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Chapter : 01
Inside That Grave
Charlophe sensed her death.
‘I’m going to die soon.’
A death faced in helplessness was lonely.
Does it hurt? She had long since forgotten even what pain felt like.
Her senses were already dull. Only a chilling cold remained.
The breath that had continued like a thin thread slowly came to a stop.
It was agonizing. Her airway felt torn, as if scraped by a needle.
Charlophe gasped for air.
It felt as though her lungs were being crushed. She had met her end alone in a sickbed—she was sure of it, and yet……
“Stop crying already!”
Charlophe opened her eyes in confusion.
Am I… crying right now? Why am I crying…? This is strange. Why is this happening…? The tears falling onto her palm were thin and hot.
“After Madam passed away, the young miss seems to have lost her mind.”
“She cries too much! I’m sick to death of hearing her cry now!”
“Be quiet. The young miss can hear you.”
“I’m saying this because I feel like I’m going to go crazy myself! It’s been how long since Madam died, and she still can’t move on right in front of us!”
Charlophe lowered her hand and wiped her eyes. A feverish heat pooled in her head until it felt dizzy.
“Where… is this?”
She knew where this was. She clearly knew. And yet it didn’t feel real.
Before her eyes hung a framed memorial portrait of her dead mother. A portrait of a mother who had died decades ago.
“She’s dead. So why?”
“Yes. Madam Tuteur has passed away. Young miss, isn’t it about time you accepted that fact?”
That wasn’t the death she was talking about.
“I’m the one who died.”
Charlophe was already dead.
When she thought back, there weren’t even any good memories.
She had been abandoned and died twice. The first time, she was abandoned by her family.
‘Aren’t you already grown? Don’t the living still have to go on living?’
Her mother’s grave had been trampled and defiled by her father’s mistress, and her father had formed a new family.
And with his own hands, he erased every trace of the mother and daughter.
After that, she was pushed into a marriage. Forced into it by her family, she was abandoned once more.
One side of her cheek festered from burns, her very existence became a disgrace,
and at her final moment, her lungs hardened from lupotic disease, and she died.
Abandoned twice. Yes. That was the end. That breath had already been cut off.
“Young miss?”
And then, she returned to that day when she was nineteen, the day she lost her birth mother.
Charlophe hurriedly forced her staggering body upright. Her legs buckled weakly. All her senses felt stiff and frozen.
“Young miss, what’s wrong? A-are you okay? Y-yes, young miss? Hey, there’s no master of the house here—are you trying to scare people to death? Hey, do something!”
“W-what’s wrong, young miss? S-someone, go call someone!”
The maids shrieked and recoiled from her.
Charlophe crawled across the floor on her knees.
“What is this now?”
Her eyes trembled finely.
In the memorial portrait, her mother was smiling. Several white chrysanthemums were placed before the frame. Everything felt strange. A sense of dissonance flowed through her.
It was as if she were saying, ‘Don’t worry, my daughter.’
Only then did Charlophe stop crying.
She’s dead. Her breath was cut off. Everything should be over.
But you dragged me back into this hell?
Just as anger surged up in her chest, her gaze shifted to one side and stopped.
‘Ah…’
She couldn’t bring herself to be angry. How could she, after seeing that? In the photo, her mother was smiling so purely.
“…Seriously.”
“What is it?”
“I came back.”
Charlophe groped at her cheek, then crawled toward the mirror.
A familiar woman was reflected there. Her sunken eyes were soaked in sorrow, yet her reddish-brown pupils were deep and clear. She looked like a child exhausted from crying, yet also weary like an adult who had escaped a harsh reality.
“You.”
Charlophe slowly pushed herself upright.
“Where is this place?”
“Are you feeling unwell, young miss?”
“I’m asking you right now. Where is this?”
“This is your home, young miss. The House of Marquis Tuteur.”
“And my father?”
“He went out and isn’t here right now. Didn’t he tell you he wouldn’t be able to come for a few days?”
Less than a week after losing her wife, her biological father left his daughter alone and away from home.
Charlophe dropped her head and covered her cheek with her hand. Each time her soft fingertips brushed her face, laughter burst out.
Am I happy right now? Or am I sad? I don’t even know this feeling.
Ah… Still, I hate this. I came back to this damn moment?
She touched her neck. The aura of death still lingered vividly.
You brought me back here?
My life had already sunk into the mud. Emptiness and relief washed over her together.
“Young miss, are you okay?”
Charlophe whispered, her eyes reddening.
“I’m fine.”
I don’t know what’s what. Everything feels hollow. And yet, a miserable feeling keeps flooding in.
Her long hair flowed down to her waist. Feeling her way along the wall, Charlophe went to the sliding door.
The wind brushed against her. A hint of green showed through the closed gap. She sank down before the door and opened it. A warm breeze blew in.
Before her spread a garden of green grass and wildflowers.
‘I thought I’d never see this again.’
The Tuteur family’s flowerbed unfolded before her eyes.
Charlophe swallowed her sobs. In the memorial portrait, her mother was still smiling. That sight felt absurd.
“Why are you smiling?”
What’s so good that you’re smiling? We couldn’t even die like human beings. Those trash people are living loud and proud, while only we died unfairly. Mother, what is there to smile about?
“How long has it been since Mother’s funeral?”
Charlophe brought up what she had buried away. First, she had to confirm exactly when this moment was.
“Funeral?”
“I’m asking how long it’s been since Mother’s funeral.”
“It’s been a week.”
“And Mother’s ashes?”
“Why on earth are you asking something like that?”
As Charlophe brushed back her curly red hair, one of the maids flinched and answered.
“We buried them in the ground.”
“Where?”
“Over there, in the cemetery….”
Charlophe staggered outside. She stepped barefoot onto the flowerbed. The sensation under her soles felt unfamiliar.
“Young miss, you’re okay, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Shall I call the physician?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine now.”
How long had it been since I could stand on the ground with my own legs?
Why is this happening? What brought me back here?
Anger? Resentment? Bitterness? I don’t know yet.
Still, I do know one thing: I feel absolutely filthy right now.
Charlophe let out a choking laugh. Whether it was laughter or tears, she forced it down, and her mouth felt dry.
Bastards. I curse this family. I curse your future.
‘Let’s go.’
Why here, of all places? Why at this time? Even she didn’t know.
What sent me back here? That was still unclear.
But one thing she knew: this is not where we belong.
The reason she returned didn’t matter. It was time to leave this place.
‘I’ll get you out.’
Then.
Let’s leave this house together now.
I’ll pull you out of this pile of trash.
Late at night.
Charlophe left her bedroom.
‘Charlophe Tuteur.’
Though she was the only daughter of Marquis Tuteur, she was neglected by the family because she had to nurse her sickly mother and was herself frail.
That was Charlophe.
A mother and daughter despised by the family.
Since everyone had collectively neglected them, there was no one who would notice even if Charlophe slipped out alone late at night.
“For a girl to sneak out, and not a single person sees her….”
Wearing light clothes with only a shawl draped over her, Charlophe went out.
The urn had been placed on one side of the cemetery. The front of the graves was empty and silent.
She touched her lips. Everything felt alien.
“Let’s go. Anywhere would be better than here.”
Charlophe dug into the dirt with her bare hands. Her skin tore and her nails broke.
When she pulled the urn out of the soil, a chill clawed at her grip. She dropped to her knees before it.
“Ah… why are you buried here all alone?”
I’m sorry for letting you die so lonely.
The white jade urn was cold. Charlophe pulled it into her arms.
Mother is gone. She should be buried in the ground now, but at the very least, this is not where she should rest.
‘Let’s leave now.’
Charlophe took her mother’s urn. And late at night, she left that house.
This feeling,
this sorrow,
even this resentment—
I’ll come back to return it all to you. Wait. I won’t forget. It won’t take long.
Cradling her mother’s urn, Charlophe hired a carriage.
“Take me to the Duke of Windsor’s estate.”
She told the coachman her destination and leaned back in the carriage.
She had no special connection with her mother’s family. For some reason, that tie had been cut.
‘Still, I have to go back.’
Charlophe hugged the urn. It smelled of earth. It was cold.
Of course, there couldn’t be any warmth—it was only the trace of someone long dead. Even so, she wanted to feel warmth, at least here.
Charlophe sobbed silently.
The carriage stopped.
Charlophe paid the coachman and got down. He looked at her worriedly.
“But isn’t it too late to come at this hour?”
Charlophe looked up at the gates of the Windsor estate and answered,
“If it’s late, I can just wait.”
The coachman left. Charlophe herself wasn’t sure.
Even in her previous life, she hadn’t had much of a connection with the Windsors.
If not for her mother’s urn, she probably would never have come here herself.
‘Will they even remember my face at this point?’
She smiled bitterly. Well done, coming in this state. Hugging the urn, she knocked on the gate.
“Is anyone there!”
Just then, a carriage approached quickly. A black carriage with the family crest stamped boldly on it.
It was a Windsor carriage. The window opened, and a middle-aged man stuck his head out.
“Who are you?”
She didn’t know who he was. But she didn’t need to.
His red hair told her whose blood he carried.
“I’m Charlophe, the daughter of Cosette Windsor.”
At that, the man’s expression grew strange.
“Cosette?”
“Yes. She is my mother.”
Mother.
It’s time to come home now.
And then…
Her consciousness began to fade in and out.
