In the girl’s dream, this great fire had already been burning for a full twelve years.
At that time, the girl’s name was still Claire.
The flames from twelve years ago reflected on the girl’s face and branded that burning summer palace deep into her heart.
It had once been an exquisite building.
Flora had pulled her by the hand to play in that garden several times.
Pearls and gemstones were inlaid on the towering beams and pillars, and the springs in the garden spouted clear water day and night without cease.
But now it looked more like hell.
Everything… everything had been dyed in red and black.
Rolling flames licked the earth, releasing foul-smelling black smoke that pierced the heavens.
The man who had once been emperor was nailed dead upon the ebony throne by a black iron lance.
He was Flora’s father.
Devils jetting steam wandered through every corner of the palace, searching for the last survivors of the imperial family, and used long lances still dripping with entrails to pierce those high officials and courtiers who knelt on the ground begging for mercy.
Corpses burned to black charcoal were stacked one upon another, looking like a bonfire.
The aged butler held a girl in a white dress in his arms, braved the rain of bullets, smashed through the stained-glass window engraved with the gods, and fled the palace where flesh and blood covered the ground.
Behind them came the roar of steel trampling the earth.
They ran all the way through the dark pine forest and arrived at the small town at the foot of the mountain.
That had once been the girl’s hometown.
The originally wealthy and beautiful town, the town that had gathered kind believers and where traveling poets sang all year round, now welcomed its moment of destruction in a sea of fire.
The old butler collapsed.
Plasma oozed from every bullet hole in his back.
He could run no longer.
He tightly embraced the girl in his arms and said for the last time, “Be brave, Your Highness Flora.”
The girl wanted to cry out that she was not Flora, yet before she could open her mouth the old butler used the last of his strength to push her away, then turned and charged toward the enormous black shadow trailing steam.
Afterward came a heart-stopping gunshot.
Inexpressible terror and despair intertwined in the girl’s heart.
She began to flee while shedding tears.
How many times she crashed into obstacles, and how many times she was tripped by stone steps that had grown slick with blood.
The girl still staggered to her feet and never stopped running.
The girl’s footsteps halted in front of a small burning building.
That had once been her home.
She fantasized that perhaps Flora and her parents would be waiting for her there.
But even that place had already turned into an ocean of fire.
Every house along the entire street had been set ablaze and was burning as if in madness.
Of the once prosperous and warm street, only the charred corpses of the neighbors remained.
The girl wanted to wail, yet she could not make a sound.
The smoke of burning flesh irritated her throat and left her unable to breathe.
Her throat, dried to the extreme, felt as if it were about to split from the pain.
She could only sob softly while fleeing once more, without even knowing herself where she was supposed to run.
Blocked by flames, enveloped in smoke and dust, stumbling over corpses, slipping in pools of blood, the girl still kept running without end.
At last a surging tidal wave of enormous flames barred her path forward.
From behind came the piercing noise of iron striking the ground.
The girl knew those devils had already caught up to her, yet she had nowhere left to flee.
The girl raised her head and looked up at the sky.
The eastern sky had already begun to show the first light of dawn.
The morning sun in her eyes gradually blurred, and her consciousness gradually faded.
The sound of fierce metal collisions rang in her ears.
The girl closed her eyes and quietly waited for her own death.
Yet the pain did not arrive as expected.
Some liquid fell upon the corner of the girl’s eye, carrying the smell of blood and a sharp, acrid scent.
The girl slowly opened her eyes.
What entered her vision was an arm wrapped in mechanical equipment.
It was a white iron hand, firmly gripping the black iron lance that had been thrust toward the girl.
A white figure as large as a giant stood amid the swirling smoke and dust.
It was solemn as a god, yet ferocious as a devil.
The white devil lowered its head to look at the girl, and the girl also raised her head to meet its gaze.
From within its body came the sound of machinery operating.
Billowing steam surged from the gaps in its joints, no different from the black devils behind the girl.
Yet beneath that white faceplate were blue eyes identical to the girl’s own.
The next moment, every plate of armor on the white devil’s body opened, releasing a massive amount of steam and erupting with an appalling force.
It actually twisted and snapped the lance together with the black devil’s mechanical arm, scattering bright red blood and dark green machine oil across the earth.
The black devil fell to the ground, so terrified that it wanted to flee, and struggled to crawl across the ground.
The white devil walked slowly to its front, flung that heavy suit of armor outward, and smashed it heavily against the wall of the clock tower.
Then the white devil hurled the lance into the black devil’s chest, piercing it together with the granite stone wall.
More black devils appeared from all four directions of the town and charged at high speed toward the white devil.
All sorts of heavy weapons cleaved through the air, carrying sharp whistling.
What happened after that the girl could no longer remember clearly.
Yet in her memory it was not a battle between steam armor pilots, but a white giant of flesh and blood that frantically slaughtered those black giants.
At last the sound of metal collisions vanished.
A deathly silence fell, broken only by the noise of flames consuming the buildings.
Before losing consciousness, the girl saw the white devil walk out of the gunsmoke and half-kneel before her.
The white faceplate sprang open.
It was a face similar to her own.
***
In the dim bedchamber, Flora abruptly sat up on the bed, gasping for large breaths, her pupils contracted.
The hell of the dream reappeared in her mind, as if the great fire of that night still surrounded her.
Twelve years ago, in the ruined town, the Crown Princess Phine had saved her.
After that night, she had become Flora.
The former farm girl found herself among the wealthy and noble, as if she were an outsider who had strayed into this world by mistake.
Yet this was a game in which one would be killed if one failed to play the princess well.
Fortunately, after the coup everyone’s attention had focused on the vacant imperial throne, and she who pretended to have lost her memory gained the chance to put on a mask.
Yet etiquette, languages, music, horsemanship, dance, history, literature… she had far too much to learn.
These were things young masters and misses could pick up through constant exposure in family education, yet for a farm girl it required a thousandfold effort.
She who had once been illiterate now was fluent in the languages of every nation.
She who had once known nothing of musical theory had now become a pianist highly praised by high society.
She who had once wandered the countryside was now a princess familiar with the powerful of every country.
Yet only she herself knew how she had walked on thin ice throughout these twelve years.
She had also sent people to search for survivors of the town, yet obtained only the news that her parents had already passed away.
No one knew whether the true Princess Flora was alive or dead.
The nightmare and memories had already receded from the depths of her heart.
Flora’s breathing slowly calmed.
Suddenly a song rang out from outside the room.
It was a high and drawn-out melody, every final syllable of each line abruptly rising high and lingering for a long time in the empty palace.
Flora quietly pushed open the door.
The door hinge gave a faint creak that sounded especially piercing in the empty space.
She discovered she was not inside the familiar imperial palace, but in a closed and unfamiliar great hall.
On the dome, murals of the gods of heaven were lifelike.
In the center of the hall a girl of similar age to herself was bound upon a stake for burning.
At the girl’s feet a pile of raging flames seemed to come from hell, mercilessly devouring her, spreading inch by inch upward from the ankles.
Crackling sounds mixed within the flames, and the air was filled with the sharp stench of burning flesh.
Yet the girl was singing amid the fire.
In a daze Flora walked to the front of the fire and faced the girl singing within the flames.
She felt that this song seemed to have been vaguely heard somewhere before, yet for the moment she could not recall it.
The girl on the stake raised her head.
Flora clearly saw her face… it was a face identical to her own!
The song abruptly ceased.
The girl in the fire stared at her in anger.
“Why did you steal my name? Why could you live while I have to be burned to death here?”
The moment the words ended, the girl’s body was completely consumed by the raging flames, leaving only a black skeleton hanging on the stake.
Yet the head on that charred skeleton remained completely intact and still opened and closed its lips amid the fire, uttering a piercing curse.
“You are a thief! The one who should have died twelve years ago is you! You seized my name and seized everything of mine!”
Flora raised her hands to cover her ears and shook her head desperately as she retreated.
Yet every word of that curse pierced into her ears and echoed within her mind.
She could no longer endure such terror and broke into a loud, wordless sob.
***
“Flora, wake up!” A pair of hands grasped hers.
“I’m here.”
Flora awoke to the familiar voice.
When she opened her eyes she saw a girl with pink curly hair looking at her with concern.
The girl’s palms were cool and steady, gradually calming Flora from the nightmare.
Tears still circled in her eyes.
It was again a dream within a dream.
Every nightmare throughout these twelve years had ended with the “Flora” trapped in the flames.
Perhaps she would live forever in guilt toward her.
At this moment Flora was sitting in the carriage bound for Cité University, side by side with the girl beside her.
The girl’s hair was rose-pink, her long dress was red, and those deep crimson pupils were staring at her.
“Did you have another nightmare?” the girl let out a breath of relief.
“Thank you, Ann. I’m fine now,” Flora said softly.
The girl called Ann smiled silently.
Every time Flora called her Ann she would smile, because in this world only Flora addressed her that way.