Chapter 176: No Place to Belong
Evelia sat quietly beside the window. The once cold and proud “Red Crow” under the Second Prince’s command now looked small and fragile.
She looked just like a poor little kitten, curling up on instinct.
Or like a wounded bird, her long hair wrapping around her like folded wings, hiding herself inside.
Rachel stood by the window, looking at Evelia, who didn’t say a word.
As her creator, Rachel couldn’t help but feel that ignoring Evelia now would be far too heartless. Compared to how Evelia was just moments ago, she now looked much calmer. When her sadness overwhelmed her anger, the only emotion left on her face was sorrow.
But Evelia was never someone who showed her feelings easily. She simply buried her face between her knees, looking lonely and alone.
“……”
Rachel didn’t care how fierce Evelia had been to her earlier. Out of concern, she quietly sat down beside her.
Silence often filled the space between Rachel and Evelia. If Armand wasn’t involved or nothing unusual was happening, they could easily go a whole day without saying more than a few words to each other.
Rachel looked at Evelia, hesitating to speak. She had so many things she wanted to say, as someone older, as someone who had created Evelia. But she was also someone who had once been killed by Evelia. She was afraid that if she said the wrong thing while Evelia was feeling this down, it might get her killed again.
Evelia stayed quiet too. In fact, if she ever started talking a lot, that would be the strange part.
She just curled up there, completely silent, like the saying, ‘If silence doesn't lead to an explosion, it leads to destruction.’
Right now, Evelia looked like a gravestone. She didn’t move at all, quiet as a stone. But unlike stone, Evelia wasn’t hard. Though she usually gave off a powerful, intimidating air, her slender body now looked soft and helpless. If Rachel still had her adult body, she probably would’ve given Evelia a big hug.
No, actually, even in her current small form, Rachel felt she should give her one anyway.
To Rachel, Evelia was like a daughter. Based on age, calling her a “child” wasn’t wrong.
“…Mom.”
But to stay in character, Rachel still chose to call Evelia “Mom.” She nervously swallowed and gently reached out to touch Evelia’s fingers.
In the end, she didn’t dare give her a full hug. The most she could do was a light touch of the fingertips.
Rachel had always been this way, reaching out carefully to test whether it was okay to get close.
“……”
Evelia didn’t respond, but she also didn’t pull away. She let Rachel lightly touch her fingers. Then, Rachel hooked their fingers together. After that, she used her small hands to gently wrap around Evelia’s cold fingertips.
This little girl was even sweating nervously from her palms.
She shifted a little closer toward Evelia, but still didn’t dare to get too near, keeping a little distance between them.
A moment later, Evelia’s fingers twitched slightly. But it felt more like a simple “I’m still alive” than any real response. After that, Evelia didn’t make another sound. She even turned her head away, like she didn’t want Rachel to see her face.
Honestly…
Rachel had never seen Evelia looking so down. And judging by her face, Rachel actually looked more upset than Evelia herself.
Even though Rachel was still scared of this assassin deep down, she had to admit, thanks to the cozy atmosphere of this manor and their slightly scary but harmless “arguments,” she had started to see Evelia in a new light.
And it really did seem like Evelia was changing. Even though she still carried the title of assassin, little by little, the warm feeling in this home had started to soften her.
Otherwise… things wouldn’t be like this.
That’s what Rachel thought.
If Evelia hadn’t changed, she wouldn’t be showing this kind of expression over something so small.
But actually, it wasn’t just about that.
Right now, Evelia was just holding on with the strength of one last piece of hope, like the final straw before everything breaks.
What’s hardest for people to handle… is the feeling of contrast.
She was the “Red Crow.”
She was an assassin.
She was someone who was never meant to stay by Armand’s side.
She was nothing more than a lowly servant of the Second Prince.
The House of Nightingales, what a beautiful name. It sounded like it was saying, “the bird flying in the sky will finally return to its nest.” Like everyone should have a home.
But that place wasn’t a home. It wasn’t a warm nest at all.
It was damp, cold, and filled with the silence of death.
It wasn’t just that Evelia didn’t like to speak. Everyone in the House of Nightingales was like that. Because they had all heard that one phrase, ‘The more you say, the more mistakes you make.’
No one liked talkative people.
No one wanted to slip up over something small.
And no one wanted to die.
The smell of blood always lingered in the House of Nightingales. Even though someone like Evelia, a top assassin, had a nice enough room, that smell in the hallways never really went away.
People died all the time. Maybe it was a target. Maybe it was another assassin who made a mistake and lost their head.
Evelia’s room wasn’t soundproof, so she could always hear the screams from the basement. People begging, crying, hitting the floor with their heads as they begged for mercy. She had heard it so often that her ears were numb to it.
That… wasn’t a home.
Anyone could come to that conclusion.
Even Evelia, who was so loyal to the Second Prince, could admit it. ‘That place was just somewhere I belonged. But it was never my home.’
But then… what is a home?
If someone suddenly asked Evelia that, she might freeze.
What is a home?
A window. A door. A bed. A bathroom.
Clothes that belong to you.
Food to eat. Water to drink.
Maybe a table. A light.
If possible, even a small green plant.
That’s all she wanted.
So simple.
The Second Prince gave her that. He gave her a room like that. And if Evelia had ever asked for more, anything at all, he would’ve given her something sweet, like a reward, because she was his most loyal and useful subordinate.
But Evelia always acted like she didn’t want anything. She always went along with whatever happened. She always looked forward with those empty eyes, staring into a future that had no light, no hope.
Home…
Her thoughts returned to that question again.
What is a home, really?
The Second Prince had already given her everything she described, but she still didn’t feel like it was a home.
Maybe… maybe she wanted to be just a little bit more selfish.
For example—
“If possible… please let someone stay with me.”
The voice in her heart was so small, it felt like a whispering prayer.
She didn’t want a cold bed.
She didn’t want a green plant soaking in cold water.
She didn’t want a dusty table where a light touch left a trail.
She just… didn’t want to be alone.
Even though the words were calm, the feelings behind them were full of sorrow.
Ever since returning from that mission, Evelia had been lost and distracted.
Because of a sudden order from the Second Prince, Evelia was pulled out of her dream and reminded. She was still an assassin with a mission.
Just like the Second Prince had feared, the "Red Crow" had really started to enjoy this role-playing game.
It was supposed to be just a mission, yet she was truly enjoying the life of being Armand’s maid. It was like her life had turned from a dark, bloody tragedy into a warm and silly slice-of-life comedy.
But the moment that leaf with the order fell into her palm, it felt like the script she was holding was shut.
That story with the black cover was stuffed back into her hands, forcing her to return to that world of darkness.
She was dragged back to reality by the invisible hand of the Second Prince, ripped away from the warmth she had just found.
And just like that… she was alone again.
She wanted to calm herself, to try and reopen the lighthearted comedy, to see if she could keep pretending, to stay in this peaceful manor life a little longer.
But had Armand ever really accepted her?
Facing that cruel truth, Evelia began to doubt herself.
That feeling of being “special,” that sense of belonging she thought she had found with Armand, was starting to fall apart.
It all felt like a cruel joke now, and Evelia was the sad clown with paint on her face.
Back then, when everyone else had rejected her, it was he who had come to her side. They had sat together on that bench, holding each other tightly.
That memory was beautiful, like a dream or a mirage. Something too perfect to be real, like a hallucination after taking something sweet and dangerous.
She had even said it out loud before, ‘I’m glad you were there.’
But now, had she ever truly had him?
A deep, wordless anxiety rose up in Evelia’s heart. Rachel could only feel the hand she was holding, Evelia’s hand, tensing up until it became a fist.
Learning that Armand had given the food she carefully prepared to someone else… that was the final straw for Evelia.
It hadn’t broken her yet, but she was right on the edge.
Of course, maybe Armand hadn’t meant it that way. But to someone like Evelia, it was like a blade straight to the heart.
This world is so big. There are so many people. Is there really no place she could call home?
She took Armand giving the food away as a kind of rejection. And to her, that rejection felt no different from being abandoned.
Thinking this, Evelia seemed to suddenly realize something.
She bitterly clenched her fist and took a deep breath.
He never fully accepted her from the beginning. And here she was, getting emotional over a rejection that wasn’t even real.
“I don’t have a home.”
No matter where I go, I don’t have a home.
No friends.
No family.
No one who stands by my side.
No place I can truly call my own.
Drip.
In the quiet, something fell.
Drip.
A cold feeling slid down her cheek.
Drip.
—Huh?
Evelia lifted her head. From under her messy hair, she touched the strange feeling on her face with her fingertip.
Her eyes opened wide. Her vision was a little blurry, so she blinked.
Her fingertip shimmered in the light, reflecting the messy, fragile expression on her face.