From an unknown point in time, Shirleyviel Connalt realized that sound had become something terrifying.
Not just noise—every sound.
Her parents’ caring questions, the cautious footsteps of the servants, the chirping of birds outside the window, even the rustle of wind through the White Maple leaves.
Everything that once formed the bright background of her world had now become sharp, incomprehensible fragments.
Each syllable carried far too much information, like countless fine needles piercing her eardrums, stabbing deep into her chaotic thoughts.
At first, it was just occasional irritability and ringing in her ears.
At grand banquets, she would suddenly feel the lively chatter around her grow distant and indistinct, as if separated by a thick layer of water.
She began to strain to hear others clearly, struggling harder to organize her own responses.
Beneath her radiant smile, a trace of fatigue went unnoticed by all.
***
Then came the magic.
Since childhood, she had been a magical prodigy, with extraordinarily high elemental affinity.
But at some point, even the surrounding magic began to feel harsh.
Noisy, stinging sounds made her completely lose control over magic.
“Viel, what’s wrong? You don’t look well.”
Her mother’s gentle caress, the warmth of her fingertips, made Shirleyviel’s skin tingle with an almost painful itch.
“Miss, today’s lessons…”
The tutor’s voice was perfectly normal, yet sounded as if it was coming through a metal barrel, buzzing and making her dizzy.
“Shirleyviel, you’ve been regressing…”
Duke Father’s gaze, stern yet filled with concern, shone on her like two searchlights, leaving her nowhere to hide, making her want to curl up into herself.
She wanted to say, “I’m fine,” but her throat tightened, and her voice was as faint as a mosquito’s.
She wanted to explain the feeling of being wrapped up by something invisible, of both sound and magic spinning out of control, but no words came to her.
She saw the growing worry in her parents’ eyes, and the servants’ exchanged, supposedly discreet looks of doubt.
She had become “the problem.”
The frustration of failed attempts at communication, piled atop the fear of losing control over herself, made her start to avoid others.
She went out less and refused invitations to tea from her close friends.
The spacious, magnificent Duke’s Mansion—its corridors grew long and suffocating, every corner a possible encounter demanding her “normal” response.
Her safest refuge became her own bedroom, behind heavy curtains drawn tight, lit only by a single small lamp.
There, sound was muffled by the fabric, the dim light calmed her, and even the magic seemed more subdued.
Yet the feeling of helplessness grew with each passing day.
***
Shirleyviel Connalt was a genius.
To fend off the ‘invasion’ of sound, she shut off her hearing, using magic to build a wall that blocked all sounds from the outside world.
Within those walls was the only place she could catch her breath for a moment.
The price was growing silence and slower reactions.
Her father’s patience, worn thin by worry, sometimes snapped, his raised voice crashing over her like thunder, making her body tremble and nearly throwing her magic out of control.
Her mother wiping away tears in secret hurt more than any scolding.
Look, you’ve made Mother sad again. It’s all your fault.
Worst of all were the Captain of the “White Maple Wolves,” the holy priest her father invited to examine her, and the famed Healers.
They probed her body and soul with powerful magic, using every kind of spell to “guide” and “soothe” her.
But the invasion of those foreign magical forces, to her chaotic mind, was no different than hurling debris into a storm.
After each examination, she was left even more exhausted, the ringing in her ears worse, and her magic in further disarray.
She overheard the Captain and her father whispering outside her door:
“…No obvious signs of a curse or external corruption… seems more like a mental self-sealing… the magic chaos is a side effect… she needs time, needs to open her heart herself…”
Open her heart?
Shirleyviel curled up in the corner of her bed, hugging her knees.
That door wasn’t closed by her; it had been sealed shut bit by bit by crushing expectations and deep self-loathing.
So Shirleyviel was moved to Erna Village. It was quieter here, with fewer people.
But the invisible pressure hadn’t lessened.
She knew that the entire village was full of people meant to protect (monitor) her.
Every “villager’s” gaze was filled with scrutiny and duty.
She was like a fragile, dangerous piece of precious porcelain, carefully, separately kept.
The loneliness was not absent, but what overwhelmed her more was a numbing suffocation.
She began to stare at a single spot in her room for long periods, emptying her mind, so she wouldn’t think of anything or feel any emotion.
Eating became a mechanical task, sleep brief and haunted by bizarre, soundless nightmares.
She felt herself slowly “disappearing”—not physically, but in terms of existence.
The Shirleyviel Connalt who once laughed in the sunlight, dazzled at balls, surrounded by love and envy, was fading away.
In her place was a creature cowering in shadows, afraid of sound, of magic, unable to respond to any care—a worthless piece of trash.
The moment Shirleyviel Connalt’s last tie with the “outgoing” personality from the “storyline” snapped, the System’s countdown also reached zero.
By this point, Shirleyviel Connalt had reached her limit, wishing to sink completely into a world of quiet.
***
Shirleyviel Connalt was a genius—in a moment that no one noticed.
Under the tightest watch of her guardians, Shirleyviel unexpectedly activated her hidden Spatial Magic talent and “disappeared” from her room.
She didn’t know where she wanted to go; she only instinctively sought a tranquil place to hide.
Shirleyviel’s Spatial Magic banished her to a Tranquil Realm.
Once the entrance to the Tranquil Realm closed, no one could find her.
At that moment, a nearly soundless, feather-light footstep reached Shirleyviel’s ears.
The only sound in the Tranquil Realm made Shirleyviel instinctively turn to its source.
When she saw the cause of the sound, Shirleyviel tilted her small head.
Her beautiful, slightly dry snow-white hair hung down, her red eyes full of confusion.
What she saw was not a person, nor a fierce “magic beast.”
It was… a Black Cat.
The Black Cat was pitch-black, not a single stray hair, and in the dim Tranquil Realm, only a pair of eyes shimmering with platinum light quietly watched her.
The Black Cat didn’t meow; it simply sat there quietly, tail curled gently around its front paws.
There was no curiosity in its gaze, no wildness, only an unparalleled calm.
It was simply there. That was all.
Cats are quiet, not noisy at all. Cats are good.
That was Shirleyviel’s thought at the time.
Girl and cat quietly watched each other.
Neither moved nor made a sound.
The Tranquil Realm had no concept of time. After a while, the Black Cat seemed tired of staring and lay down, starting to groom its smooth fur.
Its movements were extremely gentle, but Shirleyviel could hear the rasp of its tongue over its fur.
Surprisingly, it wasn’t grating at all. Shirleyviel couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard such a gentle sound.
Shirleyviel was immersed in this “quiet” in which she could finally hear something normally.
Her dazed, empty red eyes simply stared as the cat licked its fur.