A room filled with stacked books—some opened halfway, others piled carelessly beside the bed.

Though dawn had yet to break, Viola was already awake.

When did she fall asleep?

She had planned to stay up the entire night, reading through the mountain of books she'd been neglecting. But somewhere between one paragraph and the next, exhaustion had quietly taken over.

Maybe that was why… she'd ended up dreaming about that time again.

It had been years since that dream last came to her, yet the moment it did, it was as vivid as ever—so real she could almost feel the cold air of that night on her skin.

Viola sat up slowly, pressing a hand to her temple. The remnants of sleep clung to her mind like mist. Her other hand brushed against her cheek, and she realized her eyes were damp.

She let out a quiet breath.

Those memories... no matter how much she wanted to bury them, they never truly faded. They lingered in the corners of her mind, like scars that refused to heal.

A pitch-black room where not even a sliver of light could reach.

Her sister's screams—faint but sharp, tearing through the silence from beyond a closed door.

She remembered pressing her tiny hands against her ears, desperately trying to block out the noise. But it was useless. The sound crawled through her fingers, clawing at her heart.

And then, all at once, the screaming stopped.

Silence.

Followed by slow, deliberate footsteps drawing closer—one by one, echoing against the floorboards.

"Haa… haa…"

Viola's breathing quickened, her chest tightening as the memory clawed its way back into her mind.

For a moment, the air felt suffocating.

She clutched at her chest, forcing herself to take deep, steady breaths until the pounding of her heart began to ease.

"…It's over," she whispered softly, as if trying to convince herself.

But even as the words left her lips, she knew—some nightmares never truly ended.

Viola closed her eyes and slowly exhaled, letting her heartbeat settle.

Her breathing, once uneven, began to steady. The vivid remnants of the dream still lingered in her mind—an image of her younger self, small and trembling, crying in the dark like she always did back then.

But this time… something was different.

"It was warm," she murmured softly.

That touch—the hand that gently wiped away her tears—still lingered on her skin like an echo. It was just a dream, she knew that. Yet the warmth had felt too real to dismiss.

The hand had been rough, yes, but not cruel. There had been a quiet kindness in it, a warmth that seeped past the pain, as if it carried a piece of someone's heart.

If only… someone like that had been there for her back then.

If only she hadn't faced everything alone.

The thought felt foolish, and yet, it lingered stubbornly. Even now, after all these years, why was her heart stirring with emotions she thought she had buried long ago?

Her mind tried to make sense of it. Why had the dream changed so suddenly? What had triggered it? Could she really be feeling… lonely? Even now?

The face of the man in her dream was hazy, obscured as if hidden behind a veil of static. But one detail refused to fade.

Hair as white as snow.

And as she sat there, staring absently at her reflection in the glass, a faint smile touched her lips.

That hair color—it reminded her so much of someone she knew.

Her fiancé, Louis.

Louis Vermore.

Their relationship had always been closer to a business deal than anything romantic—a union formed by their families, not by choice. There was no warmth, no spark, no shared history that tied them together. It was purely formal, a contract in human form.

From the very first time they met, she knew he wasn't interested in her. He had made that abundantly clear when he'd—of all things—kicked her in the shin. That memory still made her lips twitch, half in irritation, half in disbelief.

But lately… something about him had changed.

The dark, pessimistic aura that used to surround him had lifted, replaced by a quiet energy—a liveliness she'd never seen before. His eyes seemed clearer, his posture more confident. It was subtle, but enough to make her notice.

She found herself thinking about him more often.

Not long ago, she'd seen him covered in bandages, looking like he'd come back from the brink of death. Then came the rumors—that he'd played a key role in stopping the princess's kidnapping. At first, she thought it was nonsense. But the more she watched him, the more she began to wonder…

Could someone really change that much?

Whatever the truth was, one thing was certain: she didn't dislike this new Louis.

Because of that, her own attitude toward him had begun to shift—slowly, almost imperceptibly.

Unless something extraordinary happened, they would be married eventually. It was a future that had been decided long before either of them had a say in it.

But maybe… maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Perhaps, instead of being strangers bound by duty, they could learn to be something more—if only little by little.

As these thoughts drifted through her mind, fatigue began to weigh on her. Viola yawned softly, her eyelids growing heavy. She didn't fight it.

With one last faint thought of Louis lingering in her mind, she let sleep take her once more.

The night deepened.

Moonlight streamed through the half-open curtains, painting faint silver lines across the quiet room. Viola's breathing was steady, her body relaxed, but her mind refused to fully rest.

The fragments of her thoughts scattered and reformed—faces, voices, the brief smile Louis had given her earlier that day. She turned in bed, the sheets rustling softly.

Somewhere outside, the faint hum of magic stones keeping the estate's barrier active echoed like a distant heartbeat. Normally, it was comforting. Tonight, however, there was something faintly unsettling about the air.

A whisper of wind brushed past the window. Then—another sound.

A soft click.

Her eyes snapped open. The sound had come from the corridor.

For a moment, she lay still, listening carefully. Silence. Then, faintly again—a shuffle of footsteps, light but deliberate.

Her heartbeat quickened. The servants had all retired for the night. No one should be walking the halls at this hour.

Carefully, she sat up and reached toward her bedside table. Her fingers found the slender wand she kept hidden beneath a handkerchief.

"…Who's there?" she whispered, her voice trembling just slightly.

No answer. Only the steady creak of the old wooden floor outside her room.

Viola's breath caught. She could feel the faint surge of mana forming at her fingertips.

If this was one of those noble brats playing a prank, she would—

Tap.

The sound stopped directly in front of her door.

Her grip tightened.

Then, before she could react—

Knock, knock.

Three quiet knocks echoed through the still air.

...She waited, one minute, two minutes, five minutes.

But there was no response after that.

Slightly, Viola losen her guard.

"...Was it prank or that nightmare again?"

Viold didn't know.

But all she knows that she wants to sleep.

And sleep did come...But very late for her.

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