When did I first realize I was a monster?

I gazed down from my window at Nadori washing clothes below. Her figure was slender, her hands crimson from the icy water.

She thought white gloves could hide it from me. I shook my head. In the old days, the head maid of House Slindepru would never do such chores.

Useless to dwell on that. Better to find a way to heal the fresh cut on her left hand—just now, I’d seen it clearly: a slash between her index and middle fingers, about an inch long.

I found bandages in the cabinet, searching for ointment while pondering the question. The answer came: roughly a year ago. That day, watching Nadori from this very window, I’d realized.

Normal people could only spot figures from this third-floor attic. But I… I saw every detail of her moving hands. Even a wound as small as a knuckle.

I thought it was just a gift. Until the day I planned to tell Nadori—when the Church arrived. They called my mother a demon. Called me an abomination, half-human, half-demon. To prevent me from committing "demonic acts," they demanded I spend my life in their dungeon.

Nadori said she negotiated long and hard. The agreement: we’d donate ninety percent of House Slindepru’s Tilton assets to the Church. Nadori and I would leave forever, never returning. Church inspectors would visit periodically. In exchange, they wouldn’t take me by force.

We compromised. The Church kept most promises… except their branches—like the Breno district chapter governing our town—weren’t covered. The agreement said nothing about them. So they torment us.

They’re wearing us down. Waiting for the day we break. Then they’ll drag me to the dungeon. Hang me on a sweltering summer day.

Because I’m a demon.

My fingertips pressed slightly. Glass shattered in my palm. I stared at the ointment jar—snapped cleanly between thumb and forefinger.

I sighed. At least there’d been little ointment. It barely splattered.

After cleaning up, I took the bandage smeared with salve downstairs.

"Young Master?" Nadori looked up, puzzled. "Why are you down here? Off to the academy?"

"No. It’s Demon-Cleansing Day. The Church scrubs students to purge demonic taint." I shook my head, grabbing a dry towel. I pulled her left hand from the basin. "If I went, they might mistake *me* for the taint."

I dried her hands carefully, pressed the medicated bandage over the cut, and wrapped it tight.

I kept my head down, focused. Nadori stayed silent. When I glanced up, her cheeks were flushed, her eyes fixed elsewhere.

"Leave the rest of the laundry," I said. "I’ve another uniform."

"Mm… mm…" She bit her right index finger lightly.

"Young Master," she asked while hanging clothes, "when you said they might mistake you for taint… has your identity been exposed?"

I smiled. "Just a joke."

"Don’t joke about that!" She exhaled sharply. "I’m truly terrified. We can’t afford a private tutor if you’re expelled…"

My classmates never knew my secret. At the academy, I was Salen Slid. They must never learn I’m the child of a demon and a human.

Today’s monthly Demon-Cleansing Day. To avoid Church inspectors—and trouble—I’d stay home. In this three-story stone cottage with its tiny yard, keeping Nadori company.

Sometimes life here felt better than Tilton. No nobles barging in. No royal visits. Just two people in a small yard. Comfortable. Free.

Watching Nadori sit beside me under the eaves, lost in thought, I often felt she was more child than I was. Children stare at the sky. Children keep secrets locked inside. Children… pout and cling to those they cherish.

"Tomorrow," Nadori said, chin propped on her palm, "you *will* go to school."

"Don’t treat me like a child," I chuckled.

"You *are* a child… Young Master." Her fingers traced the bandage on her wrist.

"Yes. A child. A perfectly ordinary sixteen-year-old." I tilted my face to the clear sky. Something fierce surged in my chest.

This was Breno—a town far from Tilton. Mountain winds carried the scent of pines. Salen, the fallen heir of House Slindepru, and his head maid Nadori lived here under borrowed names.

I lifted my palm to block the sun, squinting. I loved this place. Truly loved it. Since age twelve, I’d learned to accept fate’s hand. If heaven willed I spend my life here, I’d have no complaint. But what did Nadori think? Did she long for the old days? We lived on the last tenth of the Slindepru fortune—my charitable, frugal parents had been counts, after all. This wealth could sustain us a century. Even with Church harassment, they dared not act openly for fear of scandal.

But was this truly right?

Did Nadori feel the same?

What else could I do but stay?

Breno was a speck on the map. Yet because a boy and a girl came here, it began to glow brightly… on certain maps.