Once, Ga lived on a vast estate.

  As the landowner’s daughter, she had been treated like a little princess. Whenever the farmhands saw her, they would greet her warmly, sometimes even setting aside their work just to chat with her or play for a while. The private tutor responsible for her education followed her like a personal guard. If Ga accidentally got dust on herself, he would gently brush it off for her, occasionally taking out a handkerchief to lightly wipe her face.

  One evening, Ga and her family baked flatbread together. Afterward, they baked twelve extra pieces and placed them into a basket—each with a unique shape and aroma, specially designed for each farmhand.

  Her mother assigned Ga the task of delivering them.

  Her brothers wanted to accompany her, but their mother stopped them, insisting that Ga learn to find her way on her own. Her father, standing nearby, earnestly reminded her to make sure the bread was delivered before it cooled—otherwise, it wouldn’t taste as good.

  The farmhands’ houses were all wooden, much like those of the Vikings. They were built in a ring around a central well, forming a circular residential area.

  “Huh? Mega, why are you out here alone?” the tutor asked when he happened to step outside, a jug in hand, apparently on his way to draw water from the well.

  “What if you faint?”

  “Mommy asked me to deliver the bread…” Ga said, pulling one piece from the basket and offering it to him.

  “This one’s for you first.”

  “Wow! Golden-berry powder for the crust—my favorite!” the tutor exclaimed.

  “The surface looks like a gilded mirror, and it smells incredible!”

  He took a bite immediately.

  “Haha! That hits the spot!”

  “Okay. Bye,” Ga said, lifting the basket and heading off toward the other houses.

  “Hey, I’ll just deliver them for you,” the tutor said, stopping her.

  “No,” Ga replied firmly.

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  “Mom said I have to do it myself, or I’ll get spanked.”

  The tutor spoke leisurely, “What does it matter? Your goal is simply to give the bread to everyone, isn’t it? People shouldn’t always obey rigid rules—especially ones made by people themselves. Those only cause trouble. Come on, give me the basket.”

  “Huh? I don’t get it!” Ga cried.

  “No! I won’t!”

  She shielded the basket with her body and shook her head vigorously.

  “Oh? Not listening to your teacher? That’s naughty,” the tutor said, lightly poking her forehead.

  “You’re the naughty one!” Ga snapped, swatting his hand away.

  “Huh? Me?”

  “Yes!”

  “…I see.”

  “…Damn it. I really should die.”

  Rendered speechless, the tutor turned away awkwardly and went to draw water.

  But the wooden houses all looked alike.

  Ga had no idea which farmhand lived where.

  “You still haven’t started delivering?” the tutor asked after filling his jug.

  “All the houses look the same!” Ga said helplessly.

  “Aha. I knew you’d get confused,” he said.

  “Alright, listen. The one directly in front of you is—”

  “Wait! Don’t tell me!”

  “Why not?”

  “I want to find them myself.”

  “You’re too stubborn. At this rate, how long will it take? The bread will go cold.”

  “Ugh…” Ga grew anxious, tears welling in her eyes.

  “Hey, hey, don’t cry. Fine—how about this?”

  “I’ll give you a hint. Just a hint. That shouldn’t count as breaking the rules, right?”

  He gently rubbed her cheeks.

  “…Okay,” Ga nodded reluctantly.

  “Then listen carefully,” the tutor said.

  “Look closely. Even though the houses look almost the same, each one has its own markings. If you pay attention to those, you’ll be able to tell whose house is whose.”

  He gently guided her toward one of the houses.

  “Open your eyes and take a good look.”

  Following his hint, Ga soon noticed that each house had decorations reflecting the farmhand’s personality. Some doors even bore name plaques.

  Delighted, she followed these clues and personally delivered the bread—each piece matched to its owner’s taste.

  When the farmhands learned she had come alone, they praised her happily.

  They hugged her.

  They kissed her.

  Then—suddenly—they began to drift farther and farther away.

  The houses warped into a forest.

  The farmhands’ faces were hidden behind grotesque masks.

  They stood in silence, surrounding her from afar.

  “—Ah! Die! All of you, die!”

  Clutching her cramping stomach, Ga jolted awake in a surge of sudden fury.

  Her cry startled the animals around her, scattering them in panic.

  It was the middle of the night.

  Ga was painfully hungry. She tried to leave the animal shed to ask Tallev for food—only to discover the door was locked from the outside.

  With no other choice, she walked toward the feeding troughs.

  They were filled with vegetable scraps, kitchen waste, hay.

  Still, she dug through them, searching for anything edible.

  At last, she found a soggy, crumbling piece of bread.

  It smelled faintly rotten—almost metallic.

  She shoved it into her mouth anyway and swallowed.

  Not all dreams fade when you wake up.

  Some simply change their shape.

  Thank you for staying.