"Bawanshi, why are you always like this?"
— In my memories, Mother would always say that to me.
Whenever I heard those words, I felt at a loss, confused, even terrified. Confused because I didn't know what I had done wrong. Why did Mother always look at me with that disappointed expression? I didn't want her to be disappointed, didn't want her to be unhappy—I was afraid that one day she would abandon me.
Whenever that fear rose, I would go kill someone.
Because the first time I killed someone, Mother seemed to smile. The exact details are blurry now; I only recall that the other person did something that caused me pain, and Mother told me to get angry. So I got angry and killed that person. Afterward, Mother patted my head. That feeling was so warm, just like the first time she found me and held me in her arms. I was extremely happy. I wanted to be held like that again. So I killed someone else.
Although killing is boring—I didn't like it. It made me tired, my fingers hurt. But I didn't know anything else that would make Mother happy. Though I tried to learn dancing, and practiced secretly for a long time, the first time I danced in front of Mother, she wore a pained expression and told me to stop. So I stopped liking dancing.
Because in my memories, when I made an angry face and killed someone, Mother's expression softened a little, I would do it again to please her. Over time, I lost track of what I should really feel; I always adopted a habitually angry appearance. Even when alone, even when talking to myself, I spoke as if always on the verge of anger. I built an outward persona that I thought Mother might like: if I acted angry, Mother would be slightly happier; if I killed someone, Mother would smile. So that's what I did.
Compared to me, Beryl seemed far better at this. In the beginning, I thought Beryl was amazing. He appeared one day out of nowhere, was excellent at killing, and Mother often talked with him about topics I couldn't understand; he even answered some of Mother's doubts, which I couldn't. Was it because he was so skilled at killing? If I could kill as well as him, could I help Mother the way he did? With that question in mind, I approached him. And indeed, Beryl was very capable; he understood me easily. Normally, the other fairies under Mother—Melyuzina, Bagest, Woodworth—none understood me, but Beryl did. He saw the reasons behind my killings, the source of my anger.
I was curious and tried to learn from him, hoping one day I could help Mother too. One day I overheard Beryl talking with Mother about things I didn't understand:
"Sigh, I am your servant. To facilitate my actions in your Fairyrealm, why don't we just marry? Of course, nothing beyond the title—just that title. How about it?"
Mother almost immediately refused: "You're right, that would facilitate our mutual affairs. I have considered it, but no—I reserve that position for another."
"Eh? You won't? That's a pity; I wouldn't have guessed you had no prior dealings with any man."
"He's not here now, but that doesn't mean he doesn't exist. Give it up: no one can replace him for that position."
Though I didn't understand their conversation, if Mother married Beryl, it would seem to help both of them—but for some reason she refused. What is marriage? I didn't understand, but if I married Beryl, would that help Mother? I remember offering myself: I could marry Beryl in Mother's place. Mother shook her head helplessly—but I noticed a faint smile on her lips. It was very slight, but I, paying close attention to Mother's expressions, noticed it. So marrying Beryl might really help Mother? Realizing this, I insisted on marrying Beryl. Mother said "Marriage isn't so simple," but she did not show disappointment or scold me.
"Eh, do you really want to marry me? Though it would indeed help my affairs, you must consider carefully: a spouse cannot be changed lightly," Beryl said.
"Yes! I decide: I want to marry Beryl!" I declared firmly. In the end, neither Mother nor Beryl outright rejected my idea, so I happily returned, believing I had finally done the right thing and helped Mother. I was very happy.
"Truly there's no choice, Beryl—take care of Bawanshi," Mother said to Beryl, as I recall hearing, though I was too joyful to pay close attention. Beryl was really excellent—at least in killing he was beyond my imagination. No wonder he always conversed with Mother about "Chaldea," "Human History," "Singularity," and such, topics Mother never mentioned to me. I wondered: if I were as good at killing as he was, would Mother discuss these things with me?
One time, while killing, I overheard Beryl mention "Slave Gladiators." "Having humans kill each other is a popular spectacle even in Human History," he said. "But nobody joins?" I asked. "Oh, they do: the winner gets a lavish reward—for example, freedom if you become champion." "Eh? They would actually set them free?" "No, of course not," Beryl smiled. "At the moment the victor, after tremendous effort, thinks they've won freedom, you tell them it was a lie. When hope turns to despair, their final scream before death is the most exquisite." "Amazing! I never imagined that!"
Though I didn't fully grasp "Human History," I understood it referred to lands beyond the sea. The idea that killing could be made so spectacular fascinated me. "Haha, you look just like a spinel!" Beryl laughed one time. "Spinel? What's that?" I asked. "A gemstone in a crown. You'd match it well." His metaphor delighted me: "A crown gemstone?! Wonderful! So I'm Mother's precious gem?"
Later, the New Darlington Killing Arena was built. Other performances were considered, but Beryl excelled at killing; to become better, I killed many fairies and humans. Yet when I gleefully reported my deeds to Mother, hoping for her praise, she only sighed: "I see." She didn't turn to look at me; she sounded weary. Why was that? I didn't understand what went wrong. Did I not do enough? Did Mother feel disappointed? I was terrified Mother would distance herself. So I sought more powerful curses from Beryl.
"I don't recommend learning that curse, my lady; Morgan would kill me," he warned. "But it's powerful, right? I must become stronger to help Mother!" I insisted. "I see... so that's the approach," he replied with a smile I didn't understand: "You may learn it, but if you master such a powerful curse, you'll use it on me, right?"
Before I could learn that curse, the worst happened—Mother disappeared. It couldn't be misfortune; Mother was invincible—no one could harm her in all of Britannia. Yet if she was truly missing, why? Because I failed her? I locked myself in a room and cried, but she did not return.
Then the strange simulator appeared. At first I didn't know how to use it; I just watched time pass in simulation, saw messages pop up about lords fighting over Mother's realm. I felt nothing toward them—Mother was gone; what was the point of fighting for a kingdom? Soon, disappointed in me, Beryl vanished, and then I inexplicably died: in that simulation, one day after a meal I suddenly bled out, until I vomited my organs. I never knew who did it. Receiving those memories terrified me; I hid under blankets. Then I realized: if those simulated futures were real, Mother would never return.
I despaired. So I drifted through the second simulation. After days similar to the first, one night I awoke to a shadow by my bedside, holding a dagger stained with my blood. Before my consciousness faded, I glimpsed the shadow splitting into fragments of gore, and I heard a distant, deep sigh: "Bawanshi, why are you always like this?"
Receiving the second simulation's memory, I was afraid—but this time, fear of disappointing Mother outweighed fear of death. Suddenly I thought: could this simulator be Mother's test? If in simulation I did nothing and died, Mother would sigh; but if I became queen and excelled in killing, would Mother be satisfied and return? With that possibility, I took action.
In the third simulation's start, I sought Beryl's help to learn killing and to become queen. Beryl agreed. I gratefully accepted and embarked on a spree of slaughter under his guidance, expanding my territory, bringing bloodshed from New Darlington across all Britannia, and I succeeded in becoming the new Fairy Britannia queen. But after achieving all this and eagerly awaiting Mother's return, my body failed. Beryl had deceived me—he never told me of the curse's negative side effects. One day he shut my door; I could no longer learn what happened outside. My body decayed; I couldn't sit up from bed.
That experience was horrifying—so terrifying it gave me nightmares when receiving the memory. I despaired that Mother never appeared. But fortunately, the simulation didn't end; it could continue. So as long as I kept striving, someday I would succeed. Regarding Beryl's betrayal, maybe I wasn't angry—but he had hurt me. I recalled when I first killed: someone hurt me, I looked angry and killed them, and Mother patted my head. So I decided I should be angry—unprecedentedly angry—and kill Beryl.
But I wasn't clever; Beryl was very clever. Thus in the fourth simulation and in reality, my attempts to kill him failed; he always escaped. I realized that once he fled, I couldn't catch him again. I wondered whether to go after others who had hurt me: in the third simulation, the "Prophetess" and that man Guinevere also harmed me, though not as severely as Beryl. Perhaps I should kill them too, to show Mother my fury. I intended that, hoping Mother would return and pat my head.
Yet in reality, when I captured those two, I hesitated because of what I saw in the fourth simulation at Norwich: that girl who, facing darkness, persisted; that boy wielding a sword of flame to cut through despair—their images left deep impressions. They shone so brightly. Though I'd never lived their lives, merely observing from afar I felt they glimmered. I didn't want to kill people like that.
Eventually, unable to decide, I locked them both in New Darlington's dungeon, planning to think later how to treat them. Honestly, I didn't dislike them; I even rather liked them. Neither the Prophetess nor that knight instinctively repelled me, unlike most fairies. And at the end of that simulation, when Beryl was about to kill me again, that knight stood up and saved me. Seeing him punch Beryl away and protect me, my heart raced for a moment.