Fakes Don’t Want To Be Real Chapter 1

Prologue

Over time, she hoped that one day she might earn their acknowledgment, that she might be allowed to stand at their side.

But what of reality?

 

“Psychke Silkisia. No, Psychke.”

 

For a full eighteen years, the surname she had clung to with desperate effort fell away in an instant. Psychke feared it the most but she felt nothing. Perhaps because something far more terrifying awaited her.

Psychke, who had been kneeling with her head bowed, slowly lifted her face. Her gaze met a pair of icy blue eyes looking down at her like drawn blades.

 

“You know what you did wrong.”

 

The man who spoke had once been her adoptive father. Now, he was an executioner passing sentence.

He seemed to be saying something, but not a word reached Psychke’s ears. Her mind had gone stark white; it was a strange sensation.

 

“I won’t belabor this. In consideration of what little affection there once was, this is where it ends. So, be grateful.”

 

Had there ever been such an affection?

Her frozen thoughts began to turn, sluggishly. She lowered her eyes, looking at what lay before her; pale green poison.

One drop was all it takes to bring death – a lethal toxin.

 

“Father, please, show some mercy. This is far too harsh.”

 

Psychke stared up at the woman softly whining standing beside her adoptive father. The woman has her silver hair cascaded in glossy waves to her waist and her eyes were blue like a clear autumn sky.

The only difference they had was that this woman appeared gentle and more innocent-looking.

With same age, same gender, why were their fates so utterly different? What, exactly, set them apart?

 

“Lillian, harsh? You nearly died.”

“That’s right. That bitch deserves to die!”

 

Psychke’s adopted brother and younger brother at Lillian’s side lashed out with sharp tongues. For the first time, something flickered across Psychke’s otherwise blank face.

She gave a sneer. For more than ten years, she had lived in their shadow, even as a mere substitute for their lost daughter.

She had been grateful they took her in. So, with her meager abilities, she had tried her best to be of use. Psychke believed that if she endured, if she worked hard enough, she would be acknowledged and someday, she might stand among them.

But,

 

“I didn’t do it,” She forced out the truth, though no one was listening. “I swear to the heavens, I truly know nothing about this.”

 

Even if unheard, she poured out her injustice.

 

“Ask the maids. I really—”

“How dare you still talk back!”

 

Something flew through the air and struck her head.

Her vision reeled, then something warm trickled down her temple. From the sound of it shattering on the floor, it must have been a crystal vase.

Incongruously, the soft scent of freesia drifted through the air.

 

“We’ve already finished the investigation, you idiot! Anyone would think we’re accusing an innocent—”

“That’s enough, Lenox.” Yzhar, the elder brother, restrained the furious Lenox. “As you said, it’s already over. Losing your temper will only hurt you.”

 

Yzhar’s black eyes emotionlessly settled on Psychke as though she was an object, not a person.

 

“This was found in your room. And your personal maid testified.”

 

Yzhar lifted a necklace, a large emerald set squarely at its center.

Psychke could say this with absolute certainty.

She had never seen that necklace before in her life. And her so-called personal maid served not the counterfeit lady, Psychke, but the true young lady, Lillian.

But,

 

“You planned to give this to Lillian as a gift? A necklace that releases a poison needle the moment it’s clasped around the neck?”

“Oh, Psychke… I thought we could be good sisters.”

 

Lillian whimpered as she threw herself into their father’s arms, trembling as though afraid.

Psychke stared at her numbly, then let out a hollow laugh.

Perhaps it was because she had already given up everything during her time in solitary confinement. Her mind felt as though it had been washed white with paint. She shed no tears, and her heart was unnervingly calm.

Maybe it was better if it ended like this.

With a trembling hand, Psychke picked up the vial of poison. She felt nothing, as if her body were filled with air.

For the last time, she lifted her eyes to look at the people she had once believed to be her saviors; now revealed as deceivers.

Duke Silkisia, her adoptive father, Izar, her adoptive elder brother and Lennox, her adoptive younger brother. And finally, Lillian; the true daughter they had lost more than ten years ago.

 

“…!”

 

Unlike the others, who stared at her in grim silence, Lillian flinched and shrank back into the duke’s embrace.

It could have been an illusion, but to Psychke, the corners of Lilian’s mouth appeared to form a faint arc. Seeing that no one mourned her impending death, Psychke finally and belatedly realized that that there had never been a place for her here.

Without averting her gaze from those looking down on her, Psychke pressed her warm lips to the cold glass vial and whispered softly,

 

“If I am granted another life, I will never live like this again.”

 

Even if it was a futile last wish, she engraved it deep into her soul; so that if she were ever reborn, she would not repeat the same mistake.

She drank the poison.

The meaningless scent of freesia stung her nose.

     ***

Ignoring the chill that raised goosebumps on her skin, she drank and drank the cold liquid down her throat.

… But why did it not hurt at all?

Violet, flame-like lights seemed to surge up around her, and then every sensation vanished. Her vision sank into darkness.

She thought the darkness meant death, until unfamiliar sounds made her realize her eyes were closed.

Listening carefully, Psychke slowly opened them.

And froze.

 

“…?”

 

The family who should have been looming over her was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, beyond an open window flooded with warm sunlight, a cluster of freesia swayed gently in the breeze.

It was her room.

Tap, tap, tap.

An odd sound, like dust being shaken loose, reached her ears again.

She turned toward it. There stood her personal maid, Melissa, frowning as she beat dust from the furniture.

Lowering her gaze, Psychke saw a cold steak, soup congealed into lumps, and a teapot just as chilled.

She looked at her own hand. Instead of a vial of poison, she was holding a teacup.

 

‘What is this?’

 

The sound of dusting continued relentlessly.

Tap, tap, tap.

Psychke knew better than anyone else what this very familiar situation meant.

Every morning, Melissa brought her cold meals, then dusted the room.

Whether her mistress was asleep or awake, whether dust settled on the food or not. If only because she herself did not wish to breathe it in, the windows were always flung wide open – summer or winter.

Psychke stared quietly at the back of Melissa’s head, her brown hair twisted into a tight bun.

Then, as Melissa rounded the corner and her profile came into view, Psychke murmured in a voice that sounded as though she were dreaming,

 

“Melissa.”

“Yes?”

 

The surly tone, unbefitting a maid addressing her mistress, was exactly as Psyche remembered.

 

Still, she asked one more question, “What are you doing right now?”

“Can’t you see? I’m cleaning!”

 

It looked less like cleaning and more like brandishing a duster, but Psychke said nothing.

Then, she picked up a knife so dull it couldn’t even tear a steak, and tried to draw on her mana. She couldn’t tell if this was reality or an illusion.

 

‘…!’

 

The mana pathways that had been sealed by the mages when she was dragged away were wide open as though they had never been blocked at all.

Ah, so this is an illusion.

 

“Ugh, disgusting. Honestly. How do you even manage your room?”

 

Melissa clicked her tongue and complained loudly.

She had heard it so many times she should have been used to it but this time, irritation welled up.

Did she truly have to endure such words even in a vision after death, spoken by someone who had driven her to it?

As usual, Psychke did not respond. Instead, she infused the knife with mana and threw it straight past the maid’s ear.

 

“Kyaaaaaah!”

 

The shrill scream tore at her eardrums.

 

‘So, this isn’t an illusion?’

 

Psychke frowned slightly. Then, upon seeing Melissa’s face contorted in shock, she smoothed her expression as if nothing had happened.

 

“Are you insane?!”

“I was just trying to help with the cleaning. I’m sorry, there was a pest.”

 

She replied softly, almost in a whisper. Just as she said, the tip of the knife, embedded in the wall, pinned a dead spider that twitched once before going still.

 

“You’re crazy, completely insane!”

 

As she hurled cursed, the maid clutched her grazed ear and fled the room.

Psychke lazily watched  Melissa as she ran, then turned her gaze back to the window, where the fragrant scent of freesia drifted in.

The aroma was painfully vivid.

Was this reality? Or merely a hallucination at the brink of death?

If it was reality, it was a hellish one.  If it was an illusion, it was more dreadful than any other.