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LOS 12
Although I hadn't left a single scratch on Yohan's body, the mere fact that I had threatened him with a sharp weapon was enough to sever all ties with the ducal house.
It was fortunate that this was an era where the influence of the monarchy and nobility was not what it used to be, and practical power resided with the parliament and the cabinet; in the old days, a family could have fallen in an instant.
At least, that was according to the chatter of the servants. I had no intention of ruining the family. It was simply that the damn Yohan had tried to harm me first, and I had merely defended myself.
However, the Count did not listen to my words. The fact that the girl he had spent money raising, believing she could be a good substitute product, had returned not by capturing the Duke's heart but by bringing shame to the family name, completely robbed him of his reason.
I was no longer a young lady. The Count did not acknowledge me as his daughter. Well, I wondered if he had ever considered me a precious daughter to begin with. He would summon me at the slightest whim and rain down kicks and beatings until his anger subsided.
After enduring the beatings while curled up on the floor, I was confined in a cramped space. He was truly a creative man. He used the attic, of course, but also the closet where cleaning tools were kept, and he even pushed me beneath the floorboards.
Lying there, hugging my battered body beneath the nailed-down floorboards, I did not cry. It was true that my entire body ached and throbbed. But the pain could not break me. On the contrary, I was very cold and calm.
If asked whether I regretted the choice I made that day when I threatened the Duke, I would answer without a moment's hesitation. I had never once regretted that choice.
I had succeeded in protecting myself. I had terrified the large man who tried to harm me, and I had escaped from his clutches on my own. I was immensely proud of myself.
New scars appeared on my body one by one, but such things didn't matter. This was the result of my own choice. At the very least, enduring beatings was no longer the worst-case scenario.
The Count's household was determined to let me wither away slowly and painfully. Just as I was about to lose consciousness, they would notice with uncanny precision, drag me out, and feed me bread crumbs and a minuscule amount of water.
It seemed they were trying to get revenge in their own way. They likely hoped I would spend every night in regret, shedding tears of repentance. But the more they tormented me, the clearer my mind became.
The experience of choosing my own destiny by my own will, instead of obeying others and walking the path they desired, made me a tenacious person.
I wanted to live. Even if it was out of hatred for the Duke and my father, who treated me like an object, I had to survive. It was even more so because they wanted me dead.
If the Duke couldn't harm me, neither could the Count.
I had the experience of escaping from the strong grip of a madman.
No one could force a destiny upon me or harm me.
Once you smash the door of the cage and step outside, you realize how narrow and suffocating it was inside. That is why I decided never to enter a cage again.
Still, I did not regret my choice.
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Being trapped mostly beneath the floorboards allowed me to gather a lot of information. For example, the fact that a rookie maid had just started working.
I always listened closely to the servants' conversations. The new maid's name was Roxy. Roxy Martin. She was eighteen years old, with five younger sisters and one younger brother. It seemed she had volunteered for the maid's work to feed her poor siblings and send them to school.
Roxy didn't even know I existed. My name was taboo within the mansion. Only a few people who had been ordered were allowed to approach me.
I knew this was an opportunity.
Although the space beneath the floorboards was narrow, it was the optimal place to devise a plan. Over a few days, I figured out Roxy's schedule and movements. When she arrived for work, how long she worked, and when she went to spend time alone.
As the sun dipped and the day grew dark, most of the maids would either finish work or go to rest. Roxy had a habit of humming lyrics. The moment I heard her humming, I would conjure the saddest thoughts possible and squeeze out tears.
Hearing my sobbing, Roxy stopped singing.
"Is someone there?"
I made a crying sound. Then, with a tear-soaked voice, I called out to her.
"Sister..."
I heard a gasp of breath above my head. Roxy, who had been listening to me with her ear to the floor, asked in a voice that trembled like an aspen leaf.
"Who is there?"
"Sister, please help me."
"How on earth did you get in there? W-what should I do. I'll call someone, so could you wait just a moment?"
"No one will help me. I'm being punished."
"What?"
"I did something wrong, but... it's too cold and hard. I feel like I'm going to die. Even if it's just for a moment, could you please let me out? Please..."
As I expected, Roxy could not ignore me and pass by. Roxy was too kind to ignore a girl younger than herself sobbing and begging for help; she was especially weak when it came to children.
The eighteen-year-old girl who had decided to become a maid for the sake of her siblings did not disappoint my expectations.
"W-wait just a moment! I'll find something to pry up the floor."
Roxy whispered to me and ran off somewhere. I waited for her, my heart pounding. The footsteps that had receded returned after a few minutes. I heard the sound of Roxy prying out nails with a blade.
Soon, I could see Roxy's face looking down at me, backlit by the bright moonlight.
"Are you okay?"
I was emaciated, and my face was smeared with tears. Even without a legendary performance like a movie actor, I was already a pitiful child. Roxy felt sorry for me.
She didn't bother to ask what wrong I had committed. She seemed to think that a girl as wretched as I was couldn't have committed a great crime. I kept my mouth shut and wiped away my tears, further solidifying Roxy's belief.
There was no need to reveal that I was actually the Count's biological daughter and that this had happened because I held a sharp shard to Duke Meier's throat.
It would not be an exaggeration to say that while I survived half of it through my own strength, the other half was thanks to Roxy's help; she helped me in secret. Even knowing she would be punished if caught, she couldn't leave me alone.
I felt a bit sorry for taking advantage of her kind nature, but that was as far as it went. Nothing was more important than survival.
Roxy brought me leftover food. I ate them sparingly. I couldn't let anyone find out that I was receiving help.
She often wrapped the food in newspaper, and I collected those newspapers without throwing them away. During the day, light would leak through the gaps in the floorboards. Relying on that light, I read the newspapers and disciplined myself so that my mind wouldn't go numb.
Meanwhile, the Bismarl family's fortunes were declining by the day. I didn't know if my threatening Duke Meier had truly influenced it, but regardless, the Count's house was no longer what it used to be. I suspected that some sort of business venture the Count had bragged about at a dinner table had failed.
The family needed someone to vent their anger on, and that was me. Well, let them. I was satisfied enough with the mere fact that they were keeping me alive.
Pain and hunger had long since become a part of my body. After forcing me to adapt to a new life and environment, it was absurd to expect me to die because I couldn't endure it now.
I continued to coax the soft-hearted girls and read the collected newspapers, thinking about an opportunity to escape this mansion one day.
Since there was nothing I could do immediately, I endured as much as possible, waiting for the right opportunity to come.
Several years passed like that.
I even forgot how old I was. Such things weren't important. What mattered was that I was alive. I was lying in that narrow space, which had become as familiar as my own room, thinking.
I remembered glancing at a story about a 'World War' in the newspaper. It seemed like the war had been going on for a long time, so why was it so peaceful here?
I closed my eyes and imagined enemy soldiers invading this country. I pictured them kicking open the doors of this mansion.
The Count had not been conscripted into the war simply because he was a noble. He probably didn't even know how to fight properly.
I'll lie here beneath the floor and hold my breath until they kill the Count and loot all the gold and treasures before leaving. No matter how much of an enemy they are, they surely wouldn't think there's a person beneath the floor. Once they all leave, I'll be free.
It was while I was thinking this.
Along with a loud noise, I heard the sound of people storming in.
I lay curled up beneath the floor, holding my breath and thinking. What happened? Shouts and screams overlapped. This was certainly not the visit of friendly guests. Several pairs of boots paced frantically above my head, echoing in my skull.
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