A question always stuck in my head.
That question always haunts me every night.
I don't know what the answer is.
However, I heard the answers from the people around me every day.
That same question stuck in my mind, even though everyone else had already answered it.
Just like now...
I, who was a 7-year-old kid, fell in front of a church door because I was pushed by a group of children my age.
"Get lost, you monster!" The shortest child threw a pebble at my head until it bled.
I'm not surprised by his behavior. He was one of those people who always called me a monster every chance he got.
My question is...
'Am I really a monster?'
I looked at their faces one by one. Some looked angry, some were disgusted, and some were smiling with satisfaction.
Hold on. This story is so far ahead that it's hard to understand what's happening. Let me start from the beginning and explain everything.
I'm an orphan who lives in a church. However, I was not an orphan by birth.
In the past, I lived in a small house in a remote area with my parents. I had a pretty good life.
I take more of my mother's genes. My features, such as violet hair and eyes, resemble my mother. only my growth speed resembles father's.
My father worked as a magic instructor in an unknown place. His salary was good enough to buy me study books, and magic books, which were my favorite books. I remember that I once dreamed of becoming a magician like my father.
Meanwhile, my mother is just an ordinary housewife. She had a weak body since childhood and became even weaker after giving birth to me. Her body often lies on the medium bed we have.
There are only two memories of my mother that I still remember.
The first memory was when she embraced my body on her bed while humming a song she composed herself. And that song still and always rings in my head every night.
And the second memory is when she took her last breath at night when I was 6 years old.
Many people say that I have a more complex way of thinking at my age and that I'm more mature than my peers.
However, I, who was 6 years old, didn't know what to do at that time. My brain stopped functioning when my mother coughed up blood without stopping. And unfortunately, my father hasn't come home from work for several days.
I tried to ask the people living in the area for help.
I was so desperate that I ran from one house to another without wearing shoes. My feet were freezing and I was freaking out.
As I ran, the cold wind whipped around me, causing my eyes to water and my skin to instantly tighten. And with each step, I could feel my feet turning numb.
It was so painful...
Despite the freezing cold, I continued to run frantically, fueled by a sense of urgency that wouldn't let me stop.
As I stumbled and fell multiple times, I felt the stinging pain of my flesh being cut by the sharp rocks on the ground.
My eyes were dry and sore, and I could feel the wind freezing my tears. But I kept pushing myself to keep going.
That whole experience was intense, and I still remember it so vividly, as if it happened yesterday.
Ignoring the cold ache in some parts of my body, I knocked on the doors of each house hastily.
Several people opened the door, but no one wanted to help.
They thought I was lying to get their attention. Or I'm a little swindler who wants to take their sympathy to make money.
To this day, I want to laugh at that nonsense. I realized when I got older that they just didn't want to be bothered.
People their age should've known when they saw my condition, that at that time I really needed help.
I also know that they knew my mother was sick for a long time. But they turn a blind eye to that fact.
It's hilarious...
Despite running for hours, I returned home empty-handed.
My little body was covered in wounds. It was heavy and painful, considering that I ran non-stop on that snowy day.
In the end, I just held my mother's hand which was almost as cold as mine. The only thing I could do was wipe the blood that mother vomited with a warm wet cloth.
Her breath was shallow, her eyes were glazed and unfocused looking at me. She gave me a warm smile as if to say that she was fine, and everything would be fine.
I'm unsure which facial expression I should display in that situation, and I'm finding it difficult to express my thoughts.
On that cold night, there's not a single conversation between us.
My mother just looked at me and endured the pain.
Meanwhile, I could only wait, hoping my father would come soon and help my mother. Hoping my mother could hold on until then.
But it wasn't until the sun appeared that she took her last breath.
Ironically, I didn't shed a tear when that happened. I just stared at my mother's peaceful face, even though her skin had turned pale.
My head felt strangely calm and clear. I don't know if it's because I'm still a kid, or because I truly am a monster.
I wasn't sad but felt relieved.
'Mother won't feel any pain anymore.' Was what I thought at that time.
Remembering that, I became more convinced that I was indeed a monster.
I didn't move from my place ever since then until my father came in the afternoon.
As soon as he saw the still form of my mother, he dropped his luggage and rushed to her side.
With a worried expression etched on his face, he took a deep breath and leaned in to put his ear against mother's chest, trying to sense her heartbeat. He kept his ear there for a few seconds, hoping to hear a heartbeat, but there was nothing. Her chest wasn't moving, and she wasn't breathing either.
He got up and stared at her peaceful face.
He called out her name, his voice was choked with emotion.
He gently touched her cheek to wake her up, but she didn't respond. She was lying there, still and lifeless, with her eyes closed. It's very clear that my father is devastated by my mother's death..
He embraced my mother's body tightly as if trying to bring her back to life.
I watched as he poured out his heart, his tears falling on her still form, while holding her warm hand, considering that I held them all night.
My memory becomes hazy after that. I don't remember anything until my mother's funeral ended at night.
When I came home, I was silent in my room, lying there staring at the sky.
I thought about what caused my mother to be like this.
And my thoughts were interrupted when my father came. He then lay down on my bed which was a little bigger than my father's, just like my mother's.
When I think about it, I don't find my father's things that are better than mine and my mother's. Father always prioritizes me and mother.
He always meets my and my mother's needs. He also gives us sufficient and fair love and attention.
Here's an example...
Father accompanied me on that cold night. He hugged me to give me comfort, stroked my head so I could sleep, and hummed the song my mother used to sing every night.
I couldn't laugh at the tune which sounded discordant and different from the original song.
I also couldn't cry even though I felt extraordinary tightness in my chest.
All I could do was clutch onto my father's sleeve tightly while looking into his eyes with my painful and dry eyes.
While my eyes appeared normal, my father's eyes were swollen and red. Traces of tears could be seen on his cheeks, and a few more tears were welling up in his eyes. The tears looked like they could fall at any moment.
Nevertheless, he continued to smile and stroke my head with great affection.
He didn't blame me for mother's death.
In a hoarse voice from crying, he said, "There's no need to blame yourself because it's not your fault. It's not anyone's fault. Mother is like that because it was her fate."
That's not true...
I want to deny it...
Mother died because those people didn't want to help...
But it was also my fault because I couldn't make any of them to help mother...
And that's because I was a child who couldn't do anything...
I didn't do anything when my mother was in pain...
I didn't help her one bit...
I'm the one who makes mother's body weaker...
Her body ended up like that because she gave birth to me...
The main cause of the problem is me, I'm the one in the wrong here...
I made my father lose someone he loved...
I'm the reason...
That's right... I'm the core of the problem.
I looked into my father's eyes apologetically.
Then I opened my mouth, about to apologize.
But my voice wouldn't come out like there was something stuck in my throat.
I felt strange and decided to pause for a moment, then try again.
Unfortunately, I could only open and close my mouth without making any sound at all.
So I sat up, hit my chest and tried to scream, using up all the air in my lungs, until the veins in my neck popped.
The result was only a rough breath coming out of my mouth.
My father, who noticed the oddity, looked worried. He decided to take me to a doctor in the neighboring territory. In this territory, there are no doctors, only a small shop selling cheap medicines.
He got up and opened the savings he had saved for a long time.
The savings were to buy a house in a larger territory for the three of us to live in. Father had planned it a long time ago.
He is thinking of opening a magic shop in a large territory and giving us a more luxurious life.
But it seems like that doesn't matter anymore.
Now it's just me and my father left. I no longer want to expect a luxurious life. I don't deserve it.
It's impossible for my father to be happy when my mother is no longer there. Moreover, the one who killed her was me...
We departed when the sun rises. I had a lot on my mind during our trip to the other side.
The journey was very long, considering that we were given a lift by two old mercenaries. If I'm not mistaken it took more than a month because the two old men often stopped in many places and camped every 3 days to make food supplies. Also straightens their back from a long journey.
During that time, my father babbled a lot of things, replacing me who couldn't make a sound. Sometimes he took the place of the two old men to drive. He even taught me magic at other times.
The first magic I managed to master at that time was elemental. I understood how magic worked quickly, much to my father's amazement.
After that, he taught many other magic and gave the magic book that had been passed down from generation to generation in his family.
In the night after I got the book, I looked to see what magic was in it.
Meanwhile, my father had fallen asleep in the middle of writing his journal.
I couldn't sleep. The night where my mother died keeps appearing in my dreams.
It wasn't a bad dream, but that warm and sad smile wouldn't disappear from my memory which made me feel haunted by guilt.
Every time I remember it, my chest feels tight. I felt like crying, but my tears wouldn't come down. My body and feelings don't seem to want to connect. And it was painful.
Well...
I shook my head, trying to get rid of the feeling.
Thinking about that makes me even more down. I'd better make myself busy with studying magic.
When I was flipping through my father's magic book, I found an interesting magic.
'I want to learn this...' I thought.
This magic is none other than mind-reading magic.
I wonder what my father thinks of me. Does he really not blame me for my mother's death? Does he still love me even though I have made him lose the person he loves?
And that's how I determined to learn that magic without my father knowing.
I studied it in the middle of the night, went to sleep when the sun rose, woke up when it was breakfast, studied other magic with my father, slept after lunch, and woke up when dinner came.
That's my activities if I summed it up.
And right in the evening before we arrived at the destination, I managed to learn that magic perfectly.
I felt that my heartbeat was beating fast, a little afraid to face the truth.
In the end, I chose to put myself to sleep, deciding to reveal the truth tomorrow, when my voice returned.
Before I had time to close my eyes, suddenly the carriage we were riding in shook violently.
My head accidentally hit something, making me lose consciousness.