Poison and loneliness.

Four days ago.

The von Meridian family mansion stood in the morning mist, like a frozen memory. The stone walls were silent, like everything in this house - silent, but attentive.

In the room on the second floor, Illia lay on a wide bed. The illness had left a slight tremor in her breathing, her cheeks were pale, her lips - almost blue. But even in this state, she lay, trying to keep her back straight.

Her father - Roger von Meridian - entered the room. Tall, straight as a sword. His cold gaze slid over his daughter, as if checking whether she could withstand another day under the weight of his expectations.

"Illia," he said calmly, without a trace of emotion, "you must not be ill. Weakness is unacceptable."

"Yes, father. Forgive me." Her voice was quiet, almost a whisper.

He nodded, not coming closer, not touching, not lingering. He simply turned and left.

They had never spoken as father and daughter. Only as general and soldier. Illia, stubbornly clutching the sheet, tried not to cry. She knew: tears are not currency in this house. Only results are accepted here.

Her mother, Anna von Meridian, entered after him. Just as cold, just as proud. Roger's female shadow. She put the tray on the table and left silently.

Illia was alone again.

---

“Mistress Illia, I have brought tea,” a soft voice broke the silence. It was Frederick MacAllister, the butler. Or at least the one who wore this mask.

He was the man Illia had trusted since childhood. He told her stories, taught her etiquette, helped her hide with books when she hid from her mother. Smiling, courteous, charismatic.

But behind this mask is a snake's essence.

Insidious, unfeeling. Fanatic. Murderer.

In his hands is tea. And in the tea is a drop of demonic potion. A subtle, slow poison that has been absorbed into Illia's body like an imperceptible splinter in the heart.

"Yes, Frederick, come in," Illia smiled weakly.

"Your health is my first duty, madam." His bow was graceful. He handed the cup with the air of a caring older brother.

The potion was already working. But its effect is prolonged - that was the point: to give the body time to accept the poison, as if it were part of its very nature.

"Will you tell me one of your stories? Like before?" Illia giggled, wrapping herself in a blanket.

"Of course. "Your wish is my command," he said, and his smile grew wider. Almost sincere.

He told her story, and she listened. They laughed, as if it were all real. As if it wasn't all a lie. She remembered the maid who once confused the pantry with the room. They laughed.

And Frederich waited.

He was in no hurry. He knew how to wait for eight years. And he knew: today Illia would fall asleep, and tomorrow something else would wake up in her.

Frederich was a member of the Eye of Truth cult, hidden in the wilds of the Ador forest. Their goal: to destroy all carriers of the Blood of the Ancestors - an ancient force that transmits the memory, will and curse of its owners.

Three weeks ago it became known that Illia was a carrier. Frederich did not hesitate for a second.

"Here is the evening," Illia said, putting down her cup. "Thank you, Frederich. Without you, I would have gone mad.

— What are you saying, madam. You are special.

That is why you must disappear, he added to himself.

---

The healer entered the room with a bow.

— Madam, I have come at the family’s request.

— Please, — Illia nodded wearily.

The magic circles flared, mana swirled in the air, lightly touching her body. It was like warm water — she felt the weight of the illness subsiding. But the potion inside did not disappear. It only hid deeper, closer to her heart.

The healer left. Illia was left alone.

It was night outside. There was emptiness inside.

She went to the window. The city was asleep. The lights of the lanterns, like little souls, trembled in the night.

— Marianne… — she whispered.

A face floated into her memory: laughing, simple, honest.

Marianne Rose was her childhood friend. A commoner. The only one with whom she could ever be just Illia, without a last name.

But everything changed.

One day, Illia made a choice. A choice that others paid for.

“If I had chosen you then...” her voice trembled. “Perhaps everything would have been different.”

The Rose family was exiled to the Wild Lands of Cairil, and no one knows if they are alive.

“I don’t even know where you are. If you are alive. Do you remember me...

Forgive me...

The words stuck in her throat. Illia sank to her knees, buried her face in the pillow.

And cried.

Quietly, without screaming. The way those who are used to being alone cry.

Frederich held his breath at the door. His lips barely trembled - either from pity or from impatience.

- Tomorrow you will begin to change, mistress. And in three days... you will become a monster.

And I will be there. To watch you burn.

He left into the night, leaving no trace.

And in the room, Illia did not sleep for a long time.

Because in her heart the thought trembled:

"I am not who they think I am.

But who am I then?"