The Dream of Sin

"Would you care to have tea in the garden today, my lady?"

Amid the gentle light of mid-afternoon, Spica asks me.

"Of course! Yes, definitely!"

I reply with a bright, eager voice.

"Good heavens, my lady... you must speak with a little more grace, a little more composure."

Spica speaks with a teasing frown, but I only grin and shrug, hiding my delight with a playful chuckle.

"But I'm just so happy! Did the elder brother or mother invite you too?"

"Not yet. My lady, shall we go together and invite them?"

Guided by Spica's gentle smile, I move through the family chambers one by one.

I clasp her hand tightly, and she returns the grip with quiet warmth.

I find joy in that small gesture, repeating it again and again, laughing together.

When we call out, each one pauses—hands still, hearts open—and joins us, bustling into the garden beneath the afternoon sun, where we begin our tea time.

Idle chatter, sweet pastries, warm glances offered to hands that stretch gently…

After a while, Father joins us.

He pouts as if to say it’s unfair that everyone is gathered.

Spica and I go to greet him, guiding him to his seat.

And then he smiles again.

Happiness…

I am happy…

I wish this happiness could last forever…

I awaken…

This was a dream…

A dream that might have been… possible…

A past that was a future stolen by me…

How many times have I dreamed this now…

The emptiness that reaches, yet never meets, the joy that longs to grasp it…

The loneliness of knowing I can never be part of this circle…

The guilt of having taken those smiles away…

Years have passed since that moment.

I am no longer Stella.

Now I am “Falcieta” — a counterfeit.

Such dreams come only after I have performed my duties as a church servant, visiting laborers in the mines and coal pits…

Mine workers and coal miners suffer frequent injuries. From the church, healers—those skilled in medicine—are sent regularly.

With a kind lord and holy servant, a simple visit suffices—basic care, medicine handed over.

But under a wicked lord and corrupt clergy, the victims are often those who entered the church through lustful sins, made to serve as outlets for the laborers’ violent urges…

Bribes exchanged in secret become a precious resource for the clergy, though they are rarely spoken of openly.

And I am summoned to these visits without fail. Few church officials travel abroad, and among them, I am apparently believed to be beyond reproach…

For three days and three nights, denied even sleep, I am violated by men, raped, humiliated—again and again.

She had often been afflicted by the sickness below as well…

Now it is the return carriage after the慰问 service has ended…

My guarantor is Francois… that false priest, Jill. No one will help me now.

Originally, I am entrusted with this duty by his command...

In addition, I act as a companion to François, the diplomat entrusted with conveying the nation’s will to foreign lands, and am under constant surveillance.

Occasionally, I perform tasks that advance negotiations with foreign diplomats to my advantage—using my abhorrent power.

To ensure my strength is brought to its utmost, my body is routinely compelled to perform...

Five children, whose parentage no one could discern, drifted away...

Carrying a child—then, for the first time, I understood what it meant to be a parent...

When the first child was lost, I wished to die and threw myself into the hearth. Yet I did not perish...

Even with grievous burns, the body longed to live...

Jill kept me alive, even so. And made me enter a stronger magical contract, one that would not allow me to end my own life…

There is no dignity in death for me now.

At first, all I felt was victimhood—why me, why this?

But then… I came to know the world, to know the truth, and to know Spica.

Spica was the true daughter of that house, and I was the imposter…

I hated her.

And I had wanted too much.

I could not enjoy the love given to me, nor the kindness, nor the fortune…

I used a power that should never have been mine. I destroyed the home that had given me a place, that had called me family…

I was happy, yet could not believe it. I forced my parents to say again and again—“Only Stella must be seen. Only Stella must be loved. Only Stella must be trusted. Stella is right. For Stella is the true daughter after all.” I used my strength to insist on it…

My parents, burdened by guilt and shame over having wronged the true daughter, quickly fell under my influence.

I knew that using my power too much would bring ill consequences, a limitation my priest had explained to me.

So I applied it with care, layering it subtly upon my parents, never exceeding what was safe.

There were some who were easily influenced by my power, particularly those with simple minds—mere thoughts would guide them without force.

At critical moments, I did not hesitate to use it.

During my debutante ceremony, and at my betrothal, I wielded it openly.

Some, even without my aid, would align themselves with me of their own accord.

Yet I could not bear Spica’s presence… I had done terrible things.

I sent bandits to attack her, spread scandalous rumors, forced her to perform a ritual offering, and even stole her betrothed.

I sought to show her the suffering I had endured—how my hopes and future had been stolen, how my past had been taken from me.

But… everything was different…

Since Spica fell into slumber as the Virgin of the Barrier, my world changed once more.

When I first heard of Spica, I honestly thought it served her right.

I believed that enduring endless solitude, robbed of family and beloved, her only fate, was payment for the sin of stealing my own family…

Yet in the end, it was I who had no family, no betrothed.

Stella died as a sinner. The Empire no longer holds me—Stella.

The gentle, warm family I had finally built belonged to her. My family, my betrothed—none would ever look upon me again.

After I began my life of torment beyond the Empire’s borders, the kind, gentle, foolish family of Emmental collapsed…

When I heard the news, comprehension could not catch up.

Mother was grievously injured, Alex Elder lost his sight, Fret was exiled by divine punishment, Father retired, and Cain Elder severed ties with Emmental, I was told.

The news about Fret Elder was especially shattering…

What is this so-called eternal punishment?

If the one who tormented Spica and gloated with me was punished, then I feared I too would one day be judged.

“Falshita’s ability is of great use to the nation. Do your utmost not to meet the same fate as your family.

This state you are in now—this is the curse of misfortune you yourself summoned through your power.

I will not forgive you.

Each misfortune you caused, however small, will bring its due retribution upon you. That is the price of Falshita, the cost of your power.

For every wish for happiness, for every longing for love, despair and solitude shall come.”

The hatred of the Emmental family, who had lost their beloved daughter, is beyond my comprehension.

I am even grateful to Falshita… for it was thanks to you that my angel ascended to the highest peak."

Even the words of my superior brought me despair.

Was I not allowed to wish for happiness...

To seek love...

Since that time, I began to finally reflect upon my own actions.

Before, I had believed myself only a victim, never a perpetrator...

Living with such arrogance and greed...

I had thought every hardship I endured was unjust.

Even after becoming Falshita, I had frequently entered and left the Empire.

Always under the pretext of reporting duties, or being taken by François to meet Spica of Emmental.

Each time, François was barred from entering the sanctuary—the room where the sacred flight took place.

He wept, sickeningly, saying, “Ah, I am still so unworthy, that I cannot even gaze upon Your尊顔, my angel. I shall labor once more for Your sake!”—again and again, endlessly.

At first, I thought how senseless it was to risk danger and come here.

Naturally, I had never been permitted to enter the Sanctuary.

After all, I was the one who had wounded her…

Yet, years later, I alone was summoned into the Sanctuary.

By then, my understanding of Spica had changed.

She was no longer the sister I despised.

She had become an object of reverence and devotion—my very burden of sin.

As I wove prayers from nothing but remorse and repentance, François, who should have been beside me, was nowhere to be seen.

Before me lay a dim stone chamber.

Approaching with trembling steps, two stone coffins stood before me, radiating an unnatural presence.

One lay empty; the other held a woman, beautiful and gentle, her form preserved as she had been in memory—faint, fleeting, almost gone…

I poured out a silent, endless repentance…

It did not matter if it reached her…

I am sorry… I have kept doing unforgivable things to you…

Even now, you still…

I am a fool—only now, when it returns upon myself, do I realize…

You were the one who, no matter how cruel I became, still cared for me… such a gentle soul…

I do not boast of being forgiven.

My atonement is not confined to this life.

I have shattered so many others’ lives…

I felt, as I collapsed in tears, as if embraced by something warm.

I remained there for hours.

Then I sensed someone approaching. I hurriedly concealed myself.

Lying flat behind the empty coffin, I held my breath.

I am an impossible person, a sinner, sneaking in. I must not be found…

Fortune favored me—she did not notice me as she entered.

She walked straight to Spica’s coffin and began speaking slowly, softly.

It was the voice of a father long gone…

A voice recounting things that had happened, things that had passed. The same voice once directed at me now carried the weight of years, the deepening timbre of time’s passage.

She prayed for a long while, speaking as if to someone present.

“Spica… Mother, Cain, Alex, Fret, Stella—they’re all surely waiting for your awakening. I wish we could gather around the table once more, all of us together… Even if it’s but a dream, I’d like to dream it… I’ll come again, Spica.”

With those words, she left the sacred space.

I struggled to swallow my sob…

It filled me with joy that my father still considered me part of the family…

After doing such a thing… after having ruined everything…

And yet, how foolish I am…

After some time, I offered once more my prayers of repentance and gratitude to Lady Spica, then departed the sacred space.

I was never again taken to that place by the enraged François.

Since then, years have passed—so many that wrinkles, beyond those from the burns, have etched themselves upon my face.

François… in the end, it was once again the man known as Cardinal Jill who died.

My magical contract was severed.

I carved the man’s corpse to pieces, and at last pressed the blade’s tip to my own throat.

It is said that the soul of one who takes their own life descends into hell.

I have not forgiven myself.

The place where my soul has fallen—there is nothing but a desolate wasteland.

Alone in this endless solitude, I walk and wander through that wasteland.

They say my sentence lasts for five hundred years…

No one to meet, only solitude to face. Only oneself to confront.

It is said that if one faces their sins with sincerity and earnestness, the soul may be reborn afterward.

If only I might one day stand once more among those kind souls…

I long to meet them again, to offer confession, gratitude, and love.