The place Orden guided Seongjin to was a small attic room at the very top of the expanded count’s residence.
“Her Highness used to spend most of her time here when she was young,” Orden explained.
Seongjin silently looked around the room.
The rough wooden floor remained damaged in places, and the walls were shabby, lacking proper finishing.
Light narrowly seeped through a small window thickly coated with dust, and the tiny bed, with straw fluttering about, carried the scent of dry early autumn sunlight.
…She spent most of her time here? Surely this wasn’t where my sister lived, was it?
Was the chilling premonition he felt merely his imagination?
Then, Seongjin noticed small scribbles written here and there on the walls. They were clumsy, round letters that seemed to be a child’s handwriting.
“…Are these my sister’s?”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Orden replied.
Indeed, his sister had shown a talent for penmanship since childhood. Even now, though her handicrafts are a mess, her handwriting is exceptionally elegant.
Seongjin, immersed in a strange sentiment, traced the words with his hand. They were simple words that even he could read, the kind a child would learn first.
Mom, Dad, family, Bell, Mom, Dad…
—Reading books…