On the highest floor of the mansion, there was a central balcony specifically designed for viewing the rear garden. It was close to the floor where the family resided.

After leaving my thanks once again, I went to the balcony.

I didn’t bother looking at the open view below. I simply closed my eyes and summoned the wind.

To hear the world through the wind.

The rustling sound of the wind brushing past the leaves. The clattering of the gardener’s scissors, busily trimming the branches before the day was over.

Butterflies fluttering despite the lingering heat. Bees buzzed as they visited the flowers.

The flowers swayed under the gentle weight of the butterflies and bees landing and taking off.

The sounds of life, existence, and greenery.

Amidst those countless sounds, my mother’s voice came, closer than I expected.

“Ashel. Can you not hate me?”

‘… ah.’

My body, which was about to move, froze.

What should I do? Should I leave the balcony right now?

How far did my father’s sense extend? It was certainly wider than mine, being still young. Could  I escape now without being caught?

In a moment of extreme panic, my father replied with a dry laugh.

“Me, hate you? How?”

My mother was silent for a moment.

Then… her voice, suffocating in the thick heat of the summer evening,  pierced my ears.

“I hate myself.”

“Charlotte.”

“I wish you would just hate me… loving me isn’t normal.”

I held my breath.

Mother had always gone to meet the <victims>. She apologized. Sometimes she was forgiven, sometimes she was hated.

That was all I knew.

‘… has mother been slowly rotting away all this time?’

She smiled at us, saying it was fine, and hugged us like nothing was wrong.

In truth, she was suffering from unforgiven sins and unhealed wounds, forcibly hiding everything.

While I was agonizing over these thoughts, the man spoke decisively.

“Charlotte. If you’re going to think like that, stop going around apologizing. I’m doing it to lessen your guilt, but it seems you’re only having unnecessary thoughts.”

His words were firm and unequivocal. Clear and concise, with a tone that didn’t waver in the slightest.

‘… huh?’

I blinked in confusion.

I meant… he was not entirely wrong, but…

Did he really have to say it like that?

Perhaps my mother felt the same way. There was a moment of silence between them.

My father broke the silence first, his voice as decisive as an axe striking through a frozen lake.

“Whatever you say, I will not hate you. If it were possible, you would not have married me in the first place.”

“That’s what’s strange…”

“And if it is strange, what will you do? Will you apologize to me next? Until I accept it?”

Whoa.

He was my father, but why did he talk like that? Couldn’t he say things a bit more gently?

“Seriously… why are you like this?”

My mother spoke, her voice tinged with frustration.

In contrast, my father’s response was cold and  piercing.

“Your greatest sin was committed against me. Not anyone else.”

“…”

“Do you feel sorry for me?”

“If I weren’t sorry, would I be human? I’m mostly sorry to you.”

Because I did the greatest wrong to you. My mother’s suppressed the protest.

And then…

The sound of a step, followed by the noise of clothes brushing together and slightly disrupted breath.

The heat stored up during the day was nothing compared to the intensity of my father’s voice, now tinged with a hidden passion.

“If you are truly most sorry to me, then… can’t you apologize to me in the way I want?”

“… what do you want? You’ve already taken everything from me.”

“Ah, have I?”

A short laugh accompanied his slanted question.

My mother’s voice shot back, sharp, and irritable.

“Is there anything you haven’t taken from me? My life, my heart, my children. You took everything I never wanted to give. Should I kneel now? Say I’m sorry?”

“No, Charlotte. There is something you are not thinking about.”

Now his voice was entirely filled with warmth, all traces of coldness and arrogance melted away, leaving only tenderness.

In a soft, languid voice, he whispered sincerely.

“I don’t want you to go around apologizing. Can’t you just feel guilty towards me?”

“… what?”

“I want to have all of you, not just the leftover parts that you don’t give to others. Even if it’s your pain.”

“Are you crazy?”

He continued, ignoring her outburst, as if carving his words into her mind.

“Your guilt, your remorse, your pain. Your emotions, your time, your patience.”

“…”

“You said you feel mostly sorry to me. Can’t you just give all of that to me? More than anyone else, I’ll gratefully accept it. Absolutely.”

A different kind of silence filled the air. After a long pause, my mother spoke with difficulty.

“Can you please act normal in front of me? You do it so well in front of the kids.”

“The me who loves you is not normal, you said.”

“I was wrong. You’re just naturally insane, not because you love me.”

A short, loose laugh from my father.

He didn’t refute her words. It was as if he agreed.

My mother shuddered.

“You’re seriously… out of your mind… why did I think it was because of me? I’m going inside first, so come in later. I can’t stand to see your face right now.”

“As you wish.”

As soon as he said that my mother turned and hurried away. I let out a slow breath, having held it without realizing.

Somehow, I had forgotten the need to escape.

The sun had already set, and the first veil of night was heavy and long.

‘… Mom probably won’t realize. But Dad… will he?’

I felt uneasy, thinking he might.

The wind informed me of my father’s approach. Step by step, accurately, steadily. Peacefully, he came closer and called softly.

“Claire.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. Ah, as expected…

Unable to bring myself to look up, I whispered quietly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

“I know.”

His response held no hint of anger. Relieved, I stepped closer to the edge of the balcony and looked down.

My father stood there, arms open, waiting patiently.

After a moment’s hesitation, I asked.

“… are we really going down?”

“You came because you had something to say, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then come here, Claire.”

“So… you’re asking me to jump down? Even if we’re both Astariol, isn’t that dangerous?”

I was earnest, but my father laughed heartily, his posture relaxing. After a while, he responded with joy in his voice.

“You control the wind, Claire. You can come down slowly, can’t you?”

Oh.

My cheeks warmed a little.

I had never thought to use my powers on myself, even though I could catch Eciel in mid-air, hear sounds from afar, and send wildflower seeds flying to the horizon.

I was too embarrassed to say anything, but my father must have thought I was afraid to try something new.

He lowered his voice gently, coaxing me.

“It’s okay. Your control is almost perfect. If you make a mistake, I’ll catch you.”

You won’t get hurt.

His low whisper was sweet.

Maybe my father’s power wasn’t <possession> but <persuasion>. I always ended up following his words so effortlessly.

The wind lifted me gently, placing me on the balcony railing.

Below me, there was nothing but empty space.

Still, I didn’t feel any sense of danger. There wasn’t the slightest tremor…

‘Because Dad is watching.’

He opened his arms again, looking up at me.

“Come here, Claire. My daughter.”

Sighing, I gave in.

I knew it. Dad had completely spoiled me.

Before… when I still thought of myself as strange, I would never have attempted this.

A normal child wouldn’t do such a thing.

It was dangerous, something no one else could do, something weird. The kind of thing that would get me labeled as a devil.

But Dad…

It’s okay. You’re not strange. You can do anything. Whatever you do, it’s fine.

He said it all the time, in words, in looks, in actions.

Mom said Dad acted normal in front of Eciel and me. But I didn’t think truly <normal> fathers would do this.

‘They would probably teach me not to do such things.’

With that thought, I began to descend.

Slowly, gently, the safest fall in the world.

My father caught me without a single falter. His voice was still tinged with a lingering amusement.

“Well done, Claire.”

It felt strange to be praised for jumping off the balcony. I didn’t reply, just leaning onto his shoulder.

He calmly stroked my back and cheek, then started walking leisurely along the mansion’s garden path.

After a while, in a comfortable silence, I finally spoke.

“Eciel and I were born in a monastery.”

During the time when my father didn’t know of our existence. He had always been interested in that period.

His response was kind and welcoming.

“Which monastery?”

“I don’t know. I only remember it being small and secluded. We stayed there for quite some time.”

“For how long?”

“About 30 months from birth?”

He thought for a moment, then spoke, a hint of regret in his voice.

“You both must have been adorable.”

I laughed a little. His words were earnest, not meant as a joke.

His hand patted my back as he asked, still casually.

“Why?”