Vol 1 Chapter 2: It Turns Out the Monster is My father

POV: Joanna de Vire

I have always loved the night.
The sky looked so peaceful from the palace balcony. The night breeze carried the scent of lavender from the garden below. And mother's voice, father's laughter... everything felt whole. Safe. Warm.
Father sat on a rattan chair, spooning fruit from a silver plate while joking. Mother laughed softly. I leaned in her arms, and occasionally teased him with light jokes.

"Father, when I grow up, I want to be a hero like you. Is that okay?"

Father was silent. Only for a moment, but the silence felt long... like a cold wall suddenly standing between us. But then he smiled, as usual.

"Of course you can… Anna will be entering Oxoed Magic Academy soon, right? There, you will learn to be a great hero… like Father"

I nodded firmly.

"I will work hard! I will help Father save the kingdom!"

"You are a good girl." Father said while patting my head.

Mother replied, as usual, with a warm smile:

"Anna is indeed a good girl. One day, she will grow up to be a hero like you... honey."

Suddenly a knight met my father, he bowed respectfully and said:

"My lord, the goods you ordered... have been secured. They are now downstairs."

My father was upset because he felt that family time was disturbed, he said:

"Tom... How many times have I told you—don't talk about trade when I'm with my family!"

The knight lowered his head, trembling. Then he left after saying goodbye.

I was curious about the goods my father ordered, I asked:

"Father, what are those things?"

My father immediately answered:

"Just merchandise, dear. They are not important to you."

My mother also chimed in:

"Yes, listen to your father. Anna's job is to study, understand?"

I trust my parents. Besides, my father never lied to me.
I wanted to believe that. I wanted to believe that everything was fine.
But… somehow that night felt strange. Too quiet. Too… soft. Like the calm before something breaks.
And then… the smell came.
The scent of roses.
Faint. Then slowly stronger. Not like flowers from the garden. More… thick. Like iron. Like wounds.

“Honey, do you smell roses?” Father asked, his voice a little tense.

“A little… yes.” Mother replied. “Do you wear perfume, honey?”

“No…”

I turned to look at Father’s face—a face that always looked strong. But that night, he looked… scared. His eyes were shaking. His forehead was wet. I had never seen him like that before. Not in front of anyone.
Then… the voice came.
A woman’s voice. Soft. But it was like whispering straight to the marrow of my bones.

“Are you afraid? That’s natural. Sinners always know when it’s their time to be slaughtered.”

I turned quickly. The figure emerged from the hallway.
A woman. A red dress. Silver hair. Blue eyes that held no mercy. In her hand—a severed head.
One head still dripped blood onto the marble floor.

“Gilles de Vire,” she said, flatly, “you have become so comfortable that you have forgotten your sins.”
My father shuddered.

“Guards!? Where are the guards!?”

“At my feet.”

She threw the head to the floor.
It was the head of the knight who had spoken to my father.
My mother screamed. I... didn’t know what to do. My legs gave way. My hands gripped my mother’s dress, but my fingers trembled.

“Who are you?” my father asked.

“Blood Rose,” she replied. “And tonight, I have come to judge you.”

My father tried to defend himself.
Mentioning ‘the kingdom’s economy,’ ‘emergency,’ ‘forced’... But the woman didn’t budge.
She spoke of orphans.
About my birthday party.
About the children locked up in the dungeon.
I... don't understand. I don't know... No... I don't...

“Please... My wife... my child...”

Then her sword stabbed Father's neck.
Blood exploded. Staining my face.
I couldn't scream. Couldn't move.
I just... sat. Hugging Mother who had fainted.
Father's blood flowed onto the marble tiles. Slowly, thickly, and the smell of roses grew stronger.

“Forgiveness belongs only to the victim,” she said.

“WHY?! Why did you kill my father?!!” I shouted.

“I told you. He was a monster disguised as a hero.”

“No… Father saved many people…”

The woman stared at me. Coldly. As if I were just clear glass.

“Who did he save, Anna? The nobles who sat pretty in the palace?”

“Ask the children who were cut and sold. The little girls who never grew up.”

“He wasn’t a hero. He was a monster.”

The air thickened. Rose petals floated, slow and graceful—but each one was a curse.

“I left a ‘gift’ in the halls beneath the palace. Go see. And understand for yourself.”

I fell silent.

Then she looked at me.

“I didn’t kill you, Anna. Because you don’t know. But if one day you grow up to be a monster like your father… I’ll be back.”

She dragged him by his hair of my father's head—or what was left of it.
Walking out like a ghost of the night.
Blood left a trail like a curse mark.
I didn’t cry.
I just stood there, my body shaking, my lips pale.
Then everything went black.

—

The Nightmare Turns Out to Be My Father

I woke up in the cold dawn.
The sky was gray. The city was silent.
And in the square...
My father's body was crucified.
Bound with thorny vines.
Rose petals floated from the air.
Paper hung in the air—a list of his crimes.
The people stood at a distance. Silent. Staring. Not daring to approach.
No one cried. No one spoke.
Just the wind.
My father was a hero.
But he was also a tyrant.
And I was his blood.
I wanted to believe that the world was fair.
But that night taught me:
Justice has no face.
And roses don't always smell good.

—

A Few Hours After My Father's Execution...

I didn't cry right away.
There was something colder than sadness.
It was confusion.
And it enveloped me like ice water slowly rising to my neck.
Silent. Silent. Frozen.
When I opened my eyes, the world no longer recognized the same face.
My father was crucified in the square.

My mother lay still in bed, her face pale as a shroud.

The servants of the house were gone. The knights of the palace had become corpses.

And the palace... the palace no longer felt like home. Just an empty building that once held lies.

But there was one thing that remained.

The smell of roses.

Not sweet. Not romantic. But fishy. The smell of blood.

And then I remembered...

“I left a ‘gift’ in the halls beneath the palace.”

I should have stayed in my room.

I should have waited for my mother to wake up.

I should have... remained a child.

But my feet moved on their own.

It was like someone was pushing me, whispering in my ear.

“Go see. And understand who your father is.”

The palace’s underground passage was a place I had never entered before.

My father said it was just an archive and wine storage room.

But that night…
the doors were open.

And the stone spiral staircase greeted me like the mouth of a monster waiting for its next victim.

The sound of my footsteps echoed down.

One…two…thirty…who knows how many steps.

The deeper I descended, the darker it became.

The air grew damper.

And finally I arrived…at an iron door.

"This must be something else… maybe… maybe these are…"

I pushed it open. The door creaked…and I smelled a stench that greeted me before the light.

And what I saw…
wasn’t wine. Not archives.

But little bodies.

Children.

Wrapped in chains.

Some were alive.

Some were sleeping.

Some—I wasn’t sure if they were breathing.

They were all wearing party clothes.

The clothes we gave them for my birthday.

Little dresses. Cute vests.

Doll clothes…for children to sell like dolls.

A little girl looked up at me.

Her eyes were blank. Her face had the scar of an old slap.

But when she recognized me, she backed away—afraid.

“Don’t take me… please… I’m not… not old enough…”

I froze.

“I… I won’t hurt you…”

“Don’t lie! You’re his daughter! You’re the devil’s child!”

The children’s cries began to erupt.
The sound of chains. Screams. Sobs.
And in the middle of the hallway, I saw something that made my body shake.
There was an old mirror.
In front of it hung a wooden board…
Names were written.
The names of children.
And next to each name, there was a label:

“SOLD” — “READY TO SHIP” — “NOT YET WORTHY”

And below it…
it said:

“CHOSEN BY: MR GILLES DE VIRE”

My hand touched the names.
Suddenly I felt dirty. Dirty inside and out.
My father.
The father I praised. The father I looked up to.
The father I hugged last night before going to bed…
Is a monster.
And I... am his blood.

I fell down. My tears burst like broken glass.
I don't know how long I was down there.
But when I went upstairs, my clothes smelled of iron and sweat.
My ears were still filled with screams.
My blood was still cold.
I looked up at the morning sky from the balcony.
The sky was still blue. As usual.
As if this world... didn't care.
And I asked myself...

"If father is a monster... then what am I?"

I had no answer.
But I knew one thing:
I can't go back to being a child.
Even if this world gives me a thousand flowers...
All I can smell forever is roses and blood.