CATIP 02

CHAPTER :02

He was always cold to me.

So, I thought he despised me.

It was nothing new.

For it was only natural.

I was an unholy creation, acknowledged not even by God.

Unlike him, who had inherited the legitimate bloodline of the Grand Duke, I was a vulgar and filthy bastard.

And this didn’t just apply to him.

It would have been far easier to find someone who despised me than someone who didn’t.

A bastard was nothing more than that, after all.

It was so bad that even the one who brought me into this world resented my existence.

The mother who gave birth to me was a demi-mondaine who sold flowers picked from the royal castle, and she was the King’s first love.

A narrow, filthy room in the slums. A gray world where only dust swirled around.

Stepping into the room in a state of utter dishevelment, my mother would collapse onto the worn-out bed, throwing her body down carelessly.

Creak, the sound of the old bed tilting to one side.

Her dry, coarse hair fell in a tangled mess.

With a hand resting on her pale forehead, my mother would giggle softly.

On days like this, the same words always slipped from her lips, which were as red as blood.

– I am Carmen, the first to ever present a rose to the former King. He was utterly captivated by my every word.

Words I was sick of hearing.

My mother’s cheeks would flush as she recalled that most brilliant day when she first met the King.

Yet, she no longer smelled of roses.

Instead, I always felt suffocated by the pungent, rising stench of alcohol and cannabis.

Even so, the reason I never uttered a single word of complaint to her,

the reason I stroked her back and wrapped her fragile body in a dirty blanket,

was because my mother, drenched in the dreams of her past, seemed to sparkle.

If she couldn’t live even within that futile yet radiant dream, I feared she would let go of her world entirely.

Conceived and born that way, I was the sole blemish on the noble and proud King.

During my infancy, which I couldn’t even remember,

they said the King had still held me, his only child, quite dear.

Just as much as he had loved my mother, the King’s lap belonged to me, back when I couldn’t even crawl on the floor.

But a love that burned like fire cooled in an instant.

– I merely spoke to His Majesty. I said, ‘Your Majesty.’ And then, he…

‘…Where do you think you are putting your filthy hands?’

According to my mother, it happened literally one day, out of the blue.

‘Remove them at once.’

The King had coldly pushed away my mother, who was trying to cuddle on his lap as playfully as usual.

My mother’s voice was sorrowful as she recalled that day.

How the King had stared blankly at her, tilting his head. She added that every single detail was an unforgettable memory, and then she continued her tale.

‘You…’

His stunned, muttering voice was just the beginning.

‘To think I have been wrapped around the skirts of such a vulgar creature until now.’

‘…Your Majesty?’

‘A lowly woman who knows nothing but how to flatter others and spread her legs.’

– Faced with that sudden torrent of abuse, I couldn’t say a word.

My mother had frozen, turning pale at the abrupt outburst.

She said the gaze directed at her was colder than ice.

‘What are you doing? Throw this utterly useless thing out at once!’

Turning his head away coldly, the King roared.

As she was dragged away miserably by the servants, my mother finally came to her senses and clung to the King.

‘W-Why are you suddenly doing this?’

‘Where do you think you are clinging?’

The King ruthlessly shook her off.

Cruel kicks followed.

Looking up at the King in utter despair, my mother barely managed to ask.

‘Y-Your Majesty! Then, what about the p-princess…!’

‘Princess?’

‘…Pardon?’

‘Is there even any proof that thing is of my seed?’

‘…’

But faced with his freezing bark, my mother could not even utter an excuse.

And so, my mother was heartlessly cast aside, along with me, who had just turned one.

The downfall of my mother, who had once lived in luxury as the King’s mistress after bearing his first illegitimate child, happened in a single moment.

The nobles, who had viewed my mother as a thorn in their side, rejoiced and mocked her fall.

The position she had occupied as if it were only natural was snatched away by someone else in the blink of an eye.

It had only been three years.

Weeping tears of blood, my mother had to leave the royal castle she had called home all her life.

Yet, because I was of the King’s blood—his only illegitimate child, and because the King had no other bloodline besides me—

my mother clung to a shred of hope. Holding her babbling baby, she wandered through filthy back alleys.

The mother who once sold roses in the royal court now sold wildflowers, scraping by a miserable existence.

– But you are without a doubt His Majesty’s daughter. You are the one and only bloodline of His Majesty in this kingdom.

Whenever I heard stories of the King, I would take my mother’s hand and ask.

– Is the King a bad person?
– …

Her gray eyes, staring back at me speechlessly, were cloudy.

Shaking her head, my mother would stroke my cheek with hands that must have been soft once.

– No, no. He is not a bad man. On the contrary…

As if overcome with emotion, my mother stopped speaking again and frantically examined me.

Looking back, she was likely searching for some resemblance to the King.

With neither my hair color nor my facial features resembling hers, I must have looked like him.

But my mother’s eyes were vacant. If one were to describe her gaze, ‘completely empty’ would be the perfect fit.

Then, she held me tight.

– He won’t leave you like this forever. One day, he will take your hand and return to the palace with you. Yes, once his anger softens… once it… softens…

My mother’s breathing grew ragged.

‘Is she crying?’ buried in her embrace, my young self wondered alone.

But all I could do was wrap my tiny hands around her.

Though the smell of cannabis mixed with alcohol was nauseating, I couldn’t bring myself to pull away from her.

I only wished for this sorrowful dawn to pass quickly, greeting the morning dew alongside my mother’s heavy breaths.

So went more than a decade.

Until the day my mother passed away, the miracle she wished for never came.

It happened one day when I was a fifteen-year-old girl.

In the slums where no one ever visited, my mother quietly closed her eyes, full of resentment.

Left all alone, I took a single coin to pay for her funeral and headed to the temple.

For my mother, who had at least once been the King’s mistress.

The priest, who greeted me with a look of annoyance, reluctantly offered a prayer to God.

– A pitiful soul returns to the bosom of God. Please guide her.

The priest’s obligatory mourning for the deceased was incredibly brief and hollow.

My mother’s soulless body was laid in a coffin, the lid was shut, and she was carried down to the temple basement by the laborers.

As I watched her go, regret, sorrow, grief, and memories surged through me like a tidal wave.

Mourning her departure with a single tear, I stood up from my seat.

But the moment I turned around,

I spotted something in that white temple that captured my gaze.

– What… is that?

I couldn’t help but ask.

At my sudden question, the priest, pocketing the single coin meant to pay for my mother’s passage to the afterlife, glanced toward the tip of my finger.

A nonchalant reply followed.

– It is a piano.

Upon hearing his answer, I approached the piano as if possessed, an instrument I had never seen in my life.

– It is the greatest creation made by a servant of God, allowing ignorant humans to hear the language of God, which we call music.

I gently lifted the tightly closed lid.

Creak, the sound of heavy wood rubbing against wood.

The faint scent of timber. The glossy black enamel reflecting my face.
Eighty-eight black and white keys.

In an instant, an uncontrollable urge flooded my entire being.
How should I describe that moment? Even now, I do not know.
Except to say that things I had never known, never seen, and never experienced before blossomed within me.

Countless musical notes drifted before my eyes.
The floating notes became measures, became motifs, and formed a complete musical theme.
The music, appearing so vividly before my eyes, cried out to me, begging to be let out of me. It pleaded for me to bring it to life from where it resided inside.
It cried out so desperately.

– What on earth are you doing?!

All I could remember was the priest’s short gasp.
Lost in a trance, as if I were the only being left in the universe, I began to strike the keys.
My keystrokes became a piece of music.
The noise that started blossoming from my fingertips turned into a completed composition, overwhelming the quiet temple.
A sound both grand and mournful, lyrical yet majestic.
My funeral dirge for my mother.
That was the first time I ever spoke the language of God to the world.

– …Dear God.

Before long, the priest, sinking to his knees on the floor, muttered in a dazed voice.
Snapping out of it at the sound of his voice, I realized belatedly what I had done.
I, a bastard treated as the lowliest of the low. I, an existence unacknowledged by God.
Ironically, I was the one chosen by God.