My private room. A pce where no one else was.

  I let out a small breath in front of the door and reached for the knob.

  —Creeeeak.

  "Hawa... not again..."

  As I feared, I had misjudged my own strength.

  The hinges shrieked, and the door began to tilt precariously. I instinctively pulled my hand back, but it was too te.

  "Ugh... I’m sorry, door..."

  The apology slipped out unconsciously. It was a habit I’d find deeply embarrassing if anyone ever saw—but I couldn't seem to break it. I found myself apologizing even to inanimate objects, as if they had hearts of their own.

  Somehow, I managed to set the door aside and stepped into the room.

  My maid, accustomed to such sights, looked at the door and gave a faint, warm smile.

  "Again, I see. But... My Lady, I actually like that side of you."

  Her voice was soft. Yet, it made my chest tighten, and a dull heat rose to my cheeks.

  "Guh..."

  Relief or embarrassment? I suddenly felt a wave of self-loathing. All I did was try to enter my room, and yet, here I was.

  (Why... why am I like this?)

  I couldn't control my strength. That was the fear I had lived with for so long.

  Because of it, I was terrified of touching people or being touched. It became a habit to keep my distance, and eventually, I grew used to the solitude.

  I couldn't even manage a simple handshake. Even when a hand was offered to me, I couldn't bring myself to reach back.

  ...That was the real me.

  As the silver armor was removed, my hair cascaded softly onto my shoulders. But my heart didn't feel any lighter.

  After the maid left and her footsteps faded into silence, I sat down quietly on the edge of the bed.

  Right in front of me was a dust-covered mirror.

  ...I almost never used it.

  But the reflection showed a face that was, by all accounts, well-formed. A youthful jawline. Skin so pale it was almost translucent. My silver hair caught the light, reminding me of someone who once said I looked like a "Snow Sprite."

  But—only the eyes were different.

  Dull, white eyes. Like the surface of a still pond that reflected no emotion. I couldn't see "myself" in that gaze. I looked like a doll that couldn't decide anything for itself.

  (Even if it looks pretty... if the inside is like this, it’s meaningless.)

  I turned my face away. I couldn't stand to look at my own "form."

  And besides...

  "I’m too strong... even though I’m a girl..."

  My murmur trembled, den with self-reproach.

  The time I could spend as a "girl" was so short. "Strength" was the only thing that defined me, yet that very strength was what pushed my true self furthest away.

  —I can’t do anything.

  I can’t even touch the things I want to protect.

  If I ever allowed myself to want to touch that person... I might end up breaking them.

  That fear tightened its grip on my heart.

  Even so...

  I opened my desk drawer and took out a small case.

  Carefully opening the lid, I rolled a gold earring between my fingertips.

  "...Didn't find him today, either."

  A monologue. A tiny prayer directed at no one.

  —A long time ago.

  The boy I met. The precious time I spent protecting him with these very hands.

  (Back then, I... I was certainly a "girl." For the first time, I was able to accept this strength.)

  If someone with those same eyes is still out there somewhere—

  —"Let us be betrothed."

  ...The Queen’s words echoed in my heart, quietly lighting a fire once more.

  (No... I shouldn't get close. If I’m found out, it’s all over. ...I’d probably be executed.)

  And yet.

  Somewhere in my heart, something was aching, just a little.

  (It’s not just that I want to protect her. ...It’s something more.)

  It wasn't quite longing, and it wasn't quite confusion.

  But something was definitely beginning to sprout.