Chapter 3
Only one thought ruled Freya’s mind right now.
Ah… I want to eat something—porridge, bread, sweets—anything until I’m full.
It had been more than half a day since she’d eaten a bowl of porridge that morning. Her vision swam, and a sickly sweetness rose in her mouth. When she looked at the pouch filled with coins, greed crept in—but the memory of Sophia’s icy glare quickly crushed it.
“Lottie. Let’s go back.”
She tucked the money carefully into her clothes and started walking. As they neared the bakery, a rich, sweet aroma filled the air. Her empty stomach twisted, saliva pooling in her mouth. She tried to ignore it and keep walking—but Lottie suddenly bolted toward the bakery like an arrow.
“Lottie! No!”
Chasing after her with her aching body, Freya found Lottie plastered against the bakery window. Lottie’s face, her nose dry and pale, looked like she was dreaming.
“Freya, what’s that round thing with cream inside?”
Her anger faded instantly. Even Freya felt a flutter of excitement at the sight of the pastries.
“That’s probably cake.”
On her birthday, Sophia would buy one like that, stick candles in it, and make the children sing.
Sophia never shared such precious things with the children. But while cleaning, Freya had secretly licked the cream stuck beneath the candles.
It was so sweet and soft—it melted the moment it touched my tongue.
Lost in that memory, Freya wore a blissful expression—until someone shouted.
“You filthy beggars! Get lost!”
A plump woman stormed out of the bakery, waving a broom. Then she looked at Lottie and clicked her tongue.
“Using children this young now, huh?”
Still grumbling, the woman disappeared inside and returned with a long loaf of glossy bread.
“It’s leftover, but it’s still edible.”
She held the bread out, but Freya and Lottie—faces dirty and hands grimy—hesitated, unable to reach for it.
“Is it really okay to take it? We don’t have any money.”
“It won’t sell anyway. Come by sometimes—I’ll give you more.”
Freya accepted the bread, her mouth opening and closing without a word of thanks, just as the bakery door shut.
“What do we do now?”
They locked eyes—and nodded at the same time. They knew it was wrong, but the rich smell stabbing at their noses drove all reason away.
“Lottie, let’s go over there first.”
They hurried into a dark alley. Freya’s heart pounded so hard she forgot she was even sick.
“Here. Take it.”
Still gasping for breath, Freya pulled the bread from her clothes and handed all of it to Lottie. Hugging the loaf, Lottie hopped in place, then wiped her nose with one hand.
“Freya, let’s eat it together.”
She offered the bread back. Freya accepted it, split it in half, and handed a larger piece to Lottie. Lottie’s eyes were glued to the bread, and when she realized the size difference, she whispered in surprise.
“Freya… mine’s bigger.”
“It’s fine. I’m not that hungry.”
“Okay.”
They ate in silence.
The bread was nothing like the dry, moldy loaves from the orphanage. It was soft, sweet, rich—filling their mouths all at once. Their stomachs were full, but their hearts felt fuller still.
“…It’s really good.”
They paused mid-bite, met each other’s eyes—and smiled brightly for the first time that day.
“Freya. I think I’ll make today my birthday.”
Lottie spoke with sparkling excitement. Freya, who didn’t even have a birthday, nodded.
“That’s a great idea.”
They wanted to remember this day for a long time. After roughly wiping the crumbs and grease from their mouths, they returned to the streets. Without either of them meaning to, a tuneless little song spilled from their lips.
They’d earned a decent amount today, so Freya thought nothing would go wrong. But when they returned home, Sophia greeted them with a cold expression.
“Freya. Lottie. Stand up straight.”
Their money pouch was snatched away, and Freya was knocked flat onto the floor.
“What did we do wrong?”
She cried out in shock. She had never talked back to Sophia before—never even thought of it.
But today is so unfair!
She’d done her best despite being unwell. Why was Sophia acting like this?
“You wretched thing. Is this how you repay the kindness of being raised?”
“Auntie, we’re sorry!”
Lottie begged desperately, her tiny hands worn raw from clasping them together. She didn’t know the reason, but she knew that begging was always the safest choice. Terrified, Lottie burst into tears.
“I told you—I can’t stand crying children!”
Sophia shouted, and Lottie went pale with fright.
“Someone saw you betraying this household.”
In the corner, a boy watched Freya and Lottie suffer, smiling faintly.
Oh no… we were being watched.
“But the bakery owner gave it to us for free! It’s true!”
Freya raised her voice in desperation.
“I don’t recall raising a child who makes excuses.”
Sophia’s eyes narrowed like a viper’s. Fear choked Freya’s throat, leaving her speechless, when Sophia’s chilling voice continued.
“You know… I’ve disliked you from the very beginning.”
Tears welled up in Freya’s eyes at the injustice.
What did I ever do so wrong, Auntie?
But what came out of her mouth was a pitiful plea.
“Auntie… I’m sorry.”
They cried and begged, but Sophia had no intention of listening. Lottie’s face was a mess of tears and snot, and seeing her like that made Freya’s eyes sting again.
Please… let this end quickly.
That was all she could pray for.
“This one’s really stubborn. She never cries.”
Still irritated, Sophia muttered to herself.
Freya pressed her hands against the wall, clenching them tightly, struggling not to lose consciousness.
You said you hated crying children.
So she endured it—but somewhere along the way, Freya had become a hard, unyielding girl.
***
By the time Freya turned ten, she spoke far less. Every morning she went out to beg, and when she returned, she cleaned. She hid as much as possible to avoid Sophia’s gaze—and it worked. Lately, she was beaten far less.
If I can live like this, I don’t need anything else.
Then one day, she ran into Shiloh in the hallway. He only came by once every month or two. When his murky gaze landed on her, tension clenched low in her stomach.
“You. What was your name again?”
The smell of alcohol wafted from him, making Freya instinctively want to step back.
“My name is Freya.”
“Yes. A very fine name.”
Shiloh’s eyes lingered on Freya’s neck and calves—her body just beginning to shed its childishness. When he reached her forest-green eyes, he studied her face for an uncomfortably long time.
“She’ll make quite a fine commodity.”
His eyes gleamed unnaturally.
That day, Freya returned from begging with a newborn strapped to her back.
You look about seven at most. If you carry a baby, people will flock to you.
Freya didn’t agree with Sophia at all—but she couldn’t refuse. The baby cried for a while, then eventually fell asleep against Freya’s back.
“How did you end up abandoned in a place like this?”
Once, Freya believed she lived in a house full of family. But now she knew better. She was an orphan, and everyone here was a stranger.
Not that I’m in any position to pity you.
Borrowing Sophia’s words, Freya herself was no different from this baby.
…An abandoned child.
She didn’t know who her parents were, or when her birthday was. All she knew was that when she was left wrapped in swaddling cloth, a piece of paper with her name had been placed on her chest. The only traces left by her parents were this face—and the rose-shaped scar on her arm.
“What was the point of naming me if you were going to abandon me?”
Freya muttered bitterly as she shook her tin cup.
After returning the baby to the nursery, Freya hurried outside. Carrying an infant all day had soaked her back—surely with the baby’s urine and vomit. She only had one outfit; if she didn’t wash it now, she’d have to wear it again tomorrow.
The smell is fine—but skin disease isn’t.
Remembering the child who lost a foot after leaving wet shoes on too long, Freya moved quickly.
She drew water from the well and glanced around. Stripping off her ragged dress revealed a scrawny body beneath her chemise.
“It’s pretty cold.”
Shivering, she scrubbed the back of her dress roughly and poured water over it.
“Ugh… time to put it back on.”
She wrung it out roughly and pulled it on. The cold fabric slapped against her skin, making her teeth chatter no matter how much she curled inward. Going inside dripping wet would only earn her another scolding from Sophia.
“Why would an old orphanage have such an expensive carpet?”
Jumping in place to warm herself, Freya tried to distract her mind.
“This is a ballroom.”
She imagined the well as a prince, clutched her rags like a gown, and made an awkward bow.
But she’d never even seen a real ballroom up close—so her imagination had limits. Everything she knew came from Sophia’s drunken stories: women flaunting their beauty in exquisite dresses and jewelry.
“It doesn’t suit me.”
The pathetic fantasy ended quickly, and Freya’s head drooped.
