Down there, under the castle balcony, a battle was visible: the knights of the Kingdom of Mezarte were fighting against the knights of other neighboring kingdoms. The princess, who had just turned twenty-one, sat in an armchair and watched them, sipping green tea.

"How is my father?" she asked her maid indifferently, who was standing nearby, anxious.

"He... He left" with his gaze lowered, her nanny quietly replied to her.

Medmel sighed and closed her eyes. Since birth, she had been unwanted by her own parents: her father, Prince Hazel, spoke to the princess only on holidays, and the king looked at Medmel with contempt, for she was a failed heir.

She was not born an Iorph—a being who lives longer than anyone on earth, even though that was the sole reason for Medmel's conception.

A long time ago, the king ordered an attack on the Iorphs and the kidnapping of their daughters, so that a boy possessing longevity would be born, but instead, Medmel was born.

"I see," replied the princess, taking a sip of tea and lowering her gaze to the carnage.

"So, both he and grandfather have left, abandoning me," uttered Medmel, slouching.

Medmel's gaze slowly shifted to the maid:

"And mother?" the girl suddenly asked, tilting her head.

Mother...

She was the only person, no, Iorph, whom Medmel had dreamed of seeing since childhood. They forbade her from meeting her, saying she would spoil the girl, but the princess wanted at least just to see her mom.

Not even to talk, just to look: to see her skin color, how her eyes shine, how long her hair is, and how gentle her smile is.

Instead, Medmel is forced to read books, books, books, because she, as the sole heir, must be perfect.

She, Medmel, will never be perfect for her father, because she is not a boy possessing her mother's longevity, but just a half-breed girl.

"I do not know where she is, Your Highness," her nanny answered her. And then Medmel turned around when she heard the shuffling of footsteps on the marble floor.

The princess's eyes widened in surprise and admiration when she saw her—her mother.

Possessing those very unusual features of the Iorphs.

"Mother... Is it you?" was all the young princess could say, dropping the teacup lid onto the floor, staining the marble, cold, lifeless floor.