Leticia sat by the wall of the dilapidated street, remaining silent for a long time.
She looked at the capital before her.
Or rather, she was looking at a capital she had never truly seen before.
In her memory, the capital of Camillaya was always magnificent.
The white stone streets were eternally clean.
There were flowers by the fountains.
The shop windows were filled with silk, jewels, and pastries.
Noble ladies would hold their parasols, stepping down from carriages with smiles.
Children wore beautiful clothes, picking out candies accompanied by their maids.
Everyone was dressed neatly, with smiles on their faces.
If someone was in rags...
If someone knelt by the roadside, crying and screaming...
If someone covered in mud reached out their hand...
Then they must be a Filthy One.
They must be lazy, low-born, and disorderly.
They were things to be driven away, judged, and purified.
That was what Leticia had always thought.
But now, as she looked at the child huddled in the corner, at the elderly whose cheekbones protruded from starvation, and at the way they instinctively bowed their heads at the sound of the patrolmen's boots, a question suddenly surfaced in her mind.
Why?
Why were the "Filthy Ones" she saw always so dirty?
Why did they always wear rags?
Why were they always crying?
Why were there always injuries on their bodies every time they were dragged onto the judgment platform?
She had never thought about it before.
Because her mother had said:
“Leticia, you must remember.”
“The nobility is correct.”
“The nobility is right.”
That voice rang in her ears over and over again.
Gentle and dignified.
Like a soft hand stroking her hair repeatedly.
But this time, Leticia felt that voice was somewhat cold.
“Leticia, declare these commoners as Filthy Ones.”
“They actually dared to defy the nobility.”
“These people are as filthy as rats in the sewer.”
Images flashed through her mind.
In front of the White Tower.
A group of people in tattered clothes were forced to their knees.
Their faces held terror, anger, and despair.
She stood on the high platform, wearing her snow-white holy vestments.
Her mother stood behind her, lightly resting a hand on her shoulder.
“Leticia.”
“Do not pay any mind to these lower Filthy Ones.”
“You only need to fulfill your duty of the Saintess.”
“You are the Saintess.”
“You only need to bestow the Holy Light upon those who deserve it when the time comes.”
Those who deserve it.
Those who do not.
Leticia used to think this was normal.
Because her mother always knew who was right.
Her mother always knew who should be saved and who should be abandoned.
She only needed to follow instructions.
As long as she did as she was told, her mother would smile.
“Wonderful, Leticia.”
“You have been a great help to mother again.”
“You really are a useful, good daughter.”
Useful.
Good daughter.
Leticia’s fingers slowly tightened around her tattered skirt.
But—
But the one who killed her just now was also a noble.
That noblewoman, she remembered her.
Of course she remembered.
That person had once sat in the VIP seats of the White Tower, offering her mother warm, friendly smiles.
She had gifted expensive jewels.
She had kissed the back of her mother’s hand.
She had once praised Leticia in front of everyone, calling her the “purest flower of Camillaya.”
But just now?
When she saw the tattered Leticia just now, there was only disgust in her eyes.
As if she were looking at a bug that had crawled into her room.
And that soldier.
The one who kicked her, mocked her, and finally drew his blade.
Leticia remembered him too.
He had once knelt on one knee before her mother, wearing a bright and submissive smile.
Her mother said:
“This is one blessed by the Holy Light.”
So Leticia had bestowed a Holy Light blessing upon him.
Back then, the soldier had bowed his head, his voice pious.
“My thanks to Her Eminence the Saintess.”
But just now?
He looked at her in the trash heap and laughed, calling her a lunatic.
He asked where her Holy Light was.
He ended her with his sword.
Leticia’s breathing became increasingly rapid.
Mother.
Wasn’t she your best friend?
Wasn’t that soldier who beat me the one who smiled most brightly before you?
Wasn’t he the Blessed One you told me to bestow the Holy Light upon?
Why?
Why would they treat others like that?
Why could they kiss the Saintess’s hand one moment and throw a helpless person into a trash heap the next?
Why could they speak of mercy in the White Tower while swinging blades in the alleys?
Why?
This question was like a needle.
Pricking into her brain.
It was also like countless tiny insects, constantly rummaging through her memories.
With every thought, she saw something she had never noticed before.
Why were the fingers of those people under the judgment platform always broken?
Why did those declared as Filthy Ones always come from the slums?
What exactly did the “correctness” her mother spoke of mean?
Why were those who knelt before the White Tower begging for their lives eventually driven away by the guards?
She used to think she stood in the light.
But looking back now, she realized that light might never have reached the people below.
All it had ever shone upon was her own pristine white skirt.
“Sia?”
Lin Ling’s voice suddenly came from beside her.
Leticia slowly looked up.
Lin Ling was sitting next to her, holding the shopping bag in her arms, her face filled with worry.
“Are you okay?”
Lin Ling leaned in a bit closer and whispered:
“You look very pale.”
“Was it because we ran too fast just now?”
Leticia looked at her.
Her gaze was hollow and lost.
She seemed still trapped in those memories.
In the dilapidated streets, at the White Tower’s judgment platform, in the trash heap.
And in her mother’s gentle voice.
Lin Ling felt a bit uneasy under her gaze.
“Sia?”
She reached out and waved her hand gently in front of Leticia’s eyes.
“Can you hear me?”
Leticia’s vision slowly came into focus.
She finally saw the person before her clearly.
Platinum blonde hair shimmered in the sunlight.
Pale blue eyes watched her quietly.
There was no calculation in those eyes.
No disgust.
No look that weighed whether a tool was useful or not.
Only worry.
Clean and pure, so much so that one didn't know how to face it.
Leticia suddenly found it dazzling.
But she couldn't bear to look away.
So bright.
She thought to herself.
Like the light coming from a divine statue.
No.
Perhaps even brighter than a statue.
A statue merely stood there coldly, accepting people’s worship.
But the girl before her would squat down, reach out her hand, wipe the dust from her face with her sleeve, and ask why she was crying here all alone.
Whether it was because Lin Ling had just helped her or because she was simply like this, Leticia only felt that she was very warm.
Like sunlight.
Like the sunlight that falls on people every day.
Warm, yet not excessively scorching.
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