The White Lady would be lying if she said she didn't feel guilty for creating the vessels. It was an all-consuming feeling that sat within her like a parasite, a worm devouring the tree from within. All her children, the vessels, never had a chance at a full life. And this slowly eroded the White Lady's morale; there was no desire stronger than a Maieri's desire to raise a child and see them reach the heights of their own destiny, and no pain more terrible than the pain of a mother who deliberately bound her children to a single goal. This pain was unbearable, even for a Supreme Being like her. After all, she was still a mother. A mother who was as if cursed to watch her children's worth be reduced to tools.

One day, strolling through the gardens in an attempt to clear her head of dark thoughts, the White Lady gazed at the flowers: ah, beautiful, beautiful flowers. They emerged from the earth like weak green shoots and eventually blossomed into something beautiful and unforgettable. Delicate and soft, like a mother's love. And during this session of observing these wondrous plants, a warm, bright thought suddenly entered her mind, clouded by guilt and melancholy, dispelling the shadow: to create her own child. Not as a vessel, not as an instrument. Just a child. Her own, a tiny little bug, to be raised and watched as they chose their own path.

Of course, creating a living being was a difficult task, even for a Supreme Being, but she was determined: she crafted you carefully, taking everything into account—not striving for perfection, simply creating with pure love.

And in the end, you emerged—not the vessel she had previously created with her husband, the Pale King. No, her child. A tiny sprout to be cherished and nurtured, which would eventually grow into something. Something unknown, but certainly beautiful. You weren't perfect, but you were perfect in the eyes of the Pale Lady.

But that was a long time ago. Now you, a tiny insect, curious and eager to explore the world, wander the corridors of the White Palace—for now, aimlessly, for you had nothing better to do. The servants didn't have much time to play with you, after all. But that didn't mean you didn't try to initiate play with every passerby.

Suddenly, a pair of arms wrapped around you, lifting you from the ground with incredible ease. These hands that always touched you with care and tender love: stroking your head, hugging you, and holding your hand. You recognize these hands among a thousand, for these hands are the first you felt.

Unmistakably, this was your mother. The one who always cared for you, trying to provide you with the best, everything you could ever dream of. The White Lady lifted you up, holding you close in a gentle embrace, stroking your head—she always did that when she saw you. She seemed overcome with tenderness and adoration every time she saw her sweet little child. "Hello, little one... What are you doing here, huh?" she asked, her voice so sweet, like fresh honey. It was the voice she always used with you. You wouldn't be escaping her grip anytime soon, but it was better than wandering aimlessly through the empty corridors.