I was loved from birth.
Everyone loved me.
Everyone spoiled me.
There was nothing I lacked as both the princess of the Northern continent and one who was considered the future Saintess with the highest Purelight talent in the world. When I took my first steps, the photographers documented it from seventeen different angles. My childish drawings were preserved in climate-controlled archives as if they were great works of art. When I sneezed, three medical drones would appear with tissue dispensers and diagnostic scanners.
But life wasn't perfect.
My mother's mental breakdown showed me that.
And I vowed to myself.
I won't love anyone fully.
Because loving means to allow other people to hurt you.
And that was something I did not want at all.
Other than my father and sister, I can't love anybody.
