Prolog
The spacious and luxurious room was enveloped in silence and even had an eerie atmosphere.
The room, with its luxurious decor, showcases the owner's discerning eye and artistic sensibility, yet it feels gloomy and depressing. The gilded picture frames and profoundly looking objects hanging against the dark red wallpaper create an even more gloomy and eerie atmosphere.
It was not a filament lamp or an oil lamp that illuminated the dark room, but a beautiful man with dazzling silver-white hair.
That expressionless face seemed eerily cold and emotionless. But when our eyes met, his face became gentle and kind, as if he had never been like that before.
“You haven’t eaten. Don’t you have an appetite?”
It was a low-pitched voice mixed with languid breathing.
Her blue eyes, like the sea on a cloudy day, narrowed and turned towards me.
I lay listlessly on the bed, and he sat upright in the mahogany chair next to me.
The man held a silver spoon in his long fingers and in his other hand, a plain white soup bowl. He blew on the soup a few times, as if to cool it, then held it out to me with a charming smile.
“Ah, try it. I’ll feed you.”
I turned my head away, refusing to respond to his gentle command.
My eyes were directed at the carpet on the floor, and his eyes doggedly followed my gaze as it slowly fell.
“Don’t you want to eat it? Should I get you something else?”
“Please let me go.”
Because I hadn't had anything to say for a while, my voice cracked and cracked.
At my casual request, the man's flawlessly smooth face tilted to the side. His well-groomed features soon took on a puzzled expression.
"Why?"
"Why are you keeping me locked up like this? You know hostage negotiations are useless now."
“Because it’s beautiful.”
The man who kidnapped me looks at me with a proud look in his eyes, as if he were looking at a piece of art he had collected with difficulty.
I don't really know what makes me beautiful. I'm not particularly pretty, and there's no mirror in this room, so it's hard to even imagine what I actually look like.
“I’ll say it again, this won’t change anything.”
“It’s changed a lot.”
He had a strangely joyful look on his face, as if he had been saved.
His fingertips, neatly placing down the soup bowl and silver spoon, gently touched my cheek.
“I met my very own Princess.”
Most of what the insane man said was incomprehensible, and I lowered my eyes, counting the number of checkered patterns on the carpet, trying to come up with a suitable answer.
“I’m not a Princess or anything.”
Although I was the daughter of Admiral Belford, unlike my sister, I was treated with contempt and abuse.
My father, the admiral, discriminated against me and hated me, claiming I was the cause of my mother's death. I don't know the exact reason for her death, but he simply blamed me.
Rather, the one who was called a Princess and treated like one was my older sister, Celine.
"Colonel Rotsilt, no, Duke Rotsilt. I don't understand why you're acting like this."
“Noah.”
“Rotsilt...”
“Call again.”
The man came to straighten his speech, cutting my speech smoothly.
With a gentle face, as if teaching a child repeatedly.
“Yes, yes, Noah. I’m so frustrated, let me out, please.”
“Come on, let’s eat.”
He simply ignored the persuasion that "it's no use" and "let me go."
The Duke, fiddling with a bowl that had quickly cooled in the winter weather, called the maid and ordered her to bring him some warm soup. As soon as the maid brought him a new bowl, he thrust his spoon at me again.
"Do you want to eat something else? Just tell me what you need. What if you starve to death?"
“No... I’ll eat it.”
With a resigned look on my face, I began to eat the soup he was diligently cooling by blowing on it like a baby bird.
I took small pieces of soft white bread and put them in my mouth, and I also drank wine that was poured for me.
“You're kind.”
The spacious and luxurious room was enveloped in silence and even had an eerie atmosphere.
The room, with its luxurious decor, showcases the owner's discerning eye and artistic sensibility, yet it feels gloomy and depressing. The gilded picture frames and profoundly looking objects hanging against the dark red wallpaper create an even more gloomy and eerie atmosphere.
It was not a filament lamp or an oil lamp that illuminated the dark room, but a beautiful man with dazzling silver-white hair.
That expressionless face seemed eerily cold and emotionless. But when our eyes met, his face became gentle and kind, as if he had never been like that before.
“You haven’t eaten. Don’t you have an appetite?”
It was a low-pitched voice mixed with languid breathing.
Her blue eyes, like the sea on a cloudy day, narrowed and turned towards me.
I lay listlessly on the bed, and he sat upright in the mahogany chair next to me.
The man held a silver spoon in his long fingers and in his other hand, a plain white soup bowl. He blew on the soup a few times, as if to cool it, then held it out to me with a charming smile.
“Ah, try it. I’ll feed you.”
I turned my head away, refusing to respond to his gentle command.
My eyes were directed at the carpet on the floor, and his eyes doggedly followed my gaze as it slowly fell.
“Don’t you want to eat it? Should I get you something else?”
“Please let me go.”
Because I hadn't had anything to say for a while, my voice cracked and cracked.
At my casual request, the man's flawlessly smooth face tilted to the side. His well-groomed features soon took on a puzzled expression.
"Why?"
"Why are you keeping me locked up like this? You know hostage negotiations are useless now."
“Because it’s beautiful.”
The man who kidnapped me looks at me with a proud look in his eyes, as if he were looking at a piece of art he had collected with difficulty.
I don't really know what makes me beautiful. I'm not particularly pretty, and there's no mirror in this room, so it's hard to even imagine what I actually look like.
“I’ll say it again, this won’t change anything.”
“It’s changed a lot.”
He had a strangely joyful look on his face, as if he had been saved.
His fingertips, neatly placing down the soup bowl and silver spoon, gently touched my cheek.
“I met my very own Princess.”
Most of what the insane man said was incomprehensible, and I lowered my eyes, counting the number of checkered patterns on the carpet, trying to come up with a suitable answer.
“I’m not a Princess or anything.”
Although I was the daughter of Admiral Belford, unlike my sister, I was treated with contempt and abuse.
My father, the admiral, discriminated against me and hated me, claiming I was the cause of my mother's death. I don't know the exact reason for her death, but he simply blamed me.
Rather, the one who was called a Princess and treated like one was my older sister, Celine.
"Colonel Rotsilt, no, Duke Rotsilt. I don't understand why you're acting like this."
“Noah.”
“Rotsilt...”
“Call again.”
The man came to straighten his speech, cutting my speech smoothly.
With a gentle face, as if teaching a child repeatedly.
“Yes, yes, Noah. I’m so frustrated, let me out, please.”
“Come on, let’s eat.”
He simply ignored the persuasion that "it's no use" and "let me go."
The Duke, fiddling with a bowl that had quickly cooled in the winter weather, called the maid and ordered her to bring him some warm soup. As soon as the maid brought him a new bowl, he thrust his spoon at me again.
"Do you want to eat something else? Just tell me what you need. What if you starve to death?"
“No... I’ll eat it.”
With a resigned look on my face, I began to eat the soup he was diligently cooling by blowing on it like a baby bird.
I took small pieces of soft white bread and put them in my mouth, and I also drank wine that was poured for me.
“You're kind.”
The Duke, smiling gently, tucked my short hair, which fell just below my chin, behind my ear. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye, scanning his neatly buttoned shirt sleeves and his neatly tied tie. The scent he emanated had a subtle charm.
A man imbued with a paradoxical sensuality, a languid voice, and a strange charm of restrained decadence, alluding to his seemingly neat and ascetic appearance.
This man, whom I personally consider a beautiful madman, a noble madman, is named Noah Rotsilt, the head of the Rotsilt Duke family of the Frogen Empire and an officer with the rank of Colonel in the Frogen Army.
Considering he was kidnapped by the enemy's daughter, the treatment is both extravagant and strange. I'm occasionally taken out and looked at, as if I were a precious work of art kept in a display case.
With strangely worn and decadent, tasteless eyes.
The problem was that the target was a person, but there was one thing he didn't know.
Honestly, I'm quite content with this confinement where I do absolutely nothing. He treats me like I need nothing, and this crazy, pretty guy comes by every so often to feast his eyes on me, just enough to not be a bother.
But if I accept it and live contentedly, he might lose interest in me and send me back to where I came from, or even kill me. That's why I'm putting on a show of my all, begging him to let me go, refusing to eat, and staging a fake sit-in.
I am a thinker who enjoys being locked in a dark room and disconnected from the world.
That doesn't mean I don't have any friends. I don't struggle with socializing, but I'm the type of person who prefers to stay home and be alone in my room.
When I do have an appointment, I tend to hesitate several times whether to go or cancel, and I get very happy when the other person cancels.
For me, who lived in hell where I had to do something every day and was forced to live an honest life, this place was a whole new world.
My dream of enjoying a life of idleness and doing nothing has come true to some extent.
This is the classic novel, For the Evening Primrose.
It's roughly about a female protagonist who was kidnapped by a high-ranking enemy official and falls in love with a male protagonist who comes to rescue her.
It is said that this is a fictional novel based on a true story, but the woman who actually ran away was caught again by a high-ranking official and killed.
I am now 'Diana Clare' from the classic novel of captivity and kidnapping.
My ultimate goal is to remain here, free from all thoughts and worries, without being rescued or having to escape due to unforeseen circumstances.
This is why the female protagonist was kidnapped on purpose instead of her older sister.
***
Episode 1
The daily life, which was interlocked like cogwheels, felt empty and perhaps even pessimistic.
I had fallen asleep while reading the classic novel "For the Evening Primrose," and lay there, my gaze fixed on the ceiling in bewilderment. The mottled walls and messy surroundings were striking and strange.
My body was lying on a rusty iron bed in a shabby attic.
Tick tick-.
Somewhere, the squeaks of rats and the bustle of running rustled through the air. The ceiling leaned as if it might collapse, and the walls were plastered, a dingy, musty place. The fireplace, chilled by the cold, seemed to have been unlit for some time, and a worn blanket was all that was left to lean against in the frigid weather.
Only the square window, bathed in sunlight, reflected the scenery outside, including chirping birds, the church bell tower, and the building itself.
I thought it was a dream that perfectly depicted Diana's humiliation as described in the book, but the biting cold of the north wind was so vivid that I couldn't tell if it was reality or a dream.
It didn't take long for me to realize that I had become 'Diana Claire', the protagonist's younger sister who had been subjected to all kinds of contempt and abuse.
"Diana! You lazy thing, come out now!"
Because the name I heard, along with the banging on the door, was clearly referring to me.
“No way. I came into this life?”
Isn't this something you only see in novels? It's so hard to believe this is actually possible.
But I've never been hit by a truck, which is a typical gateway to another world, nor have I lost a fight against illness. I just woke up.
Even if it's a dream, it's still a bit unfair.
Although I was forced to live a life of integrity, this reality came as a shock to me, having lived a fulfilling life as an heiress. I'm usually quick to adapt to change and have a calm personality, but this wasn't it.
The biggest problem is that the owner of this body lives in a rather poor and beggarly environment.
Why am I not a wonderful person like an Empress, Queen, Grand Duchess, or Princess?
Why must I, living the best life, face the worst? With that much wealth and power, avoiding death flags would have been easy. I could have negotiated with my first-ever boyfriend, the one I'd met, to have a mutually beneficial affair and enjoy our separate lives.
Why did I have to read such a classic novel...?
Her father, Admiral Winston Clare, hated Diana so much that he neglected and despised her. To outsiders who wondered about her, he would claim she was ill, forbidding her from socializing or going out. The only thing known to the outside world was the existence of his ailing second daughter. This was likely to conceal the abuse. He also strictly monitored the entry of servants. Furthermore, he treated them like kitchen maids, using the pretext of "bride training" as a pretext. He told the maids to "teach Diana housework," but in reality, he was telling them to exploit her.
What use is a noblewoman to do housework? That's just an empty excuse.
Moreover, as the daughter of a soldier, she was forced to share the harsh reality of soldiers on the battlefield and was made to live in a shabby attic with only a military blanket.
No! Even in the military, they give you a snack, meals, and a sleeping bag!
Due to poor nutrition, she was smaller than her peers, and her ill-fitting clothes clearly revealed her skinny legs. It's said that the maids frequently blamed her for the situation, starving her, and venting their anger. Fortunately, she remained healthy, with no signs of illness.
There was no one to protect Diana, but she must have been positive and mentally strong.
But I'm not that positive a person.
To be born into such a poor quality of life. It's an unfortunate situation where I fall below the minimum standard for happiness and need help.
First of all, it was so cold, so dirty, and so shabby in my clothes that I couldn't bear it. From spring to early fall, I'd be living with bedbugs and ticks. I'm definitely not the type of person who, like in fairy tales, sings songs with rats and endures positively. My life's wish to "do nothing" also included a comfortable life.
“Isn’t this clearly abuse?”
Even though seventeen is considered an adult here, it is still a young age that requires protection.
As I stood up, kicking away the dirty blanket in fright, I heard another shrill voice outside the door.
"Diana! Do you know what time it is? You've been dawdling for so long."
A maid burst through the old wooden door and came in, her hands on her hips and her eyes wide.
“Are you in your right mind, and you’re late even preparing breakfast?”
I'm so busy rambling and scratching my nerves that I can't even organize my thoughts.
Even if it's our first meeting, I can't tolerate this kind of rudeness.
I raised my palm, indicating that I was impressed and waiting.
"Wait."
“What? What did you just say!”
“Wait. Are you deaf?”
The maid's face turned venomous and flushed red.
No, but does that kind of attitude make sense to the owner's daughter in the first place?
I sat with my arms crossed, my legs crossed, my chin raised, and asked her a question.
"Name."
“What’s wrong with your head? You even forgot my name.”
“What is your name?”
“Vera.”
She sounded slightly timid, perhaps surprised by my unusually arrogant attitude.
“I see. Vera, what are you doing in this house?”
"Me? I work here. What the hell are you talking about? Why do you speak like that?"
"Maid, I'm a nobleman. Right? Behave yourself."
“Look at yourself. You treat me like a kitchen maid, worse than a maid, and what are you talking about?”
"Oh, that's enough. Just take me to my room and wait for me. I can't stay here any longer."
The maid was very confused, from dumbfounded to embarrassed by my arrogant attitude.
"Hurry."
The maid, dispirited by the harsh gaze, finally led me to my room. It wasn't spacious, but it was still neat and clean. Only then did I check my condition through the mirror.
My skinny body, drenched in the oppression and humiliation that poured down like a torrential downpour, my hair disheveled and tangled, my face haggard and unkempt. I ordered the maid to bring me a bath.
“Did the master say something else...”
The maid asked cautiously. I scoffed at her; her attitude was so completely different from before.
“I just told you to do what you were supposed to do, so what’s the problem?”
"Ah..."
“Bring me scissors.”
At my words, the maid, with a puzzled expression, brought out a pair of scissors. I grabbed my tangled, black hair with one hand and cut it short. Small strands of hair, like yarn, flowed out between my fingers.
“Finish it.”
The maid, taken aback by my sudden behavior, trimmed the ends of my spiky hair. My waist-length hair was now cut short, just past my chin.
After washing my dirty body, combing my hair, and putting on some decent clothes, I finally felt like a human being.
The face of the girl with jet-black hair and hazy gray-green eyes, like a crow that had starved for several days, was flushed with the warmth of the room.
Of course, I like short hair. In real life, I stick to short hair and haven't really grown my hair out.
“Bring out the food.”
She bowed low and bowed politely in response to the arrogant and coercive command.
“Now I have to convince the father of this body. Even if it’s a dream, this isn’t right.”
But this was my complete misjudgment and arrogance.
Admiral Winston Clare, who was born into a Marquis family, was awarded the title of Count for his meritorious service in naval battles.
He was a middle-aged man with platinum hair and blue eyes, with a military air of dignity and coolness. He had neither pity nor even the slightest paternal affection for his daughter, Diana.
It was almost like he was denying with all his might the fact that she was his daughter.
The admiral, who had returned to the mansion, immediately burst into my room, having heard my story from the maid.
He opened the door fiercely and immediately made a face as he saw me looking neat and tidy.
“Diana, what’s wrong with you? Your hair is ridiculous.”
"I thought I should look presentable as the daughter of an honorable soldier, Father."
"Soldiers on the battlefield don't have time to wash or eat. I should have told you to feel their hardship and realize it."
“The gratitude for their hard work has been deeply felt for many years.”
It was only a taste, but it was enough to make me feel years of bone-grinding. I couldn't stand being there for even a minute.
"Everything I've done so far has been in vain. In the end, I just want a clean bed and a proper meal."
I, who was not a very good-natured person, suddenly felt angry, but I kept up a fake smile by raising the corners of my stiff lips.
“Now I want to spend time with my father. Because I am your daughter.”
I realized that I was talking nonsense.
As soon as I finished speaking, the admiral's blue eyes were filled with hatred and disgust.
And I was locked in a stable, tied up for two days without water or a single piece of bread.
The only thing that could warm me was a pile of hay in the corner. The hunger and cold were too vivid. Was this really reality? If it were a dream, I would have woken up.
The maid who had been serving me, Vera, came in and laughed.
“It looks good. It’s crazy.”
She took a hard, dried piece of bread out of her bosom and held it up to my nose.
“Should I give it to you?”
I was so hungry that my eyes were spinning, but I would rather starve than eat the bread she gave me.
I glared at her with the sole intention of trampling her first if I succeeded later. She seemed quite pleased with the way I was mocking her situation.
“Say, ‘I’m sorry, Miss Vera.’”
It was a proud speech, as if she were a noble lady.
Leaning against the cold stone wall, I looked up at her and licked my dry lips.
"You crazy bitch. You think you're a noble? Aren't you ashamed?"
Vera bit her lip, her face turning bright red, as if embarrassed and ashamed by my words, and trembled.
“You’re the crazy bitch! Just freeze to death!”
“If I get out of here, I’ll kill you first.”
Feeling an unbearable urge to kill, I glared at her with murderous eyes.
Anyway, this isn't the world I used to live in, and it might just be a dream, so I guess it's okay to commit murder.
Vera, who saw me chuckling to myself, was startled and took a step back, then turned around in a hurry and left the stable.
She doesn't even close the door. She has no manners.
A bitter cold wind blew through the open door, making an eerie sound like the scream of a ghost.
It's cold. I'm going to freeze to death at this rate.
Suddenly, the contemptuous gaze of the admiral I'd seen earlier flashed through my mind. He sincerely hoped the owner of this body would die.
At the beginning of the original story, after Diana's older sister and protagonist, Celine, is kidnapped, Diana is falsely accused of selling her sister to the enemy and is executed.
"Father, I didn't sell my sister!"
Despite Diana's pitiful cries, no one comes to her aid. It's impossible to know what the author's intention was in including this short, powerful narrative of misfortune, unless it's a projection of someone she hated in life.
A sort of expendable device, meant to demonstrate the wrath of her father, who cherishes Celine, she is a supporting character who lives a meaningless life. Like the blank spaces left in the long history of history, the life of the woman known as "Diana" ended in a single death.
Since it is a novel based on a true story, if you look closely, you will see that each person has their own misfortunes and circumstances.
Even when she was alive, the treatment he received from Celine was starkly different. The admiral cherished Celine, who resembled his deceased wife, treating her like a Princess. He went to great lengths to rescue his kidnapped daughter, and he embarked on a rescue mission alongside the male protagonist, the lieutenant colonel.
If this body were kidnapped, he wouldn't even think about saving it. I didn't pick it up anywhere, so there's no such thing as discrimination.
"If I stay here, I'll die even if I prevent Celine's kidnapping. I'd rather be kidnapped by Duke Rosilt instead."
This decision was made because I was getting closer and closer to reality. Whether it was a dream or real, I simply couldn't bear this treatment. I even more hated death. For now, I've decided to scrap the moving project that was intended to open the admiral's heart, transform him, and allow me to enjoy a life of aristocratic comfort.
Just run away somewhere else? Fleeing into the depths of winter without any prior knowledge of this world is tantamount to suicide.
Since my fate is not good enough to allow me to read books or newspapers, I don't have the time or the means to accumulate knowledge, so I decided that acting within the scope of my knowledge would be the least risky option.
A few days later, my older sister Celine was kidnapped.
While attending a party, she is captured and kidnapped by the subordinates of Duke Rotsilt, an enemy colonel, because she is the daughter of an admiral.
Even though Celine was kidnapped and imprisoned, she stayed in a warm place where meals were provided regularly...
The bottom line is that I have to be arrested instead of Celine.
To escape this hell and live comfortably, to avoid impending death and save my life, I tend to pursue the goal of maximizing gain with minimal effort.
What do you do after being kidnapped? If you keep your cool, you'll win every battle.
I have a rough idea of Duke Rotsilt's tendencies from the book, so if I succeed, things will work out somehow.
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