Chapter 2
“Unnie… am I heavy?”
She had asked to be carried, but perhaps she now felt guilty. Lottie squirmed, trying to climb down from Freya’s back. Freya reached up and patted the child’s back.
“Hey. It’s a hassle, so just stay still.”
Panting, Freya carried Lottie to the edge where the bustling district began. After wiping the saliva from the corner of her mouth, Freya pulled a small bowl from inside her clothes and set it on the ground. This spot was a prime location she had finally reclaimed after two years.
“Ah, it’s warm.”
Once the sun reached this area, it stayed warm until around three o’clock. There was also plenty of foot traffic, so the earnings weren’t bad. When a well-dressed gentleman or a woman passing by with a child approached, Freya poked Lottie sharply.
“Cry. Now.”
“Unnie, why did you hit me? That hurts.”
Startled by Freya’s sudden touch, Lottie—her belly round and sticking out—burst into sorrowful tears.
“Please help us. My little sister is very sick.”
Freya blinked her green-tinged eyes dramatically. A few people slowed, but soon passed by. Lottie quickly stopped crying, stood up, and stared blankly at the people walking past.
“Why aren’t they giving us money? Huh?”
It was Lottie’s first time coming out to work, and she seemed oddly excited. Freya jumped up and shook her head as she watched Lottie spin around on one foot. The child clearly knew far too little about the world.
“Freya, why don’t we have coats like them?”
Winter hadn’t fully passed, and the wind was cold.
Shrugging her shoulders, Lottie compared their clothes to those of passersby. Aunt Sophia always said they had to look as shabby as possible to get more money—but to Freya, this wasn’t staged poverty. This was real.
“Because we’re actually poor.”
Sometimes, being outside felt warmer than being inside the house.
“Then do all the other kids work like us?”
“Well… that’s…”
Freya trailed off as she looked at a girl walking past, holding her mother’s hand—wearing a navy coat, a white hat, and lace socks.
Probably not.
She had been begging here for years. She had seen countless children her age pass by laughing, eating candy. No matter how she looked at them, they didn’t seem to work like she did. Their faces were clean and bright, smiles blooming freely. Their neatly combed hair showed no sign of lice or fleas. Lottie, now lying flat on the ground, started whining.
“Freya, I’m hungry.”
“Hey! You’re the one flailing around—of course you’re hungry already.”
At Freya’s sharp retort, Lottie rubbed her belly, her face crumpling.
Freya might have sounded cold, but she wasn’t indifferent. More than anyone, she knew exactly how Lottie felt.
“…Please help.”
At the sound of footsteps, Freya automatically raised her voice. Someone glanced down at her and Lottie with a frown.
“They say they make orphans beg like that.”
“But with faces that fierce, who’d feel sorry for them?”
Two middle-aged women passed by, gripping their parasols tightly as they spoke. Hearing the words orphan and begging, Freya felt a flicker of shame.
Fierce-looking? What’s that supposed to mean?
People who insulted them without even giving money were the worst. As Freya scowled, Lottie—who had been drawing a butterfly on the ground—looked up with curiosity.
“Unnie, what’s an orphan?”
“That’s what they call kids without parents. Like us.”
“Is that bad?”
At Lottie’s crestfallen expression, Freya snapped irritably, her chapped lips pale and rough.
“Does that even matter right now? If we go back empty-handed, Aunt Sophia will yell at us like crazy.”
At Freya’s blunt words, Lottie scratched at the scabs on her head and muttered weakly.
“I don’t mind getting hit… but I want to eat dinner.”
…You idiot.
Lottie had clearly never been punished severely. Thinking of Sophia’s merciless switch, Freya’s expression hardened.
“If you want to eat, cry louder. Really loud.”
But Lottie clamped her mouth shut and continued drawing pictures on the ground.
Maybe their luck was just bad—today they earned less than half their usual amount.
The walk home felt unbearably long. Sophia sat on a chair near the entrance, inspecting the money in each child’s bowl one by one. Only children who met the quota were allowed dinner.
“You may go to the dining hall.”
At last, it was Freya and Lottie’s turn. Freya’s mouth was so dry she could barely swallow. She tilted the bowl slightly, trying to make it look fuller—but Sophia’s sharp eyes missed nothing.
“You didn’t skim some off, did you?”
Sophia shook the money container violently, raising her voice.
Frozen with fear, Freya struggled to speak.
“No. Today… we just had bad luck.”
“Luck…?”
Sophia slammed the bowl she was holding to the ground. It shattered with a loud crash, and Freya collapsed onto the floor. Eyes squeezed shut, her body trembled as she imagined the hell about to unfold.
“My dear, that’s not what ‘bad luck’ means.”
Sophia clicked her tongue lightly, eyes narrowed. A sense of dread washed over Lottie, who burst into loud sobs.
“I hate crying children. Take her away.”
Sophia ordered one of the men to take Lottie to a room, leaving only the two of them.
“What kind of punishment suits a useless child, I wonder?”
Sophia’s lips gleamed red as she pondered Freya’s fate.
“I’ve found the perfect one. Tonight, you’ll sleep in the ice room.”
“Auntie! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again!”
At the words ice room, Freya clasped her hands together and begged. It was the coldest room in the orphanage, located at the far north—where children who committed serious offenses were sent. Freya hated it more than anything.
It feels like ghosts would come out there.
She clung to Sophia’s ankle, pleading.
“Just once. Please. Just this once, Auntie. Please?”
“Why are you being so insolent today?”
As Sophia fumed, someone arrived with a message.
“Madam Sophia. The master has returned.”
Freya had never been happier to hear that her father was back. Sophia, forgetting all about sending Freya to the ice room, hurried off to greet him.
“See? My luck wasn’t that bad after all.”
Freya muttered as she pushed herself up from the floor. Her legs trembled, but she felt relieved—it could have been much worse. Sometimes, children really did have terrible luck.
“Selena… or was it Serina…”
She wasn’t sure of the name, but she remembered that it had rained on the day that child was buried.
The next day, Freya felt awful. Working in the cold wind, then being tormented by Sophia afterward, had left her sick with a fever. But she could never show it.
Sick kids get abandoned.
Worse still—children who didn’t receive meals or treatment never ended well.
I don’t want that!
Clenching her teeth, Freya dragged herself to the dining hall. She quickly sat down and accepted her bowl of porridge—only to find small crumbs of bread sprinkled on top. A faint smile spread across her face, just as the children stood and spoke in unison.
“Good morning, Father.”
A tall, slightly hunched man entered the dining hall. Sophia clung to his side, acting coy.
“Sit and eat.”
At his command, the children lifted their spoons and began eating. The man—wearing a shiny suit and a gold pocket watch utterly out of place in the shabby hall—seemed unimpressed by the food and only drank a glass of wine.
“Lord Shiloh, how was the capital?”
“Sophia. You’re giving me a headache this early in the morning.”
“I—I’m sorry.”
At his rebuke, Sophia pretended to eat. A few children snickered quietly at the sight.
“By the way… last night, I saw Lily going into Father’s bedroom.”
Someone whispered softly, and others began to speculate.
“Maybe she got a secret gift?”
“Does that mean she’s going to the capital with him?”
“I’m so jealous.”
Children eventually left the orphanage at a certain age. Whether they found new parents or not, they were never seen again. Freya wasn’t exactly sad when children disappeared—but she always found herself lost in complicated thoughts.
***
Being sick wasn’t an excuse to rest. Curled forward, Freya shuffled along, each brush of fabric against her wounds drawing involuntary groans.
“Freya, are you okay?”
“You’d help more by not talking.”
She coldly brushed off Lottie’s worried gaze. Today, she had to earn a lot of money. She couldn’t imagine how furious Sophia would be otherwise. Sitting down, tears welled up in her eyes. The dried pus from an old wound gave off a foul smell from her clothes.
“P-please… help…”
Watching Freya struggle, Lottie stretched out her tiny hand toward passersby. But being new to this, she hesitated, words catching in her throat.
“Hey, if you can’t do it, just draw pictures. I’ll handle it.”
Freya reached out to pull Lottie back—but Lottie spoke again.
“Please help us. If we don’t bring money, my sister will get beaten again.”
Perhaps impressed by the child’s clear words, a gentleman stepped forward and tossed a silver coin. Lottie picked it up, eyes wide.
“Freya! Look! I earned this!”
“Good job.”
Unlike Freya, Lottie had a knack for things—pretending to cry, pretending to be sick, begging in different ways. Thanks to her, they earned far more than the day before.
“Grrrk….”
Lottie’s stomach growled loudly. Freya ignored the sound and carefully stood up. Her wounds hadn’t healed at all—she hurt even standing still, tears pooling in her eyes.
