𝔄 𝔪𝔞𝔦𝔡'𝔰 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔰𝔱 𝔭𝔯𝔦𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔴𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔞𝔩𝔴𝔞𝔶𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔟𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔦𝔯 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔰,
𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪𝔰𝔢𝔩𝔳𝔢𝔰 𝔣𝔬𝔯 𝔩𝔞𝔰𝔱.

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A pair of crimson, bloodshot eyes glinted with a mixture of jealousy and longer as they fixated on the lively scene below---a pair of siblings laughing and playing with three adults. The world outside seemed to swarm with warmth, joy, and connection, while the boy behind the thick curtains remained locked in a cold, desolate world of his own.

The sounds of laughter and play filtered through the silence of the room, amplifying his isolation, reminding him of everything he could never have.

Dion Agriche stood motionless behind the large windows, his small frame hidden from the outside world. The thin, bruised body of a six-year-old boy, scarred with small cuts, bore the marks of neglect and violence. His porcelian skin, once smoothe and unblimished, now seemed marred by the rough handling of a life too cruel for one so young.

His mother, Maria, had just stormed out, her anger still ringing in his ears. Her words were sharp, cutting through his heart like a blade, her rage centered around one simple fact; her disgust for him.

He was a reminder of something she despised.

"You are hideous," she had hissed, her face twisted in revulsion before she turned on her heel and left him to wallow in his pain.

The boy's heart had sunk with her words, but he had learned early on not to cry. Tears were a luxury his pain could never afford. His mother's rants were like a constant reminder to his existence---indifferent, hollow, and cold. At a young age, Dion had already been exposed to violence in its many forms. His body, littered with bruises and scars, was evidence of that harsh reality. His eyes, once bright with curiousity, were now dull---almost lifeless, their innocence eroding over time by neglect and cruel hands.

Maria's anger, always so raw and unpredictable, had left him isolated in his room for hours, sometimes days. There was no solace in her presence, no tenderness, only the oppressive weight of her disdain. Dion had never been allowed the luxury of companionship, not eve his half-siblings.

The sight of them now---so carefree, so happy---only deepened the ache inside him. His mother's jealousy extended to her own child, preventing him from forming bonds with them, ensuring that he remained an outcast within the very walls of his own home.

The world outside his window seemed to spin in a different dimension---one that was full of love and warmth, a place where others laughed and played, their lives intertwined in ways he couldn't and would never understand. But for Dion, it was a dream he could never touch. The world had shown him nothing but cruelty, and he had learned its lessons well. Isolation had become his closest companion, and bitterness his closest ally.

"They're so loud," he muttered under his breath, the words thick with resentment as his eyes narrowed in distaste. His gaze flickered back to the small, happy scene unfolding below him, their laughter like nails against the soft fabric of his shattered soul.

With a sudden jerk of his hands, Dion pulled the curtains shut, drowning out the world and plunging himself back into the oppressive gloom of his room. The warmth of the outside world dissapeared, leaving him with nothing but the cold, silent shadows.

Sighing deeply, Dion sank onto his bed, the familiar weight of emptiness settling over him like a suffocating blanket.he reached for the book he had been reading earlier, its pages now a welcome escape. The words on each page offered him temporary refuge from the cruelty of his reality.

He needed to disappear into it, to forget the pain, the isolation, the constant reminder that he was unwanted.

But just as he began to lose himself in the pages, a sudden knock echoed through the room, breaking the silence. Dion flinched, his heart racing for a brief moment as the sound shattered his moment of peace.

His mind raced, unsure of what to expect---another maid, perhaps, or his parents demanding something of him

Yet, to his surprise, it was a voice he knew well--one that stirred something in his chest, something that had long been buried beneath layers of bitterness.

"My lord, I have brought your afternoon tea. May I come in?" The voice was familiar, comforting even, with a slightly deep yet elegant tone that Dion had grown fond of over the past few years.

Serena.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Without hesitation, he placed the book down and hurried toward the door. When he opened it, he was greeted by the sight of Serena standing in the dorway, her eyes soft and warm as she held a tray of food. She smiled at him, but her gaze flickered to the cuts and bruises on his skin, her expression changing in silent recognition of the suffering he endured. Ah, it seemed Lady Maria had visited the Young Master again.

With a slight bow, Serena greeted him, her voice smooth and welcoming. "A pleasant afternoon to you, Young Master Dion. I have brought you your afternoon tea."

Dion simple nodded in repsonse, stepping aside to let her in. The door closed softly behind them, and the dim light in his room seement to grow a little softer in her presence. As she set the tray down on the coffee table, she gently commenten on the lack of light in the room.

"My, Young Master, it is unhealthy for your eyesight if you keep on embracing the darkness."

"I hate the light..." Dion mumbled under his breath, his eyes narrowing slightly as he turned away, retreating to the bed and curling up in its shadow. His gaze, though, never left Serena as she moved around the rooo.

When Serena moved to open the curtains, the sudden rush of sunlight made Dion flinch, the brightness painful against his sensitive eyes. It was almost too much to bear. The sudden shift made Serena paunse, noticing his discomfort. A soft chuckle escaped her lips.

Ahh, he's just like a cat~ she mused, barely containing her adoration as her thought melted into a silence gush.

"Ara," she mused, noticing figures outside the window. "So this is where Young Master Asil and Young Lady Roxanna have been all along." The mention of his half-siblings made Dion's face twist in distaste. He hated them---hated that they were loved and cherished in ways he could never be.

Serena's words, though, weren't for him. He felt a flicker of irritation, the jealousy gnawing at him once more. "Serena," he muttered, his tone sharp. "my tea."

Her attention snapped back to him, and with a slight bow, she apologized. "I'm sorry for my imprudent actions, Young Master." She moved to the table, setting the tray down with the elgeance that always seemed to come so naturally to her.

Dion sat down on the couch, his eyes flickering between the pages of his book and the maid as she placed the tea and delicacies in front of him.

"I heard that the Young Master Dion was suffering from insomnia these past few weeks," Serena continued, her voice gentle. "so for today, I will be serving you Chamomile Tea, imported just yesterday from the western continent of the Detraitis Kingdom. I've also baked you favorite Berry Cream Tart." Her eyes sparkled with a quiet pride. "I hipe it will satisfy your taste."

The mere thought of Serena making the tart hersef made Dion's heart swell. He couldn't explain it, but the simple act of her caring for him, of making something just for him, stirred something inside him---something tender and raw.

"Thanks, Seri..." he murmured, the smallest smile curling at his lips as he picked up the tart, the sweetness of it a balm to his soul. The flavors exploded in his mouth, comforting him in a way nothing else had in so long.

Serena's eyes softened as she watched him eat her signature smile plastered on her face. She walked to the cabinet beside his bed, gathering the first aid supplies she'd need for his wounds, before returning to him.

"Does the tart suit your taste, Young Master?" she asked, her voice gentle as she knelt beside him.

"Yes..." Dion mumbled between bites, wiping his mouth with a napkin before adding, "It tastes better than the chef's." He smirked at the thought, knowing full well that his words were true. The ched, Baldroy, had a tendency to burn everyhting he cooked---he was more like a flamethrower than a cook.

Serena's eyes twinkled with humor, though a small sigh escaped her. "I'm delighted that you enjoyed your meal, Young Master," she said, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.

He nodded, the warmth of the tea soothing him after the tart's sharp sweetness. Serena, with practiced grace, cleared the table, collecting the used utensils and placing them neatly back into the tray. "Young Master," she began softly, "may I tend to your wounds? I'm afraid they might scar if left untreated."

Treat... he thought, staring down at the small cuts that marred his pale skin. He nodded slowly, pushing away from the table to give her room. She's the only one who seem to care. But why? What could she possibly gain from me, a hideous child like myself? A bitter thought crossed his mind. Is this pity? Or has father sent her to keep an eye on me?

The very idea made Dion's frown deepen. His father, always manipulating, always controlling. His thoughts twisted around the suffocating reality that nothing in his life was truly his. Yet Serena, with her soft gaze and gentle hands, seemed to be the exception.

Serena noticed his frown, her hands pausing as she carefully adjusted the bandage on his arm. "Is something wrong, Young Master? Did I perhaps tighten it too much?"

He shook his head, not trusting his voice. "Nothing," he muttered, looking away, hoping the woman would continue her work without further questions. But Serena, ever the perceptive one, knew better. She didn't press him, thought she knew something was weighing on his heart. She simply nodded and resumed her task, waiting for him to open up in his own time.

And she knew he would.

"Seri..." The quiet, hesitant sound of his voice made her pause. Now, perhaps...she thought with a knowing smirk.

"Yes, Young Master?" she asked, her voice lught, but laced with an edge of quiet amusement.

Dion bit his lip, struggling to find the courage to meet her gaze. His finger twitched nervously. "Am I... Do I look like a... moster?" The question spilled out before he could stop it, raw and jagged, carrying all the weight of his self-doubt.

The room fell silent, save for the faint rustle of fabric as Serena's hand froze mid-air. Dion's heart raced as anxiety gnawed at him. This is it, he thought, She'll finally see what I am and leave me. She'll see I'm a freak, just like everyone else. I've always been alone...

Serena's silence stretched too long, and Dion's stomach twisted into knots. Maybe Mother was right. I am hideous, a monster who only scares people away. Serena's strong, she'll leave me soon enough.

If being a pawn for Lant would keep her by his side, he would gladly accept and be it. He would allow himself to be used, discarded only once his usefulness ran out---so long as she stayed with him. It would be worth it, just to have her presence near him, just for Serena to be by his side.

As a child, he'd reached out countless times, only to be ignored, abandoned. But Serena... she was the one who'd seen him, who'd extended a hand when no one else would. She was his savior. His hero. His salvation even. The only one who understood him in this wretched and wicked world.

"May I ask you something, Young Master?" Serena's voice broke the silence, an unexpected boldness in her words.

Dion stiffened at he audacity. To question him, her master---how dare she? But it was Serena. She can do anything, he thought, his frustration fading into a resigned weariness. "...What is it?"

Serena's lips curled into a mischievous grin, a sharp contrast to the velvetness of her voice. "Does the Young Master then think of me as a monster, too?"

The words struck like lightning, and Dion leapt to his feet in panic, his eyes wide with unspoken shock. "NO!!" he shouted, his hands instinctively grabbing onto hers. "YOU'RE NOT A MONSTER!"

Her smile never wavered, the calm in her expression only fueling the fire of his confusion. "Then neither are you, Young Master."

His breath caught in his throat. "Huh?"

Serena exhaled slowly, the corners of her lips lifting in something close to affection as she gently guided Dion back down, her arms wrapping around his small frame as she pulled him onto her lap. For a moment, he tensed, his body froqzen with the unfamiliar closeness, but then... something inside him softened. Her cold, steady presence felt like balm, her arms surprisingly comforting.

"You see, YOung Master," she murmured, her voice low and gentle. "don't you see? We somewhat look alike. We have the same raven hair, the same blood-red eyes that frighten and awe others. And our skin---pale, smooth. Even out beauty is the same. Isn't that true, Young Master?" she teased, her words wrapped in a tender teasing.

Dion's breath hitched, his heart skipping a beat. She's right. His thought swriled, and for the first time, a glimmer of hope sparked within him. Serena was right. They were similar, so similar.

Serena chuckled softly at the boy's stunned expression, how quickly had she persuaded him. "You see, Young Master, if you keep calling youself hideous, you might hurt my feelings. After all, wouldn't you be saying indirectly that, I, too, am a monster?"

Dion's face flushed a deep red, his mind stumbling over her words. "You're... pretty," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Oh?" Serena's eyes twinkled. "Thank you, Young Master Dion. Your words are most kind."

The warmth of his praise lingered in the air like a soft fragrance. But then, without warning, the tears came. Fat drops, one after the other, fell onto Dion's palm, his fingers trembling as he wiped at his face in confusion.

"H-huh?" His voice cracked, a sob escaping as his vision blurred. "W-what's wrong with me...?" The tears fell faster now, his chest heaving with emotion he could no longer contain.

Serena's gaze softened, and without a word, she leaned down, kissing the tears from his cheeks, her touch as gentle as a whisper. "You're crying, Young Master," she said, her voice quiet, steady, as though she'd seen this moment coming.

Dion's sobs were heavy, raw, and desperate, as if the dam holding his emotions had finally shattered. The boy was crying-the first time in years, and it seemed as though everything he had locked away within himself was escaping in torrents. Tears streamed relentlessly from his eyes, each drop a reflection of the pain that had long been buried in the darkest corners of his soul.

His little hands clutched at Serena as he wept uncontrollably. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, offering a quiet refuge in her embrace. "Shh, it's alright, Young Master," she soothed, her touch slow and steady, rubbing circles on his trembling back. "Just let it all out. I'll be here..." Her words were a soft melody, but they carried a strength, a promise that no one had ever given him before.

But the tears didn't stop. They grew louder, his sobs echoing in the room as if each one were a cry for everything he had lost, everything he had been forced to bury. Dion hiccupped between the sobs, his fragile form shaking violently, as though the weight of the world had finally crushed him beneath its heavy burden.

He was a child---a mere child, yet the scars of his innocence were forever etched into his being. He had witnessed the death of his siblings, the brutality of a world that tore apart the pure and innocent. His heart, once tender and soft, had been hardened by the cruel forces around him---forced to build walls to protect himself from a world that would devour him if given the chance. His voice had been silenced, his rights stripped away. And most painfully, his hopes had been trampled on the moment he reached out for something---someone---and was met with nothing but rejection and darkness.

A child, yes. But not a child in the truest sense. His soul had been ravaged, broken, and twisted beyond recognition, a mere shadow of what it should have been.

Serena's eyes, once filled with warmth, darkened, growing cold as the moments dragged on. A quiet, almost imperceptible smirk played at the corners of her lips, a smirk that sent a chill through the air. The shadows around them seemed to stir, creeping up from the corners of the room, their presence unnoticed by the boy in her arms, lost in his sorrow.

Let him cry, she thought, watching as his grief poured out of him, a silent witness to his pain. Cry, for as long as he wished. His tears meant nothing, not in this world, not in her world.

For Serena Mikaelis knew-emotions, hopes, dreams-they were nothing more than fleeting luxuries, things a being like her could never afford.

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"Young Master Asil, Young Lady Roxanna, it's time for both of you to freshen up and rest. Your afternoon lessons will commence in an hour."

Serena's serene voice rang through the courtyard, a stark contrast to the chaos around her. The two children immediately turned towards her, their faces lighting up like candles in the dark. "RENAA!!!" they exclaimed in unison, sprinting toward her with unbridled joy, while the other three---Mey-rin, Finral, and Baldroy---trailed behind like guilty shadows. Anxiety clung to them like a second skin, beads of sweat forming on their foreheads.

"Good afternoon, Young Masters," Serena greeted,