could feel the room becoming colder as Alice’s mood took a dive.

  “I’m leaving now. I’m sorry I couldn’t make breakfast. You’re a big girl; you know how.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  Sylvaria turned the pages of her notebook. Alice knew her mother had just told her no, but she just couldn’t let it go.

  “Mom…”

  “…”

  “Mom!” Her voice rose, startling even herself.

  “What is it, Alice?” Sylvaria put down her note and looked at her, she could see it, a spark of red inside her eyes.

  Alice was taken aback by the shout and quickly backed up, realizing her mistake. “Nothing… sorry, Mom.”

  “No—say it. If it made you interrupt, it matters more than these notes.”

  Alice swallowed. She was about to back down, yet it felt like doing so now would only make things worse. “This Sunday… can we go to the park?” she asked.

  “Alice, you know I can’t this Sunday.” Sylvaria’s hand trembled slightly, her brows furrowing. “I don’t even know where else to look for a job that I haven’t tried. I just hope that this Sunday I can finally get a damn job!”

  Alice’s eyes dropped to the floor. “Okay, Mom… I’m sorry.”

  Sylvaria exhaled loudly. “My head is full—we need to pay the mortgage, and I don’t know where to find the money. Please… be patient for me. Be my good little moon, okay?”

  “Okay, Mom. I love you.”

  Her mother said nothing more and left the chamber, leaving Alice alone before the mirror.

  “I am your good little moon…”

  Alice stood there for a while, trying to ward off the coldness of rejection as best she could, but to no avail. After a moment, she went to the kitchen and opened the pantry door. Only a few months ago, it had been plentiful—smoked meat, bread, jam, fruit, all stacked to the brim. Now it held only cobwebs and a few strips of jerky. The bread that remained was too hard to chew, but it was all she had left. Alice took a piece of bread and a strip of jerky.

  She didn’t sit at the table to eat her breakfast. Instead, she slipped out the back door. Then she shouted,

  “Wan…!”

  Wan ran away from his favorite spot, near Edwin’s grave. As he arrived, he leapt at Alice, licking her face like a child attacking a candy.

  “Hehe, stop, Wan! It tickles.”

  But the dog refused her command. If anything, he only increased the intensity.

  “Haha—aw, Wan, you really know how to make me happy, huh.”

  Finally, Wan stopped and wagged his tail. Alice sat down beside him and gave him a strip of jerky. He devoured it quickly.

  “Hey, Wan, I saw the pantry getting emptier and emptier.”

  Wan didn’t respond, only kept eating the jerky in front of him.

  “You’re fat now, Wan. I wonder if I’d have to eat you if we ran out of jerky.”

  Wan stepped back a little, as if he truly understood that this eight-year-old girl was planning to eat him.

  “Hehe, I’m kidding, Wan. You’re way too cute to be food.”

  The dog barked as if relieved. Alice gave him another strip of jerky and then started to chew her own bread.

  As she finished her bread, Alice went back inside the house. Despite her best efforts, the mansion had begun to show signs of neglect. Dust gathered in corners and along the carved railings, dulling the shine of the wood. The wide halls echoed with silence, their polished floors now streaked with footprints and scattered crumbs. Alice tried to clean whenever she could, but she was only one child. For all its grandeur, her home was too large for small hands to keep spotless.

  But this did not stop Alice from trying. She woke up earlier each morning for that very reason. Even in her uniform, she could not allow her sanctuary to become a castle of dust. So, despite her mother’s instructions to go straight to school, she cleaned her home first. She dusted the corners and swept the floors as much as she could while waiting for the right time to leave.

  She did not mind if her uniform grew a little dirty. One of the few perks of being an alleged Faintborn’s was that most people hardly paid attention to her at all. Only the bullies noticed—and they mocked her no matter how tidy she was. So she had stopped caring.

  After finishing her so-called cleaning, which only made the house barely tolerable, Alice brushed off her uniform. It was a little dirty and damp in spots, but she had no choice—she had to wear it.

  Before leaving for school, she picked up a few shingles her mother had left for her. Since Sylvaria couldn’t prepare lunch, Alice would have to buy something on the way.

  When she opened the door, Wan was already waiting outside.

  “Wan, you can’t come.”

  He whimpered as if he understood. Alice, undone by those big pleading eyes, gave in.

  “All right, but you know how to find your way home, right?”

  He barked.

  “Hehe, all right then. Let’s go, my emergency meal.”

  Wan barked again in protest and refused to move.

  “Haha, I’m kidding. Let’s go now, my valiant steed.”

  The two made their way through town. The usual stares followed, whispers lingering too long about the girl who had survived. But Alice no longer cared.

  She caught the smell of bread from a bakery—freshly baked, with a hint of meat. Her stomach grumbled in protest. She knew what she wanted for lunch and headed straight there.

  “One meat bun, please.”

  “Comi—oh, it’s you.”

  Alice didn’t reply to the remark. She simply waited for her order.

  “Here you go.”

  Alice looked at the bread. It was not what she expected. The bun looked old, yesterday’s stock—no, last week’s. A faint yeast film clung to it.

  “But I wanted a fresh meat bun.”

  “Hah. You’re lucky I’m even giving you this bread. After all you and your mother did to Herr Edwin. If you don’t want it, then scr—”

  “Ahh, Omi, she’s a paying customer. Do you really want your shop to go bankrupt handling customers that way?”

  Alice looked back. Behind her stood an older man, his frame gone soft with age, a little fat pressing against the buttons of his worn coat. His thinning hair and lined face should have made him look harmless, but his eyes were too sharp, lingering where they shouldn’t. The smile he wore stretched too long, never reaching his eyes, and carried something practiced, almost rehearsed. Though he seemed like nothing more than a shabby, out-of-shape passerby, there was weight in his presence, as if the town itself knew better than to ignore him.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t—”

  “Give her what she wants, Omi. Or else.”

  “Ri-right away, Herr.”

  Alice froze. The crest on his coat, faintly embroidered in gold though dulled by wear, struck her memory. Years ago, at a banquet she had attended with Father, she had seen the same heraldry displayed on banners. His family had been introduced alongside other nobles.

  She didn’t know what to say. He had helped her, yes, but his eyes lingered too long, and that gaze was not one meant for a girl her age. Beside her, Wan’s growl deepened.

  “Th-thank you, Herr,” Alice said carefully.

  “Sieg, mein Fr?ulein,” the man corrected smoothly, his lips curling into a smile that still didn’t reach his eyes. “It is such a shame the town treats a silver-haired girl so cruelly.”

  As the name echoed through the projection, Lina noticed the twitch that ran through Vierna’s body. Her friend’s eyes flickered with worry, even though the spell had already been cast over again. Leopold, seeing it too, silently traced another rune to stabilize the projection, allowing them to continue watching the image.

  “How much, Omi?”

  “Just take it. It’s on the house.”

  “Ohhh, how generous of you, Omi,” Sieg said lightly. “Now, Alice, say thank you to Omi.”

  “Thank you, Omi.”

  Only then did it strike her: he had called her by name before she had ever given it.

  “Ahh, don’t look so surprised, dear Alice,” Sieg said, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Everyone knows who you are. The child of Edwin—quite popular, in fact.”

  Alice forced a weak smile. “Uhh… Thank you, Herr Sieg, but I need to go to school.”

  Sieg smiled faintly, but even Alice could tell it was a fabricated one. “Now, now, that’s no way to treat a noble. I just helped you, did I not? Surely Edwin’s daughter knows better manners than that.”

  Her stomach tightened. He wasn’t just a shabby old man—Omi’s fear and the crest on his coat confirmed his power. A man like him could ruin Sylvaria’s chances at work—or far worse.

  “Then… how can I repay your kindness, Herr Sieg?” she asked, trying to calm the churn in her stomach.

  “Hmm.” He tapped his chin, voice warm, almost playful. “How about you skip school today and accompany me? My family is out of town, and the mansion feels rather… empty.”

  Alice swallowed, unsure how to answer.

  “You’re clever,” Sieg went on smoothly, “and I know my invitation might raise suspicion. But don’t be alarmed. I am only an old man looking for company. If the mansion feels too private, we can go to a restaurant instead. There’s one that serves the most exquisite caramelized meat.”

  Alice’s hands tightened around the bread. Every part of her wanted nothing to do with him. But there was something about him—something that screamed at her that if she ran, it would only make things worse. Whether it was his suffocating presence or literal magic, Alice wasn’t sure and yet she obeyed her mind which telling her that he was a bad news.

  “Ehh… I don’t think I should skip school,” Alice said quietly.

  “I see… well, since you’re clearly a child with no manners, perhaps I should let my employees know not to hire your mother.”

  The words stunned her. She didn’t even have time to wonder how he knew about her mother’s job search; the sudden prospect of causing her more trouble was the last thing she wanted. “Wait—Herr Sieg, I’ll come with you. I’m sorry.”

  “Splendid.” He straightened, brushing crumbs from his coat. “Now, if you would, kindly send your dog home. I have an allergy, you see.”

  Alice knelt and stroked Wan’s head. “Wan, go home, okay?”

  Wan barked sharply, as if to warn her.

  “Bad Wan, go home!” she said firmly.

  Reluctantly, the dog turned and trotted back in the direction of the house, growling all the way.

  Sieg said, patting Alice’s head as if she were his own child. “You are not nearly as troublesome as the town makes you out to be. Now, let us go.”