C112: Realization

Her mind shifted back, the crimson curtains of the Theatre of Memory parting as the memories began to play again in a cohesive loop.

“Ten years ago, Mary’s mother died in the fire, and the Moon Maiden, the Baroness, did not advocate for another to take her place.”

Izzy shifted her legs, crossed one over the other, and watched the sequence unfold.

‘Victor had a thing for Mary’s mother. Poor guy.’ Izzy sneered.

“The Rite ten years ago failed. That is why they require Mary to become an ‘Elf’ this time, to ensure the Rite this year succeeds.” She tapped her armrest lightly.

‘Mary, that girl actually agreed to help us by offering herself.’

Even Izzy, who rarely cared about others without reason, had to admit, that was a real sacrifice.

For a brief moment, Izzy felt a genuine pang of guilt for the girl.

But she pushed it aside; pity was a luxury she couldn't afford if they were to survive.

“As for the Baroness...”

Izzy began connecting the threads she had gathered, layering one piece of information over another like a web.

‘The maid clearly exhibits the abilities of a vampire. Blood manipulation, cold aura… and that ritual notebook.’

‘The Baroness is already under their control.’

That meant whatever this nonsense conspiracy was, it likely did not involve the Baroness as a willing participant. Or at least, not anymore.

‘That maid and Victor are on the same side.’

But what of the Tear Drop? The group those thugs belonged to that was mentioned in the black monument. Which side of the board did they occupy?

Were they connected to Victor? Or opposing him?

‘And what about the Inspectors?’ Izzy frowned.

Did they know about this? Were they turning a blind eye? Or were they being deceived as well?

They hailed from the White Church, which worshipped the White Monarch. If Victor were a priest of that same church, were they collaborators?

Would they tolerate something like this happening under their own nose?

‘There are too many questions.’ She signed.

Her thoughts returned to Victor’s diary, to the registry, images section.

It was a catalog of innocent faces: rows of children’s portraits. And there was one name that appeared with regularity below each portrait.

[“Sold to the Golden Trader.”]

Victor intended to sell those poor children to the Golden Trader, as if they were nothing more than goods in a ledger.

‘Who is this Golden Trader?’

This name was new, yet it was somehow familiar to her.

She searched through the book of Memory again and soon came across a curious conversation.

[“Are you out of your damn mind? He’s our customer. You want to deal with the Trader’s wrath if they find out?”]

This was what Glen had said to Jack when they had first arrived at the mansion, back when they were still "guests."

Izzy’s eyes narrowed.

‘The Trader. And the Golden Trader.’

Were they one and the same, or parts of a larger merchant guild?

If they were related, then this situation was far more complex than she had initially thought.

‘Benjamin is connected to the Trader; the Trader is connected to Victor. Victor wants to attack the Moon Monarch, and the note tells me to “Destroy the Fake Moon”...’

The Trader was the one who sent Glen to deliver Erin to the mansion.

Izzy tapped her chins, leaned back deeper into her seat.

“So the 'fake moon'… probably isn’t a literal moon.”

Perhaps it wasn't literally the celestial body in the sky, but a metaphor?

A symbol for a person, an object, or a specific power?

Something standing in place of the real Moon Monarch.

‘Our lord...’ Her mind raced at maximum speed.

Victor wanted his Lord to take the Moon Monarch's place. And Benjamin’s note said to destroy the Fake Moon, not the Moon Monarch.

Did that mean Benjamin had planned to backstab Victor? Why?

‘That creepy old man…’ That perverted old man actually had thought that far ahead?

Benjamin's Diary had instructed her, literally. It was at that point when she first picked the diary up that the words began to appear in the diary, after all.

Then…

‘Does that old man also plan for his own death?’ Izzy shivered; a cold dread rose on her spine.

It was terrifying.

The thought that their last struggle to kill him…was actually in his own plan.

‘No, don’t think about that.’ Izzy shook her head. ‘It doesn't make sense.’

Even if it was his plan, he was already dead.

Afterall, ‘ The dead can’t come back to life.’

Once again, the question gnawed at her: what, or who, was the Fake Moon?

Could she escape this forest if she destroyed it?

Or at least, escaped the “loop”?

Izzy considered her options.

Maybe the answer lay in killing Victor? Or perhaps by helping Victor attack the Moon Monarch and completing the Rite?

Both possibilities crossed her mind. But neither felt reliable.

‘I don’t even know if the Moon Monarch is the “real Moon” or not.’

She assumed the Moon Monarch wasn't the fake Moon... but whoever wrote the instruction in Benjamin’s diary controlled the flow of information. She couldn't trust it blindly.

Izzy clicked her tongue.

“There’s still no clear way out of this forest,” she muttered, her expression darkening.

Every path she had followed, every clue she had pieced together, ended the same way.

A dead end.

‘Do I still need more information?’

Izzy felt a stinging sense of helplessness. It was infuriating.

They didn’t know how to grow stronger. The bony fingers had filled her energy reserves. But besides getting a new ability, for some reason, they still couldn't grow any stronger.

They were missing something, an important clue to advance.

They lacked both the strength and the means to investigate what lay beneath everything properly.

And worst of all, they were running out of time.

Izzy felt a sudden, sharp constriction in her chest.

‘Do I really have no choice but to wait here, for the Herald to arrive and bind me?’

They were trapped in this accursed forest, like a pet bird in a gilded cage.

Izzy clutched at her chest. A crushing pressure rose up in her heart. It was heavy.

“Hah…” Her ears began to ring with a high-pitched whine. Her vision, such as it was, blurred at the edges.

‘I want nicotine… maybe a single cigarette, or just a cup of coffee…’

She shut her eyes and forced herself to breathe. In, out, slowly, repeat, again, and again. Desperately trying to stabilize herself.

‘No, there is still… hope,” Her thoughts steadied, barely. “The note said there is still one cycle left. If I play this right, I can—’

“Izzyyy!” A voice shattered her focus.

From across the mental landscape, Isa flew toward her with sonic speed, a streak of vibrant green.

“Izzy! You are alright! What happened? Oh no! You are not alright!”

‘Ah, my headache is returning.’

Izzy grimaced as she opened her eyes, looking down at the young mind who was now frantically cupping her face, patting her cheeks as if trying to wake her from a nightmare.

“Izzy! Calm yourself!” Isa cried out, lunging forward and wrapped her arms around her tightly. One small hand gently stroked Izzy’s head.

“...?” Izzy furrowed her brows.

Surprisingly, her mind began to clear. The pressure in her heart alleviated as if a great weight had been lifted.

“...”

Did that actually just… work?

A strange heat rose on her cheek. And Izzy knew what it was.

Izzy stood up abruptly, her form flickering as she disappeared from the Theatre, and then from the mindscape entirely.

“I-Izzy!” Isa’s voice echoed behind.

She resurfaced from her internal world, returning her consciousness to the painting in the attic.

Izzy noticed something wrong the moment Isa interrupted her earlier.

‘Hmmm, where are my vessels?’

Isa appeared beside the portrait as a spirit in the outside world. A small, glowing, green miniature version of herself materialized out of the thin air, floating slightly above the ground.

‘?’ The spirit-isa cocked her head, her green eyes wide as if she, too, were questioning the sudden absence of their vessels.

It was cute, but Izzy didn't have the luxury to focus on her younger self.

She reached out with her mind, attempting to establish a link.

“???”

She couldn't connect to Arriet.

‘Strange.’

‘Strange.’ The spirisa imitated her, tapped its chin as if thinking.

Moreover, her energy levels had plummeted to a critical, dangerously low level.

‘Why is it like this?’

Everything had gone haywire…

She extended her Field Vision into the outside world, the 150-meter radius expanding through the walls of the mansion.

‘Hmm?’

Where was Erin?

Where was Arriet?

She could still see the last vessel, Jack, and the remaining marionettes, Rudolph and Glen, stowed away in the basement. But aside from those three lifeless husks, there was no one else within the grounds.

“What the hell is happening?”

Had Arriet and the maid been kidnapped while she lost consciousness?

But it was still dusk. At most, she calculated they should have only been unconscious for a few minutes.

After all, the last time Arnold had been in the church and the secret room, the sun was just beginning its descent.

Unless…

“No way, right?” Her eyes widened. A terrifying realization dawned on Izzy.

“Have we been unconscious for a whole day?!”

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