Chapter 40 – Angel’s First Love Diary_1
Since birth, there has been no freedom.
On a day when the stars were unusually bright in the northern night sky, it was said that a small angel was abandoned in front of the house of a Bannir couple who made a living by turning stargazing into a profession.
‘The name given by the goddess is Freyja. She is too overwhelming and burdensome for me. Please raise her beautifully.’
Between the white cloth, there was a crumpled note. The paper folded neatly did not contain long words.
The baby wrapped in emotionless sentences blinked her eyes like a clear sky, neither crying nor smiling.
Only her gentle eyes and newly budding white wings vaguely hinted at the fact that she was a Bannir race. However, the child exuded an inexplicable atmosphere.
The wife looked at the child and said brightly, “This child is undoubtedly marked by the goddess!” The man also answered with a dreamy expression. Yes, the stars are singing!
The couple set out to find the elders of the Bannir tribe along the late-night road. The small note had already been sent away by the wind.
The couple had no hesitation. Beyond the stream, where the moon was embraced by a clear sky, a cabin rose on a hill.
There, they discovered that the adults of the Bannir tribe were living.
Elders.
Carrying the name of Banir, they chuckled upon meeting the baby.
“Ah! Finally! The goddess has not forsaken us!”
“Brisingamen! This child is undoubtedly born for Brisingamen!”
They, forgetting even their dignity, reveled in the beauty and mercy of the goddess, singing and laughing once again.
To them, the scattered words that ensnared the baby like a thicket of thorns, turning into seeds of a curse, were not of great concern.
The child grew up in the hands of the elders since that day.
With neither mother nor father, and lacking love to a degree, Freyja grew as if she had never been lacking in affection.
Freyja grew up alone. She never harbored great discontent about it.
The elders, too, did not show much interest in young Freyja.
Their only expectation for young Freyja was one thing.
To someday wear the mission of Brisingamen around her neck.
If they repeated that a few times, they would nod in satisfaction.
Lady Freyja! You look beautiful today as well.
With Lady Freyja present, the future of our Banir is bright.
Oh, Lady Freyja. Please take good care of Brisingamen.
Not only the elders, but the newcomers who met Freyja also exchanged similar greetings.
All Freyja could do was nod her head in response.
The year Freyja turned seven was an unusually blossoming spring.
In the attic of the cabin where the elders lived.
The slight narrowness was a source of dissatisfaction, but the sound of rain and the sound of wind made it a fairly cozy space.
Though there was dissatisfaction, there were no complaints.
Playing marbles alone under the blanket was one of Freya’s few hobbies. Now, looking back, it’s embarrassingly childish, but at the time, something like a one-person play centered around marbles was quite enjoyable.
The yellow marble, newly taken out between Mom’s marble and Dad’s marble, was designated as the baby. It wasn’t long before a familiar voice echoed from below the attic. “Eek! Grandma!” Freya swept the marbles into her pocket and hurriedly put on her shoes.
The elder whom she called “Grandma” had a particular attachment to bringing out Freya’s beauty.
Grandma’s emphasized words were always the same.
– To wear the Brisangamen, you must become even more beautiful. So beautiful that no one can surpass you. So beautiful that anyone can be captivated at a glance. Do you understand?
Freya couldn’t understand everything she said, but she would politely reply with a long “yes” at the end of her words. She vaguely knew that there was no affection in these sharp advice.
Those words, which sounded weightless and simple, were more important to Freya than a normal morning greeting.
By enduring, by holding back, someday, she could confidently wear that necklace and stand proudly amidst the cheers of the newcomers. It was nothing more than a shallow fantasy that she spent her days erasing.
In fact, she may have vaguely known that everything around her had been distorted since then.
In the Vanir Clan, the name “Freya” never had a place from the beginning, and she knew it herself.
The year Freya turned twelve was a hot summer day when her height suddenly began to take off.
One day, she was playing hide-and-seek with the village children, and Freya became the seeker.
When she caught the girl she was friendly with and laughed, she seemed to have caught her too quickly and her friend tripped over a stone and fell. Apologizing to her sobbing friend, she didn’t even realize tears were welling up in her eyes in the midst of her remorse and embarrassment.
What should she do? What should she do? She would have asked for help while rolling her feet. That’s all.
“You did it wrong! Who falls stupidly like that?” The boys sneered at Freya and stepped forward. Startled, Freya said, “I did something wrong, you’re right.” But instead of stopping the bleeding, her friend, who hadn’t even properly wiped away the wounds, had to endure all sorts of contempt and humiliation from her seat.
In the end, after the startled Freya burst into tears, the one-sided torment stopped.
After that day, playing with peers was prohibited.
The year Freya turned fifteen was a season when clouds, carrying petals, flowed through the high autumn sky.
There was a time when studying herbs and making bitter medicines was Freya’s only hobby.
As she grew older, she became a little embarrassed with playing with marbles and naturally stopped. In that aspect, the study of herbs suited her temperament quite well. It was calm yet lively, and above all, it gave her an excuse to go outside.
But even such a small and trivial freedom was not granted to her.
It was the day when her grandmother blocked Freya from going outside.
“You must not go outside.”
Her grandmother said those words.
Perplexed by what she meant, Freya faced her grandmother without saying a word, and her grandmother’s face began to crease with deep wrinkles.
Feeling anxious, Freya looked around and sensed the presence of another elder who was stealing glances at her.
As if that gaze was flowing down her shoulders, Freya tightly wrapped her outer garment around her skin.
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Lately, she had been feeling the gaze more and more.
Freya knew very well about her own appearance.
The fragrance of a young girl, still a bit immature but needing to bloom more brightly,
Her clear eyes were sharper than the sky, and her skin was more radiant than any porcelain. She knew herself that the silky texture of her skin became more alluring as the days went by.
Neatly arched eyebrows and a straight facial contour. Her well-developed body was not easily concealed even by thick, long robes. The faint scent that gently blossomed through her neatly combed hair had been described as particularly seductive on several occasions.
She had resolved not to pay attention to other people’s gazes if possible. However, sometimes it was inevitable to shrink under such blatant stares.
“All of this is for Brisingamen.”
Freya knew.
“I can solve the problems of the Banir tribe.”
She mulled over it repeatedly.
“They said selling the power accumulated in the necklace to my kin would bring immense wealth to the tribe.”
The power of allure was inherent, and Freya’s appearance revitalized her power repeatedly.
There was no tribe more fitting for Breesingga men in Freya’s eyes.
The power of allure.
Pure magic that captivated everything around.
It no longer stopped at garnering favor.
A bewitching ability instinctively enticing others and suppressing all emotions according to sensuality, an eerie curse surpassing magic, distorting primal senses.
Some called it brainwashing, some criticized it as a living drug, while others likened it to a debased demon seducing men.
If there were no Breesingga men, if they were of no use, how would she have been treated?
That was always a question.
When Freya turned seventeen. A winter night when the fireplace was warm.
She had celebrated her coming-of-age but had not yet officially received the Breesingga men. She spent days counting down to the fact that she could wear the Breesingga men next year.
It had already been several years since she hadn’t stepped out of the cabin atop the hill.
The gazes from around had become increasingly blatant over time.
Unspeakable jealousy from women.
Unprecedented lust from men.
On either side, it wasn’t a particularly pleasant feeling, so Freya didn’t bother going outside, even if it wasn’t at the elders’ behest.
The books she had gathered for her herbal studies were naturally shoved into one corner of the bookshelf. Ignoring the accumulation of dust and the cobwebs forming, she left them untouched.
Occasionally, she took only the essential sunlight necessary for grooming her appearance, applying perfumed oil to unseen strands of hair and slowly combing through them. Apart from that, she strictly limited any other actions.
She was well aware of her own danger. The scent emanating from her body, awakening someone’s primal instincts without awareness, was now fear-inducing.
Today, as always, she mulled over her emptiness. Eating nameless vegetables absentmindedly, she’d suddenly realize her situation while swallowing the mush.
Confined within the mundane space of the cabin, occasionally sipping sunlight and water, a static being emitting an irresistible fragrance.
“I am a plant.”
It was when she absentmindedly muttered while gazing at the snowflakes tapping on the window.
Thud, thud.
Unexpectedly, the sound of the attic ladder cascading down reached her ears.
Usually, when Grandma searched for Freya, she’d call out loudly from below. Climbing the ladder seemed not so easy for her aged body. Therefore, it was evident that the source of this sound wasn’t Grandma.
A foreboding feeling crept in, furrowing her brow, she scrutinized the entrance with a stiffened body.
Silently slithering like some kind of demon, a shadow ascended.
Upon lighting the lamp, she noticed an old man, frail and stooped, yet cunningly ascendant.
He was one of the elders living in the cabin, hardly ever venturing outside, making it rare for anyone to catch a glimpse of his face. The most recent sighting was several months ago, and even that lacked any substantial conversation.
Yet, there he was, slowly climbing without a word, gasping for breath.
What’s happening here? Why on earth…?
A brief thought raced through her mind, chillingly, as the old man, starting with a few stray hairs, cautiously raised his head. Whether he knew that Freya was frozen stiff or not, the elder observed her with trembling eyes.
“…Hello… Have you not slept yet?”
“No, Elder. I couldn’t sleep…”
Freya couldn’t overcome the awkwardness and brushed aside her flowing hair.
Then, from across,
*Gulp*,
a sound of swallowing, dry saliva passing.
It’s okay. It could happen.
It probably wasn’t what you intended.
Even if it felt unpleasant, I couldn’t help but understand.
I knew very well about the power born within oneself.
Shivering, I stood up, laughing nervously.
Assuming a defensive posture was inevitable.
“What’s the matter?”
“I have something to tell you.”
“…Ah! Then I’ll go down.”
Freya casually pointed to the attic ladder as she spoke.
Thud…!
I might have thought to grab her wrist, but Freya withdrew her arm faster.
However, belatedly, she relented, extending her trailing sleeve.
“Res… Resilient, aren’t you.”
The moment I heard those words, a shiver ran down my entire body.