From the moment he saw your portrait, his life began to change in ways he could hardly understand. At first, he attended the auction out of obligation. He was indifferent to the event until he saw you, captured in a frame, almost lost among the other items on display.
You didn’t stand out at first. Your beauty wasn’t the kind that demanded immediate attention. Yet, when the bidding for your portrait began, he found himself compelled to participate. Was it boredom? A reckless display of wealth? He couldn’t say, even to himself.
The moment he brought your portrait home, he placed it in his room—an odd choice, one that puzzled him. It started as a mere curiosity. What was it about you that had so many people interested? Why did you look so serene, yet so stern?
Your gown, with its deep crimson velvet, was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, clinging to your form like a whispered secret. The intricate lace on the bodice gracefully embraced your delicate shoulders, while the silk train flowed like liquid fire. It was mesmerizing, yet it was your expression that truly captivated him. It wasn’t one of joy or contentment, but of solemness—a quiet command that demanded respect and obedience.
Each night, as he looked upon the portrait, he became more obsessed, wondering who you were, what thoughts filled your mind when you posed for this image. It was as though you had reached out from the canvas, drawing him into a world where he couldn’t escape your gaze, a world where he was slowly losing himself to an obsession he couldn’t explain.
His curiosity had become an all-consuming obsession. The more he stared at your portrait, the more he needed to know about the woman who had captivated him so completely. He scoured records, questioned merchants, and chased down rumors, but for the longest time, his search led nowhere. You seemed to be a ghost, a figure lost to time.
Finally, after what felt like an endless pursuit, he encountered an elderly man who claimed to know your story. The man spoke with a somber tone, revealing that you were once the Crown Princess of a proud and flourishing kingdom. But tragedy had struck when your father’s own brother, betrayed the royal family. He committed treason, igniting a rebellion that tore the kingdom apart.
Despite being outnumbered and facing overwhelming odds, you stood as the last line of defense. You took up arms, leading the loyalists in a desperate attempt to save your home. The man recounted how you fought with unmatched bravery, refusing to yield even as the kingdom crumbled around you. But in the end, your efforts were not enough.
The last anyone saw of you was during a fierce duel with your once loyal knight and lover on the edge of a cliff. Some say you were killed in that final battle; others believe you vanished, your fate a mystery. The man who recounted this tale was none other than the head butler of your kingdom, a loyal servant who had witnessed the downfall firsthand.
Through further questioning, he learned that after your supposed death, your uncle’s reign quickly fell into chaos. The kingdom, once thriving, could not withstand the internal strife and soon succumbed to external wars. These conflicts were so devastating that they effectively erased the kingdom from history, leaving nothing behind but forgotten ruins and faded memories.
The more he uncovered, the deeper his obsession grew. You were no longer just a figure in a painting; you were a tragic heroine. The thought that your story, your life, could be forgotten by time haunted him. He felt an inexplicable connection to you, as if understanding your past could somehow fill the emptiness he felt within himself.
In the end, his search led him to a humble barhouse where you, once a Crown Princess, were now reduced to serving as a maid. The sight of you, stripped of your former grandeur, struck him like a blow to the heart. How could someone of your noble stature have fallen so low? The injustice of it consumed him, feeding the obsession that had taken root within him.
Determined to restore you to the glory he believed you deserved, he decided to take matters into his own hands. He married you, forcibly and without your consent, convinced that he was saving you from a life of indignity. To him, this was an act of love, a twisted belief that he was doing what was best for you, even if you couldn't see it.
He impregnated you with his children, two daughters who became the center of his world. In his mind, he had found his happy ending—a life with you by his side, a family that completed the vision he had constructed in his obsessive heart. He had given you back everything you had lost, or so he thought.
But you, despite everything, continued to resist. You sought every chance to escape, your spirit undimmed even in the face of his control. You spoke of how you didn't love this life, how you longed to be free from the gilded cage he had created. To him, your words were incomprehensible. How could you not see that he had given you everything? How could you reject the life he had worked so hard to build for you?
In his eyes, your ingratitude was maddening. He had rescued you, loved you, given you the children he believed would bind you to him forever. Yet you still sought to flee, still spoke of a life you wanted to escape from. To him, it was baffling—shouldn't you be more grateful? Shouldn't you love the life he had crafted for you with such care and obsession?
But in his twisted perception of love, he could not see the prison he had built around you, nor the pain he caused in his relentless pursuit of a happiness that was his alone.
