Chapter Text
The moment I stepped into the Ivory House, the cold, damp air wrapped around me like shackles, suffocating and unrelenting. My breath hitched, and the icy chill from the marble floor seeped into me, traveling from my toes to the top of my head. When the door slammed shut behind me, the sound echoed like the lid of a tomb sealing me in. Everything was unfamiliar—the space, the scent, the air. It all seemed intent on consuming me whole.
And then, he was there. Nyon. His sky-blue hair, his voice soft and steady, and the silent glass of water he handed me. Whether it was his hand trembling or mine, I couldn’t tell. That single act of kindness felt inexplicably comforting. “It’s okay.” He didn’t say it, but his eyes seemed to convey those words.
In this monstrous house known as the Ivory House, Nyon presence was the only light I could cling to. I opened my heart to him alone.
“Nyon, I miss my parents so much. And my friends. One day, I’ll leave this place,” I said.
His expression became unreadable as he gave a silent nod. At the time, I didn’t understand what lay behind that silence.
After that, I began planning my escape. Walking through the endless hallways of the Ivory House, I memorized the layout. I noted when Luther had his tea time, when he went out, and which doors opened and closed. I observed everything carefully.
Then the opportunity arrived. Luther and Nyon went out shopping together, leaving the house behind. With trembling hands, I opened the front door. “This is it.” As the door creaked open, my heart raced. Words like freedom and hope swirled in my mind. Maybe, just maybe, I could finally leave.
But after a few steps, something felt wrong. Dense trees surrounded me like a forest, and the same scenery repeated endlessly. No matter how far I ran, it felt like I wasn’t moving at all.
“Why… Why is this happening?” My chest tightened as panic set in. Cold sweat dripped down my face, mixing with the rain that suddenly began to pour. The freezing droplets blurred with my tears, indistinguishable from one another.
Collapsing to my knees, gasping for breath, I looked up—and there they were. Familiar shoes standing before me.
I slowly raised my head. Under the moonlight, Nyon's sky-blue hair gleamed, his presence as surreal as a nightmare.
“Nyon…” My voice trembled. “You’re here to help me, right? To get me out of here?”
But his response shattered my hopes.
“Master was worried. Let’s return,” he said.
“Master?” I yelled, losing my composure. “You knew how much I wanted to go home! How could you say something like that?”
He remained unmoved, looking down at me with an unflinching expression. Extending a hand, he lightly struck the back of my neck. Darkness enveloped me as I fell unconscious.
When I opened my eyes again, I was staring at a familiar ceiling. The Ivory Estate. I was back. The same room, the same scent. Its familiarity was maddening.
Rain continued to tap against the windows, its sound mingling with my despair. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. No, it wasn’t a laugh—it was a broken chuckle. As the absurdity of my situation sank in, Luther entered the room.
“Nyon found you. It’s a relief you didn’t get lost. Rest now,” he said before leaving.
As the door closed behind him, I clenched my teeth. That traitor, Nyon. I swore to myself that I would never forgive him.
Later, Nyon appeared, cautiously opening the door. “I… I wanted to apologize…”
Before he could finish, I grabbed a pillow and threw it at him, screaming, “Get out! I don’t want to see you! Get out of here!”
From that moment, I ignored him completely. To me, Nyon no longer existed. I avoided him whenever he came near and refused to acknowledge anything he said or did. Even when he brought me water or tissues, I wouldn’t touch them. Yet, despite my hostility, he continued to stay by my side, helping me whenever he could.
One day, as I walked down the hall, a door suddenly opened, and a sharp hand grabbed my arm, pulling me inside. My body hit the doorframe, and I cried out in pain.
“What the—?”
Holding my arm tightly was Nyon, his face streaked with tears. But his expression wasn’t just pitiful—it was unnervingly intense, almost frightening.
“I have nothing to say to you,” I said, shaking off his grip. But as I turned to leave, his trembling voice stopped me.
“Please… y/n. Hate me if you want. Despise me. But just don’t ignore me.”
His voice quivered with desperation, a mix of anguish and obsession.
I let out a bitter laugh. “Is this some kind of joke?”
As I tried to back away, he suddenly dropped to his knees. His hands trembled as they clutched my clothes. His head lowered, but his grip was unyielding.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was wrong,” he murmured, his voice breaking like a confession.
I turned away coldly, looking down at him with disdain. But he didn’t relent. Pressing his forehead to my hand, he whispered, “I’ll do anything you want. Treat me however you like. Just don’t abandon me.”
There was a strange mix of disgust and intrigue in me as I watched his groveling figure. Forcing a smile, I said, “Fine. If that’s what you want, let’s see how much you can take.”
From then on, I used him mercilessly. I dumped heavy tasks on him, lashed out whenever I felt like it, and even used him as a step stool. Yet, he never complained. Instead, there was a strange satisfaction on his face, as though he welcomed the torment.
“What’s wrong with him?” I muttered to myself.
The more I hurt him, the happier he seemed. His reaction unsettled me. Even when I should have humiliated him, he smiled as if he had been rewarded.
One day, I confronted him directly. “What are you? What do you want from this?”
He didn’t answer. He just looked at me.
“Answer me! I hate you!” I screamed. My voice echoed through the hall as tears streamed down my face.
“Why won’t you let me go? Why are you doing this to me?” I sobbed, fists clenched in frustration.
Standing silently, his expression betrayed a flicker of emotion—something too complex to decipher.
“Please, Nyon… I hate you so much.”
As I sank to my knees, covering my face with my hands, he stepped closer. His cold touch grazed my shoulder as his voice, soft and resolute, filled the silence.
“Hate me all you want.”
I looked up, meeting his steady gaze. There was something unhinged in his eyes, a quiet madness that sent chills down my spine.
“Your hatred, your anger, even your despair—I’ll embrace them all as part of my love for you.”
His voice was disturbingly calm, unwavering in its intensity.
“You’re insane…” I muttered, unable to contain my revulsion.
But he merely smiled, his expression eerily serene.
“Yes, I’m insane. If loving you is madness, then I’m perfectly fine with it.”
His words struck like a thunderclap. His love wasn’t affection—it was a shackle, binding me tighter with every passing moment. I could feel the weight of it crushing me, making escape seem impossible.
And yet, deep down, I vowed to myself that I would find a way to break free. Someday. Somehow.
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