PROLOGUE
You are the chosen one.
That is what you are.
Your very existence is utterly magnetic; everyone desires you.
Their craving is primal, driving them to ugly, naked instinct. They will stop at nothing to get what they want.
If they can possess you, everything will shine, turned rose-tinted and beautiful.
You are their life.
They will have you.
You do not need to know anything yet.
No—perhaps it is better for you not to know.
It is easiest for you to retreat into your shell and never come out.
No matter how noisy the world is around you, perhaps avoiding reality is what suits you best.
But it will not be that easy.
Because their desire is irresistible, and the commotion surrounding you will inevitably grow louder.
What are you thinking right now?
I peeked into your dream.
You can speak your own name, yet you do not know who you are.
Trapped between dream and reality.
You face the mirror, staring intently at your own reflection.
Whether it warps or fades, you remain powerless to stop it.
It is a place of cold solitude, like the bottom of a deep sea where no sound or light can reach.
But from above, countless arms hang down.
They are not reaching out to help.
Their fingertips are merely twitching, struggling to seize you—only for their own sake.
You were supposed to regard them with indifference, as if they belonged to someone else.
However, one of them is now dangling immediately above your head.
It is reddish-black and gnarled, with talons as sharp as a beast’s.
It is a truly evil and terrifying arm, poised to tear you apart at any moment.
Yet, you reach out for it yourself.
Are you finally growing tired of your current life?
The time has finally come.
Then, I shall prepare a single crimson rose.
To offer to you.
Now, take your resolve and awaken, Beatrice.
