It had been a month since Freud sabotaged my relationship with the cooks. The air grew colder. Maple trees blanketing the mountains shed their fiery red leaves. The Northern Sea wind turned bitingly sharp. Forest animals now ventured near the castle—herds of deer and roe deer gathering by the mountain stream at dusk to drink.

Winter is coming. This might be the hardest winter of my life.

"Victoria, need a hand?"

I turned. Golden-haired, golden-eyed Chris leaned against an attic support pillar, flashing a faintly coquettish smile. For a boy, he was stunningly beautiful—naturally androgynous. In women’s clothes? Probably breathtaking.

"Of course. I’d be endlessly grateful."

"Hmph, hmph. Beyond the contract terms, but consider it a complimentary service." He rolled up his sleeves, helping lift the window’s left side. "Easy peasy—ah!"

"Chris, watch out!"

Perhaps because he was still a child, his strength fell far short of my expectation. The wooden window tilted toward him and crashed to the floor with a loud *clang*.

"My apologies…"

"Chris, are you okay?" I grabbed his hand. "Hurt anywhere?"

"Hmph. Demons are cold-blooded creatures—how could I get hurt?"

He flicked his small hand. The rusty nail’s cut vanished without a trace. I sighed in relief. Thank goodness he wasn’t human.

The crash hadn’t gone unnoticed. Minutes later, *thump-thump-thump* footsteps shattered the attic’s quiet. The door swung open. Freckle-faced Mary—Elizabeth’s maid—strode in, chin high.

*Slap!*

As usual, she slapped me first, then kicked me.

"Mice in the attic should stay quiet. No dinner for you tonight."

She swept out. Clutching my stomach, I struggled upright. A six-year-old girl’s body was fragile indeed. Iron filled my mouth—split lip, no doubt. But it didn’t matter. Today’s pain? I’d repay it tenfold someday.

"Victoria," Chris, now a black cat, gazed up helplessly. "All my fault… No! I’m not worried about *you*—just my investment!"

*I know, I know. Tsundere demons are the cutest.*

I stroked his fur. The softness soothed my ache. Spitting blood, I checked the fallen window. Thank goodness—it was intact.

"Victoria, are you alright?"

"Brother John, please help!"

"Oh dear, your face is swollen! Let me fetch a warm towel—"

"No." I caught his arm. "Just reinstall the window. Or I’ll freeze tonight."

"Right away!"

Chris, still a cat, paced impatiently across the sill. John simply scooped him up and started petting.

"Chris wants to help too? Wait till you’re older."

He set Chris on an old cabinet, then effortlessly lifted the window into place.

"Brother John, what you see next stays secret."

"Understood, Young Miss."

He was likely the only one in this manor still calling me that. Habit, maybe—but he never called Elizabeth "Young Miss." Observer No. 2 had shown me clearly.

I opened the drawer: wooden screws, a screwdriver, two new hinges. John’s eyes widened. But the screws and driver were far rarer—any town blacksmith could forge hinges; these tools belonged solely to alchemists.

*Hehe. All crafted with Ancient Alchemy.*

Under his stunned gaze, I secured the hinges, added a latch. The casement window now swung sideways—far handier than before.

"Young Miss… you’re amazing."

"Too kind, Brother John."

Truthfully, *he* was more impressive. Immune to Elizabeth’s Beguiling Eye—just like me. With her Demon Eye, she’d seized House Lude: from Count Lud himself to every servant, all orbiting her. Don’t be fooled by her bratty act. As she aged, that "green tea" aura would bloom. She’d drain every man near her, step on them upward—straight to the queen’s throne.

I almost pitied Royce. When Katherine fled, she took him. Now the "designated" heir to House Lude was trapped in divorce battles. To crown Elizabeth, Count Lud hired three lawyers to strip Royce of his birthright.

As for me? Forgotten in this attic. If I survived winter, *maybe* he’d remember me come spring.

So I *would not* die.

I would live. And take revenge.

Before leaving, Brother John left two dried persimmons—frosted white, sweet, with pleasantly chewy fermented flesh. My precious sugar source. I meant to save them… but hunger won. By the time I remembered rationing, they were gone.

Night fell. The north wind *whooshed* over the roof, stealing the attic’s last warmth. Huddled under blankets, I shivered. *This is only late autumn.* First snow? I might freeze mid-night. Count Lud—my father—would delight in that. Erase my name from the registry, slot Elizabeth’s in gleefully.

Downstairs, dinner laughter drifted up through floorboard cracks, mingling with music and scent of food. I pinched my nose, held back tears. *She stole everything again.* Unbearable… yet—did it even matter? Not one bit.

This house would soon crumble.

Katherine and Thomas once stole mere 500 gold coins yearly from House Lude’s treasury. But Elizabeth spent openly—legitimately. I’d copied Count Lud’s magical resonance for access. Observer No. 2 "borrowed" coins periodically… and checked the balance.

The result stunned me: *20% gone in one month.*

Two nights ago, while guiding Observer, I overheard horror—Count Lud planned new taxes! *After the locust plague nearly wiped out Southern Valley’s harvest?* Was he mad? I felt like a rat on a sinking ship, thrashing in boundless ocean. Jump now? Only faster death.

*Anyway—grab 20 coins first.*

A month of ant-like pilfering swelled my stash to 800 gold. Enough to live freely for years. But a six-year-old hoarding fortune? Prey for adults—sweet-talked or robbed outright. I knew "harboring jade invites crime" too well. *My last life ended that way.*

Before leaving, two preparations:

1. A new identity.

2. A "home."

Only then could I survive at six. And at the core? A reliable agent—*not human.*

Flame-scorched agony still burned in my veins. Betrayal’s taste? Never again.

If not human… a puppet? Ancient Alchemy forged more than metal. It crafted "Alchemical Lifeforms."

Time was racing. I had to keep pace.

Another month passed. First snow drifted down. Yet the attic stayed warm. With Brother John’s help, I’d rebuilt the windbreak wall, sealed every crack with rags and clay. Replaced part of the flue with brass pipes—channeling residual heat from below into my sanctuary.

This renovated attic was my true reason for moving. My old room? Near the kitchen, yes—but sunless, winter-cold as an ice cellar. And the steep attic stairs? Few dared climb. *My kingdom. My secret base.*

"Heave—ho, set it down!" x2

We spread the old carpet (salvaged from attic junk piles; the windbreak used dismantled furniture) over bare floorboards.

"Young Miss, it’s warmer here than downstairs!"

"I rerouted heat from that chimney," I pointed to the brass pipe in the wall. "Smoke becomes heating. Secret, Brother John?"

"Guaranteed, Young Miss. My word."

John left soon after—snow made courtyard work brutal. Frozen earth, harsh winters… gardeners suffered.

Beyond the double-paned window, snowflakes swirled. I gazed north.

Dark clouds massed thick over the peaks.

A blizzard was coming.