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In the cold, grand halls of Varley Manor, a young girl with wide, anxious eyes tiptoed through the corridors, her small hands gripping the hem of her dress. Her footsteps were soft but quick, as if she were trying to outrun the shadows that seemed to stretch towards her with every passing second. This girl was Bernadetta von Varley, and for as long as she could remember, fear had been her constant companion.
Bernadetta’s life was far from the idyllic upbringing that her noble status might suggest. The beautiful tapestries and gold-trimmed walls of Varley Manor were nothing more than a gilded cage, trapping her in a world where her value was determined by how perfectly she could obey. And all of this was orchestrated by one man—her father, Count Varley.
Count Varley was a cold, calculating man, obsessed with maintaining the prestige and power of House Varley. He had no love for his daughter, seeing her only as a tool to strengthen political alliances. From a young age, Bernadetta was subjected to a grueling regimen designed to turn her into the "perfect wife." To her father, her worth was measured by how well she could conform to his vision of a submissive, obedient noblewoman.
The worst of her father’s torturous lessons took place in the manor’s study—a dark, imposing room filled with leather-bound tomes and the ever-present scent of burning wood. It was here that Count Varley would tie her to a chair, forcing her to sit still for hours at a time. "Silence," he would hiss. "A perfect lady does not speak unless spoken to."
At first, Bernadetta had kicked and screamed, her young heart pounding with terror. But her father’s punishments for disobedience were swift and cruel. He would strike her, or worse, he would leave her tied to the chair for longer, ignoring her cries until her voice was hoarse. These sessions became the most dreaded part of her life. The oppressive quiet in that room became synonymous with suffocation, the darkness closing in around her like a noose.
Her mother was no comfort either, for she was just as complicit in Bernadetta’s torment. Lady Varley was a passive figure in the household, watching from the shadows as her husband imposed his will on their daughter. Whenever Bernadetta pleaded for her mother to help, Lady Varley would simply turn away, cold and distant. "It’s for your own good," she would whisper, her voice lacking warmth or sincerity.
—
There was a brief period in Bernadetta’s childhood when she found solace—albeit fleeting—in the form of a young commoner boy from the village. His name was Joseph, and he was different from everyone else she had ever known. Where her father’s world was one of rigid expectations and harsh discipline, Joseph’s world was filled with laughter and curiosity. He had stumbled upon her one day in the garden, while she was hiding from another one of her father’s “lessons.”
Joseph had smiled at her, a wide, genuine smile that Bernadetta had never seen before. He spoke to her like she was a normal girl, not the “Lady Bernadetta” everyone else treated with formality and distance. For the first time in her life, she felt like she could breathe. They spent many afternoons together, playing in secret beneath the towering oaks of the Varley estate, where no one could see them.
In those moments, Bernadetta felt a strange kind of happiness—a happiness tinged with the ever-present fear of being discovered. Joseph was kind, gentle, and always had a new story to tell. He spoke of things that seemed fantastical to Bernadetta, like the simple pleasures of village life, the freedom to run through fields, and the joy of friendship. Bernadetta began to look forward to their meetings, and for a brief time, she forgot the constant shadow of her father’s control.
But Count Varley had eyes and ears everywhere.
One day, Joseph didn’t come to meet her in the garden. Bernadetta waited and waited, but he never arrived. Fear gnawed at her insides, and she hurried back to the manor, her heart pounding with dread. The next day, the servants whispered of a commoner boy found beaten nearly to death by Count Varley’s men. The realization hit her like a physical blow—her father had found out.
Count Varley confronted her that evening, his eyes cold and filled with disgust. “You will not disgrace this family by consorting with filth,” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. “You belong to this house, Bernadetta, and you will do as you are told.”
Bernadetta’s world crumbled. Joseph was gone, his fate sealed by her father’s cruelty. And from that moment on, she withdrew even further into herself. The outside world became a terrifying place, filled with people who could betray her, hurt her, or worse, disappear. She retreated into her room, the one place where she felt even a semblance of safety. But even in her solitude, the terror remained, gnawing at her like a relentless beast.
—
As the years passed, Bernadetta’s fear began to take on a life of its own. It started as whispers in the back of her mind, voices that echoed her deepest anxieties. They told her that she was worthless, that she would never escape her father’s control, that she would always be alone. These voices grew louder with each passing day, until they became a constant, oppressive presence in her life.
And then, one night, the voices took shape.
It was during one of her father’s brutal “training” sessions. Bernadetta had been tied to the chair for hours, her limbs aching, her throat raw from screaming. Her father’s voice droned on in the background, lecturing her on the virtues of obedience and silence. But Bernadetta wasn’t listening. Her mind was elsewhere, spiraling into the depths of her fear and despair.
That was when she saw him for the first time—Hantengu.
He appeared as a ghostly figure, his hunched form emerging from the shadows like a nightmare made flesh. His face was twisted in perpetual fear, his eyes wide and filled with terror. But unlike Bernadetta, he did not cower or cry. He simply stood there, watching her with a kind of understanding that no one else had ever shown her.
At first, Bernadetta thought she was hallucinating, that her mind had finally broken under the weight of her trauma. But Hantengu didn’t disappear. He stayed with her, a constant presence in the corner of her vision, always lurking in the shadows but never leaving her side.
“I’m here,” he whispered to her one night, his voice soft and trembling. “I understand. I’ve been through it too.”
Bernadetta didn’t know how to respond. She had never spoken to anyone about her fears—not her father, not her mother, not even Tomas. But here was this strange, ghostly figure who seemed to know exactly what she was feeling.
Over time, Bernadetta began to bond with Hantengu. He was the only one who truly understood her, the only one who didn’t judge her for her fear. In a strange way, he became her protector, always watching over her as she cowered in her room. He couldn’t stop the torment her father inflicted on her, but he gave her something she had never had before—a sense of not being completely alone.
—
The years of torment and isolation eventually pushed Bernadetta to her breaking point. Her father’s lessons became more brutal, his punishments more severe. He was determined to mold her into the perfect tool for his political ambitions, and nothing—not her tears, not her screams, not even her silence—could stop him.
But one night, something inside Bernadetta snapped.
It was a cold, stormy evening. Count Varley had been particularly cruel that day, berating Bernadetta for her “failures” as a daughter. He had tied her to the chair again, forcing her to endure another torturous session of silence and submission. But this time, something was different. Bernadetta didn’t just feel fear—she felt anger, a burning rage that she had never experienced before.
Hantengu appeared as usual, his trembling form hovering in the shadows. But instead of comforting her, he spoke words that sent a chill down her spine.
“You don’t have to endure this anymore,” he whispered. “You can end it.”
Bernadetta’s heart raced as the weight of his words sank in. She had always been too afraid to fight back, too afraid of what her father would do to her. But now, in this moment, the fear was overtaken by something more powerful—a desperate need to escape.
Before she knew what she was doing, Bernadetta had broken free of the ropes that bound her to the chair. Her father, taken off guard, stumbled back in shock. For the first time in her life, Bernadetta wasn’t the one cowering.
In a blur of motion, it was over. Count Varley’s lifeless body lay at her feet, his blood pooling on the cold stone floor. Bernadetta stood over him, her small hands trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She had killed him.
The servants found her hours later, curled up in a corner of the room, sobbing uncontrollably. They whispered among themselves, unsure of what had happened. Some said it was an accident. Others claimed she had gone mad. But no one knew the truth.
No one knew that Hantengu had been there, watching the entire time, a silent witness to the violence that had unfolded.
After her father’s death, Bernadetta’s life took another dark turn. The trauma of what she had done stayed with her, haunting her every waking moment. The fear that had once been confined to her father’s lessons now followed her everywhere, seeping into every aspect of her life.
Her mother, Lady Varley, did not weep for her husband. In fact, she seemed relieved to be free of his control. But she knew that Bernadetta’s future was now in danger. The other noble families would never accept a girl who had killed her own father, no matter the circumstances.
And so, in a move that shocked even Bernadetta, her mother arranged for her to be sent to Garreg Mach Monastery. It was presented as an opportunity for Bernadetta to start fresh, to escape the horrors of her past. But Bernadetta knew the truth. She was being sent away for her own safety—to hide from the scandal that would surely follow.
The journey to Garreg Mach was long and terrifying. Bernadetta spent most of it curled up in the corner of the carriage, her body trembling with fear. Hantengu stayed with her, his ghostly form hovering beside her like a silent guardian. He was the only one who truly understood the depth of her terror, the only one who could keep the nightmares at bay.
When Bernadetta finally arrived at the monastery, she was overwhelmed by the sheer size and grandeur of the place. The thought of being surrounded by so many people—strangers—filled her with dread. But she had no choice. This was her new life, whether she liked it or not.
—
At Garreg Mach, Bernadetta quickly retreated into her old habits. She avoided social interactions as much as possible, spending most of her time in her room. The only place where she felt even remotely safe was behind the closed door, with Hantengu by her side.
The other students whispered about her, calling her strange and reclusive. But Bernadetta didn’t care. She had no interest in making friends or becoming part of the group. All she wanted was to be left alone.
Her fear, her trauma, and her past were things she could never escape. They followed her everywhere, manifesting in the form of Hantengu—the embodiment of all her pain and suffering. But in a strange way, Hantengu had become her only friend, the only one who truly understood her.
And so, Bernadetta continued her quiet life of solitude, hiding away from the world that had hurt her so deeply. The future was uncertain, and the path ahead was filled with fear. But as long as Hantengu was with her, she knew she wouldn’t have to face it alone.
Until she met Claude.