Dahlia, the Forsaken Child*

A light rain fell on the rocky ground in the courtyard of the Ataxior family home, creating the scent of wet earth mixed with the chill of autumn. The candlelight flickering behind the window showed the silhouettes of the householders enjoying the warmth of the fireplace. However, in a dark corner of the damp kitchen, a seventeen-year-old girl was kneeling, her hands busy cleaning the stone floor with a wet, shabby cloth.

Dahlia bit her lip, enduring the pain in her knees that were already bruised from working continuously since dawn. Beads of sweat mixed with rainwater dripped from her hair, wetting her pale face. Her clothes were shabby and too thin to withstand the cold weather.

In this house, she was a nobody.

While noble children her age enjoyed education and a comfortable life, Dahlia was treated like a servant. She had lived in the Baron Ataxior family home for as long as she could remember, but had never once been treated as part of the family.

"Dahlia! Why are you still here? I told you to prepare tea for me!" The voice of Sofia, her half-sister, rang out from the living room.

Dahlia quickly got up, ignoring the stinging pain in her knees, and hurried to the small kitchen. Her small, rough hands quickly prepared tea in expensive porcelain cups, something she herself was not allowed to use.

Carefully, she carried the tray into the living room, where Sofia sat haughtily on a plush sofa, her lace-covered dress standing out in stark contrast to Dahlia's simple attire.

When Dahlia was about to put the cup on the table, Sofia deliberately stuck out her leg, causing Dahlia to trip. The porcelain cup fell, the hot tea spilled onto the floor, and the sound of shattering glass filled the room.

"Oh no!" Sofia screamed in mock surprise, "Dahlia! You were so careless! You've broken my beloved cup!"

Dahlia froze. Her body tensed as fear began to creep into her mind. She knew what was coming next.

Soon, hurried footsteps approached. Lady Helena, her adoptive mother, appeared with an angry expression.

"What have you done this time, Dahlia?" her voice was cold as the winter wind.

Dahlia lowered her head. "I… I didn't mean to…"

Lady Helena took a deep breath, her eyes looking at Dahlia as if she were an unwanted burden.

"You always cause trouble. You can't even do a simple task properly."

"But it's not my fault, I—"

SLAP!

A hard slap landed on Dahlia's cheek before she could explain anything, the slap causing her head to reel to the side. The sting burned her skin, but she didn't dare complain.

"You should be grateful that we let you stay here," Lady Helena said in a low, angry voice. "If it weren't for our kindness, you would have died on the streets."

Dahlia clenched her fists, holding back the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

She wanted to defend herself. She wanted to say that this wasn't her fault. But she knew no one would listen to her.

***

That night, Dahlia sat on her small bed, more precisely in the servant's room, her hand touching her cheek that still felt hot from the slap earlier.

Her gaze wandered out the window, staring at the night sky filled with stars.

Who was she really?

She had lived in this house since she was little, but never felt like she belonged in it. All she knew was that Baron Ataxior brought her home one day and announced that they adopted her.

No one had ever told her where she came from or who her parents were.

Sometimes, in her sleep, she dreamed of a woman with silver hair, a soft voice, and warm hands.

However, every time she woke up, the memories disappeared like the morning mist.

All that was left was a feeling of loss that she could not explain.

***

In the dimly lit study, Baron Ataxior sat behind his desk, his hand clutching an old, yellowing letter.

Lady Helena stood by the fireplace, her eyes restless.

"We can't keep hiding it," Lady Helena said finally. "Dahlia is almost eighteen."

Baron Ataxior sighed heavily. "I know. But what can we do? If they find out that she's alive—"

"—then we're all in danger," Lady Helena interrupted in a low voice.

They looked at each other in silence.

No one knew that Dahlia was no ordinary adopted child.

She was a royal princess who was supposed to die at birth.

Eighteen years ago, on the night the queen gave birth, a midwife they trusted had done something unthinkable.

The midwife had secretly switched the royal baby with the child of a servant. She had been sent by the enemy to sever the royal bloodline.

The royal baby, who was supposed to die, had instead grown up to be the adopted child of the Ataxior family.

And now, as she grew closer to adulthood, they knew the time would come—the time when this secret could no longer be hidden.

Lady Helena clenched her fists. "If the kingdom finds out she is still alive… sooner or later they will surely come looking for her."

Baron Ataxior nodded, his gaze filled with fear.

"And when that happens," Lady Helena continued in a cold voice, "we must make sure that we are not the ones to suffer the consequences."

***

Outside the servants' room, Dahlia stood still, her chest rising and falling with bated breath.

She had overheard their conversation.

And what she heard made her world come crashing down.

She was no ordinary adopted child.

She was no orphan with no origins.

She was someone who should have died at birth.

Dahlia felt her body tremble, but she couldn't tell if it was from fear, anger, or confusion.

If all of this was true…

Who was she really?

And why had they hidden the truth from her all this time?

With her head full of questions, Dahlia returned to back to her little room.

For the first time in her life, she felt that her life was no longer in her control.

Little did she know that fate had already begun to move, drawing her into a vortex of a long-buried past.

And when that day came, the world she had known would change forever.