Chapter 1
A strange light gleamed in her dull eyes. Her pale, thin hand wrote across the notebook’s first page.
‘I will not live like a doll. From now on, I intend to record how much I accomplish before I die.’
The title of the notebook was ‘The Will of Jisenberia Burnett’.
* * *
Whenever the chapel bell rang, the three family members gathered to eat together at Burnett Manor. It was a scene that might look harmonious at first glance, but up close, it was far from beautiful, a truth known only to those inside the mansion.
Most days were no different from any other, but this morning, a most unusual scream heralded the beginning of a crack in their routine.
“Aaaaagh!”
It was a desperate scream that made the ceiling ring. Count Burnett, who was standing by with a rod in hand, doubted his own ears. Was this truly the pathetic, helpless adoptive daughter he had molded? Was that scream really bursting from the mouth of Jisenberia Burnett?
Jisen was still wearing her nightgown, a simple cotton dress. Her dry silver hair was disheveled, as if she had just lifted her head from her pillow. Veins bulged on her thin neck as she screamed, making her look like a madwoman.
“AAAAAAAGH!”
This time, the scream went on even longer. Furious, the Count gritted his teeth and reached for Jisen’s head. But Jisen stepped back, slipping out of his reach. A roar of outrage burst from the Count’s contorted mouth.
“Jisenberia, have you lost your mind?”
Jisen clenched her fists and glared at her adoptive father. An unprecedented glint shone in her amethyst-purple eyes.
At the sight of the two clashing, her younger brother, Myers, widened his eyes. The boy stared at Jisen in bewilderment, secretly worrying if his sister had finally gone mad.
Jisen hurled another question right at the Count’s face, which had turned red as if about to burst.
“Why are you hitting me?”
“You did wrong, and so you must be punished.”
“What did I do wrong?”
“That is what I should be asking! Stand right there!”
Every time the Count answered Jisen’s questions, a streak of blue light flickered across her vision. In other words, everything he said was the truth. He genuinely believed Jisen had done something wrong enough to deserve a beating.
Jisen let out a huff of laughter.
She could easily list ten wrongdoings tailored to the Count’s liking. She hadn’t changed her clothes yet; her hair was a messy nest; she had come down to the dining room long after the chapel bell rang; she had talked back to the Count; she had asked questions; she had raised her voice, and so on.
Whenever he found fault, she would be beaten until she bled. The Count claimed that the foolish, insolent Jisenberia needed sense beaten into her. If Jisen dared to dodge or talk back, the Count would hit her head until her ears rang, then lock her in her room to starve for days. Sitting still had been her only way to survive.
Because of the violent head of house, Jisen and her younger brother tended to be as quiet as possible, treading lightly. Though Jisen was usually the one getting beaten, her brother stayed quiet alongside her. Just the Count raising his voice was enough to terrify the siblings.
Time ticked away while the two engaged in a fierce argument. Suddenly, Jisen noticed Myers sitting blankly in front of an empty plate. Myers had been held responsible for Jisen’s lateness and made to endure his hunger while the Count ate. Even now, while Jisen argued back relentlessly, nine-year-old Myers sat quietly, exhibiting patience far beyond his years.
In the past, Jisen would have sat beside him in the same manner, but that would never happen again.
As she lost herself in thought for a brief moment, the Count grabbed her arm and forced her to extend her hand. Gritting her teeth, she shook off his hand. Since she had never dared resist when he used force, the unexpected action left the Count’s hand frozen in midair.
The Count could only scoff repeatedly in disbelief. Just as his hand was about to rise higher, Jisen strode over to her seat and sat down.
“Myers, let’s eat.”
Wetting her lips with juice, Jisen casually picked up her fork. Watching her, veins bulged on the Count’s forehead. But just before he could scream at Jisen, Chamberlain Hatton approached him.
“My Lord, it is time for you to leave.”
“Lock her door today so she can’t step outside. Jisenberia, prepare to have one of your legs broken. Today will be the day you see hell.”
As the violent words of outrage echoed through the dining room, Myers flinched and pulled his shoulders in. But Jisen chewed her bread without so much as a blink. Confirming that the servants were clearing the plates, the Count stomped out of the dining room with heavy footsteps.
For a count who lived and died by public perception, tardiness was unacceptable. His respectable appearance deceived people well. Those outside the mansion could never imagine the Count raising his voice at his adopted daughter.
The Count in her memories had not always been so harsh. From what she could remember of her childhood, when she asked why she did not resemble him, the Count told her, ‘I adopted you because you are a precious child.’ But after falling gravely ill five years ago, he suddenly grew irritable and short-tempered. From then on, he began forcing a strict facade of harmony during breakfast.
Prevented from eating breakfast, Myers let out a soft sigh. Since their meals were interrupted at least once or twice a week, he quickly accepted reality and stood up from his chair. That was when Jisen called out to the maid, Lynn.
“Bring that back.”
“Pardon? This?”
“I said bring it back!”
A chill ran down Lynn’s spine. She could not help but be shocked that Jisen was giving her an order. It was enough to make her wonder if the young lady had fallen ill, or worse, had gone insane. After all, until just yesterday, Jisenberia Burnett was nothing more than a helpless doll, unable to budge at a single word from the Count.
“The Count left. Hand it over.”
“Y-Yes…”
Lynn set the plates she was holding back down on the table. The meal meant to be shared between Jisen and Myers was less than what the Count ate by himself. If Lynn had taken it away, the siblings would have had to starve.
The Count and the two children looked so dissimilar that it was hard to view them as a family. It wasn’t just a matter of facial features. Unlike the Count, who was large-framed and possessed a healthy complexion, Jisen and Myers were thin and pale.
When Jisen begged the Count for forgiveness, it was mostly out of hunger. Starving was routine. Her sole plea was always for him to forgive her and give her something to eat. The Count had hissed that she couldn’t break her lowborn habits, while the servants whispered that she looked more servile than a street beggar. They were shameful and painful memories.
Jisen came to believe that pettiness had to be met with pettiness. She had to protect herself as long as she lived. No one, until the day she died, had ever taken responsibility for her bruised body and soul. And so she stopped holding back and spat out curses before another bruise could form on her heart.
“Petty bastard. Goddamned demon.”
“Woah…”
Myers marveled in pure admiration. He stared at Jisen as if she were a stranger, then spoke in a worried voice.
“Sister, what if the Count beats you later?”
“It’s not like it would be my first time. So what if he swings that stick? It’s not a sword.”
“Still…”
“Just hurry up and eat, little one.”
Myers raised his small hand and began to eat. Between the small portion and the fact that dining leisurely was never permitted for the children of the Burnett family, the meal did not take long.
Only after emptying their plates did Jisen and Myers rise from their seats. Once he spent time with the tutor who would soon arrive, food would be provided separately for Myers. Another example of the Count’s discrimination. Myers would sometimes secretly sneak food to Jisen, but whenever they were caught, Jisen was the only one who was severely punished.
Jisen returned to her room located in a corner of the second floor of the mansion. She would have to be locked in her room until tomorrow morning. No, wait. The Count might summon her at night to punish her. So until evening for now.
The reason the Count imposed the punishment of locking her in her room was that Jisen found it distressing. Though she did not go out often, being locked in was mentally oppressive in itself.
Click—
Shortly after Jisen stepped inside, she heard the door locking.
Only after the sound of footsteps faded into the distance did Jisen place a hand over her chest and spring to her feet. She could feel her heart pounding against her palm.
“Wow…”
Her eyes sparkled, and her pale cheeks flushed red. Excitement began to wash over her a beat late.
“This is totally doable…!”
She had only screamed and acted out for a short while, but the effect was substantial. The Count’s dumbfounded face, the unsettled looks from the chamberlain and the maid as they stared at her… Recalling each one made her heart race. She felt like an actor who had drawn a tremendous response.
Jisen smiled as brightly as she could in satisfaction, but her cheeks and the corners of her lips trembled awkwardly. She was unused to smiling.
She pulled out the notebook she had tucked between books. Sitting at the table, she turned the cover, revealing the title written in the center of the page.
‘The Will of Jisenberia Burnett’
The solemn title was Jisen’s resolve. She needed to record how much of a life worth living she had lived.
Jisen had no memories from before the age of thirteen. Most of the days after that were times she preferred not to attach meaning to, so she grew up spending her time in a lethargic haze. That was why she had taken it at face value when the Count scolded her for being a fool.
She could not live such a life again. Jisen needed something to keep herself from forgetting her day-to-day existence, to remember how meaningful these moments of survival were to her. That was why her notebook had to exist as her will.
Jisen opened a blank page and picked up a pen.
V Be late for breakfast
V Eat all the food
V Yell at the Count
V Talk behind the Count’s back
V Order a maid around
The more she re-read the list, the harder her heart thumped. Written down in words, it somehow felt like she had accomplished so much. The joy of achievement tickled her palms and the soles of her feet.
I’ll keep writing to make it look like a lot. That way, even if in a year… I still…
Even if she died in just a year, traces of her struggle to survive like this would remain. Of course, she was not going to die. She had no intention of wasting this life, which was both her turn and a second chance.
Jisen relaxed her lips, which she had been biting tightly in excitement. The small swell of her flushed cheeks soon faded. She closed her eyes and recalled the dreamlike past, or perhaps what was destined to be her future.
Jisenberia Burnett would be murdered one year from now.
By the sword wielded by her father, Count Burnett, simply because she failed to be selected as a Saint.