If the Basilisk Falls in Love

Three months after Mother's funeral, Father returned from his business trip.

I thought he would bring back the roses I had wished for.

But when the carriage stopped at the manor's entrance, what I saw wasn't roses—it was a woman as beautiful as a rose.

I stood by the fence wall, as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over my head.

I watched my father—the renowned wealthy merchant, Mr. Eleanor—help that woman down from the carriage and kiss the back of her hand.

"My dearest Margaret, we're home. From today on, I won't travel far. I'll stay here with you, and I'll love your children as if they were my own."

"Darling."

Margaret's voice was as melodious as a nightingale's: "Is that scrawny little thing the maid's child?"

Scrawny little thing?

Was she talking about me?

"No, that's my late wife's daughter. Mia, come here and greet your new mother and siblings."

Late wife?

That's how he referred to my mother!

My heart felt as if it had been struck by a heavy hammer. I could hardly believe my ears.

Still holding onto a sliver of hope, I walked toward him on stiff legs: "Father, where are the roses?"

How I wished Father would produce a gift from behind his back as he had countless times before—

Bring out the roses Mother had begged him to bring back before she died.

But Margaret's cold words shattered my last hope: "Mia, there will never be roses here. I detest such gaudy red flowers. Even looking at them makes me sick."

My throat tightened, and my heart grew cold bit by bit.

Someone suddenly grabbed my arm, and a shrill voice rang in my ear: "She's so thin and small, like a mouse. Mother, do we really have to be sisters with a mouse?"

Spit sprayed onto my face.

I saw a tall, full-figured girl, about sixteen or seventeen years old, standing beside Margaret, looking down her nose at me.

"So stinky and dirty. My God, was she just cleaning the toilet?"

Another petite, cute girl with curly hair covered her nose and pulled her back five steps away from me: "Camilla, you should wash your hands thoroughly later. What if she has some kind of germs?"

Camilla laughed loudly: "Lydia, then you'd better cover your nose and mouth with a handkerchief. She might have a contagious disease!"

They mocked me without restraint.

Those malicious looks stuck to my face and body like disgusting stench.

Perhaps they expected this would make me feel ashamed, then cover my face and run to a corner in tears.

But I wouldn't.

I responded in a voice even louder than theirs, covering my nose and mouth even more exaggeratedly: "Your mouths stink. Please stay away from me."

"Don't you ever brush your teeth? You smell like bedbugs and make me want to vomit."

"Father, am I right?"

I looked up at Father.

Three years ago, Father took Mother and me to the seaside to watch the sunset. A boy deliberately hit my bottom with a ball, and Father told me to throw the ball at his head.

That boy ended up running away in tears.

Father patted my head and praised me: "Mia, well done!"

Would Father praise me this time too?

I desperately wanted Father's approval, even if Margaret was about to become his new wife, even if he would have new children.

What came before praise was a slap.

Father unexpectedly raised his hand and struck my face with his calloused palm—

My right cheek burned with pain, as if on fire.

I fell to the ground and heard Father's rebuke: "Mia, you're so ill-mannered! Is this how Vivienne raised you! You've disappointed me so much!"

Vivienne was my mother's name.

But he was the one who taught me this!

I protested indignantly: "But..."

"It's all right. She's only fifteen. I'll educate her properly from now on and won't let her become a bad child like Alden."

Margaret interrupted me.

I watched her push Camilla and Lydia toward Father.

"Camilla, Lydia, didn't you say you wanted Father to help you choose new rooms?"

I watched them link their arms with Father's, one on each side.

They chattered and acted coquettishly, wanting gorgeous dresses and expensive pearl necklaces.

And my father—

He used the same hand that had struck me to stroke their heads and led them into the house.

What a warm family.

My cheek was still burning, the dense pain like needle pricks.

Grievance made my nose sting. I wanted to cry, but tears only welled up in my eyes without falling.

I couldn't understand.

Why, why had my father become so strange?

I took a deep breath and wiped away the tears with my sleeve.

This manor was Mother's dowry. No matter what, I would never let them occupy it!

A whole week passed, and I seemed to have become invisible in this house. They ignored me, neglected me, and my father had no objection to this—he indulged them.

Everyone ignored me, except for one person.

He was Alden, my stepbrother—

Alden was an orphan adopted by Margaret and her former husband.

Margaret said: "He's rebellious, solitary, does nothing but evil, terrible and unconventional—a freak."

Even Father warned me: "Mia, stay away from Alden. Don't go near him."

In their eyes, Alden was like an utterly wicked person, but I didn't think so.

Alden didn't cut my dress with scissors like they did, didn't dump fireplace ashes on my bed, and didn't punish me by making me face the wall or strike my palms with a ruler like Margaret did.

He just stared at me.

Yes—stared at me.

The first time I noticed it, I was in the backyard, soaking my dress in nettle juice.

That way, when Camilla tried to cut my dress again, her hands would be stung into pig's trotters by the nettles.

I was crouching by the basin when I suddenly felt uncomfortable, my back breaking out in goosebumps.

As if I were being watched by some dangerous animal.

I instinctively turned around to look and found myself staring into a pair of gray-green pupils.

How should I describe those eyes—

Like a snake.

Dark, sticky, pervasive, silent...

My breathing stopped instantly.

When I tried to look more carefully, there was nothing by the tree anymore.

After that, I began to frequently sense that gaze and even started actively looking for his figure.

He would be by the pendulum clock, at the staircase landing—in short, whenever I turned around, I could always see him.

What surprised me was that I didn't feel afraid or uncomfortable because of this.

I even began to feel curious about Alden. I wanted to know why they kept such a distance from him.

I wanted to understand him—

And form an alliance with him.

I wanted to drive the leeches out of this manor, but I knew deeply that with my own strength alone, as a fifteen-year-old child, it would be absolutely impossible.

If someone could work with me.

If Alden could work with me...

I had heard the servants gossiping. They mentioned that Alden was adopted at age seven and had suffered Margaret and her daughters' abuse and bullying even longer than I had.

He would be a suitable ally.

After making up my mind, I began trying to approach him, but whenever I walked toward him, he would quickly leave. This frustrated me greatly.

Tonight seemed especially cold, perhaps because of the full moon.

I was awakened by the cold in the middle of the night. The silent, dark room made it impossible to see anything, but amplified my hearing.

Hiss—hiss.

A strange sound came from outside the door, approaching from afar, stopping at my door. After a few seconds of silence, it slowly moved away until it was completely quiet.

My scalp tingled, and my heartbeat accelerated uncontrollably.

What made that sound?

"Bang—"

Suddenly, a dull thud came from outside.

I jumped out of bed alertly.

Had some wild beast broken into the manor?

Suppressing my fear, I gripped a broom in my hand and carefully opened the door—

There was a faint light outside.

At the end of the corridor, a dark mass lay collapsed.

That "thing" seemed to hear my movement and looked toward me.

Those gray-green eyes became dangerous and captivating in the dim light.

It was Alden!

What happened to him?

I carefully walked forward, and my nose seemed to catch the metallic scent of blood.

"Alden, are you hurt?"

But he didn't answer me.

Just as before, when I was about to get close to him, he quickly sprang up and returned to his room.

I was surprised by his agile speed, but I saw a small pool of blood on the floor.

Alden was injured.

I remembered what Lydia had said.

She said: "Alden is a wolf cub who loves to fight. If one day he doesn't come home, it should be because he was beaten to death."

He was seriously injured.

If no one cared for him, he would really die, wouldn't he?

I hesitated for a moment, then returned to my room—

This cramped space that could only fit a single bed and a small cabinet.

Since Margaret moved in, my original room had been taken by Camilla. They threw me into this room, and Father remained silent about it.

I found ointment and bandages in the cabinet, placed them at Alden's door, and quietly left.

Perhaps this was a good opportunity to approach him.

Unfortunately, for three consecutive days, every time I checked, the ointment and bandages were still in the same place, untouched.

I didn't give up and replaced them with fresh ones every day.

I had enough patience to do this.

When I delivered medicine again at dusk—

The door opened.