Shattered Innocence: Transmigrated Into a Novel as an Extra

The vase flew through the air with a sharp whoosh, its trajectory precise and fueled by Aeliana's fury. But before it could shatter against the Duke's face, it crumbled into shards mid-air, disintegrating harmlessly against the shimmering surface of a mana barrier.

The faint glow of the barrier lingered for a moment before fading. The Duke's expression remained stoic, though his sharp gaze fixed on his daughter with an intensity that could cut stone.

Aeliana stood trembling, her chest heaving with rapid breaths. Her hands, still clutching the windowsill moments ago, now hung at her sides, fists clenched so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

"You dare—" the Duke began, his voice low and dangerous.

"I DARE!" she screamed, cutting him off with a raw, guttural cry. "I dare because you've left me with nothing else! Nothing but this cage and your cursed expectations!"

Her voice cracked as she hurled another object—a porcelain bowl this time. It, too, shattered against the mana barrier. The sound of the shards scattering across the floor echoed in the suffocating silence of the room.

"I am not your pawn! I am not a tool! Do you hear me?" Her voice was shrill, teetering on the edge of hysteria. "You talk about duty, about protecting me, but all you've done is lock me away! You've made me into this—this wretched thing you parade around as a shadow of what I used to be!"

The Duke's hands curled into fists at his sides, his jaw tightening. "Aeliana, enough."

"Enough?" she spat, her veil quivering with her rage. "Enough? How dare you tell me when it's enough! You've never once listened to me! You've never cared about what I wanted! It's always been about the family, about Thaddeus, about everyone but me!"

Her hands reached for another object—a silver candlestick this time. She hurled it with all her might, her strength fueled by years of pent-up anger and resentment. It disintegrated the moment it struck the mana barrier, scattering fragments like snow across the room.

Her breathing was ragged, her voice cracking as she continued. "I hate you! I hate this illness! I hate everything you've made me into! Do you even know what it's like, Father? To look in the mirror and despise what you see? To know that the only reason you still matter is because of what you can do for someone else?"

The Duke's voice was steel when he finally spoke, cutting through her storm of words. "You think I don't know suffering, Aeliana? Do you think you're the only one who's lost something? I've sacrificed more than you could ever imagine to keep this house standing—to keep you safe!"

"Safe?" she hissed, her voice dropping into a low, venomous tone. "You call this safe? This cage? This slow, agonizing rot? I'd rather you let me die than live like this—hidden away, forgotten, only dragged into the light when you need something from me!"

The Duke stepped closer, his towering figure casting a shadow over her trembling form. "Do you think I wanted this for you? Do you think this is what I dreamed for my daughter? You have no idea the lengths I've gone to, the deals I've made, to keep you alive!"

His voice thundered, filling the room and silencing her for a moment. But the fire in Aeliana's eyes didn't dim. If anything, it burned brighter, fueled by years of resentment and despair.

"Then let me live!" she shouted, her voice breaking. "Let me make my own choices, even if they kill me! I'd rather die on my terms than live like this—like a ghost, like a prisoner in my own home!"

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The room fell into a tense silence, the sound of their labored breathing mingling with the distant crash of waves. The floor was littered with shards of porcelain and silver, a physical manifestation of the chaos that had erupted between them.

The Duke's gaze softened, just slightly. For all his anger, he saw the cracks beneath Aeliana's defiance—the fragility of her voice, the tremor in her hands. She was breaking, and he had no idea how to put her back together.

His face, his stern face, a visage known across the empire for its unyielding coldness, began to shift. For the first time in years, it cracked—not with anger or authority, but with a torrent of emotions he could no longer suppress. His steely gaze faltered, and his jaw tightened as he looked at his daughter. Aeliana, trembling with fury, her voice still echoing in the room, did not notice the storm brewing behind his eyes.

The lines on his face deepened, and his expression morphed—first frustration, then grief, and finally, an unnameable pain that twisted his features. He clenched his fists tightly at his sides, the effort of restraint visible in the quiver of his shoulders.

'Do you think it's that easy?'

The thought came unbidden, sharp and bitter. His eyes, usually hard as stone, softened for a fleeting moment as he studied her frail figure. The veil, the trembling hands, the heaving breaths—every detail etched itself into his mind, a cruel reminder of how far they had fallen.

'You think I haven't tried? That I haven't turned this world upside down for you? For a cure, a remedy, a miracle?'

He looked down at the fragments of porcelain and silver scattered across the floor, their jagged edges reflecting the moonlight. The shattered remnants mirrored the chaos inside him. He had fought wars, crushed rebellions, and held court with the fiercest nobles, yet nothing—nothing—had prepared him for the helplessness of watching his daughter suffer.

His gaze flickered back to her, now slumped against the windowsill, her defiance still smoldering despite the tears she tried to hide.

'From the west to the cursed south, I've scoured every corner of this damned empire. I've negotiated with those I swore never to face again. I've begged, threatened, and sacrificed more than you will ever know.'

He thought of the Holy Kingdom, their sanctimonious priests offering prayers and vague promises that had led to nothing. The northern alchemists, renowned for their elixirs, had failed him. Even the royal family—his enemies—had entertained his desperate pleas, granting him access to their scholars and healers. Each time, hope had been dangled before him, only to be snatched away.

'Do you think I wanted this? To lock you away? To see the same fate that took your mother slowly claim you, day by day?'

His throat tightened as memories of his wife surfaced—her laughter, her strength, and finally, her fragility in those last days. He had watched her waste away, her vibrant presence reduced to a ghostly echo, and now Aeliana was following the same path.

'Is that easy, Aeliana? To fight against a curse that no one can name, no one can cure? To know that every step I take leads to another dead end?'

His face tried to harden again, a reflex honed over years of ruling with authority and distance. Yet, even as he willed himself to retreat behind that familiar mask of control, his emotions bled through, raw and unguarded. The quiver in his clenched fists betrayed him, as did the flicker of longing in his eyes—a longing to reach out, to hold his daughter, to somehow ease her suffering.

But he didn't move.

Something inside him stopped him cold, a shadowy voice whispering truths he didn't want to acknowledge. A devil in his heart, coiled and insidious, tightened its grip.

'Haven't I done enough?'

The thought came unbidden, bitter, and sharp. It wasn't just the years of effort, the endless search for a cure, the sleepless nights spent negotiating and begging—it was the weight of it all, the constant failure. The relentless march of this illness, this curse, had worn him down to the marrow. Every dead end, every false hope, every tear Aeliana had shed, had carved deeper grooves into his spirit.

And beneath the pain, beneath the grief, there was resentment.

'She doesn't even try,' the thought hissed, cruel and biting. His jaw tightened further as his gaze bore into her trembling figure, slumped against the windowsill like a wilted flower. 'She's given up. Thrown herself into this pit of despair and expects me to pull her out.'

He hated himself for thinking it, but the resentment was there, festering like a wound that wouldn't heal.

'Do you think you're the only one suffering, Aeliana?' he wanted to scream. 'Do you think I enjoy watching you waste away, watching the light in your eyes die a little more each day? Do you think I don't feel the weight of every failure, every moment I couldn't save you?'n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

And yet, for all her pain, he couldn't help but see her actions—her defiance, her tantrums, her refusal to fight—as the petulance of a child.

'You lock yourself away, throwing vases and candlesticks like a spoiled brat while I'm out there tearing my soul apart to find a cure. Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think I wanted this?'

The memories of his wife resurfaced, unbidden and cruel. Her laughter, once so vibrant, now a ghostly echo in his mind. The strength in her voice, the way she had fought until the very end. Even as her body betrayed her, she had faced it with dignity, with grace. She had never let him see her falter, never let her suffering weigh him down.

And now, looking at Aeliana, he couldn't help but compare.

'Your mother never gave up. She never stopped fighting.'