They were brought into the grand hall of the De Valois estate, where Naoaki had first witnessed Sarotte’s musical gift. The two pianos still stood there: Sarotte’s beloved modern instrument and the ancient one that had never produced a single sound.
All of Sarotte’s relatives had gathered, their faces grave and expectant. An elderly woman, clearly the family matriarch, gestured for Sarotte to approach the antique piano.
With trembling hands, Sarotte opened the lid of the ancient instrument. Following the woman’s instructions, she gently placed little Naosa on the bench and guided her tiny hands to the keys.
The moment Naosa’s fingers touched the keys, a pure, crystalline sound rang out—bright and powerful, filling the entire hall.
Everyone gasped in amazement—and in something that looked very much like fear.
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Naosa, delighted by the sound, struck the keys again and again. Music poured from the ancient instrument as if it had been waiting centuries for those very hands. The hall echoed with melodies that seemed to come from heaven itself.
But Sarotte fell to her knees, sobbing—not with joy, but with grief. She had prayed the old piano would stay silent, that her daughter might be spared the fate that now seemed inevitable.
An elderly man rose from his chair with ceremonial gravity and declared,
“She is the Queen. She is Séraphine.”
As if in a sacred ritual, everyone in the room dropped to their knees in reverence.
Naoaki stood frozen in confusion, holding the weeping Sarotte in his arms, trying to understand what felt like a waking nightmare.
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That night, Sarotte and Naoaki met privately with her parents and elder sister to learn the truth that had been hidden from him.
Her parents explained the family’s ancient legacy. Though the De Valois family no longer held royal status, they were still revered by the local people, who believed they were of divine descent. For generations, the family had produced extraordinarily gifted musicians—particularly daughters.
They revealed a legend passed down through centuries:
Long ago, a queen named Séraphine ruled their land with wisdom and grace. She died a tragic death, but the piano she had played still sat in the great hall, waiting. Ever since, when a girl was born into the family, a ritual was held—an attempt to awaken the silent piano.
If it produced no sound, the girl lived a normal life.
But if it played…
She would take the name Séraphine and inherit both the family’s legacy—and its curse.
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That day, Naosa had made the piano sing, and it had chosen her as its next guardian.
From that moment on, she was declared the new Séraphine—heir to the De Valois legacy and its vast fortune. Several girls had borne the name before her throughout history, but none had lived to see old age.
The piano, they believed, had been blessed by God to protect the queen—and only she could draw music from its keys. Even Sarotte, despite all her talent, had never been able to make it produce a single note.
Naoaki didn’t want to believe in such supernatural nonsense. But he couldn’t deny what he had witnessed—the clear, powerful, joyful sound that had emerged when Naosa touched those keys. More importantly, he couldn’t ignore that his daughter, who had been slowly fading away, suddenly seemed vibrant and healthy again.
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Sarotte’s parents turned to Naoaki with icy finality.
“You’re an outsider. You have no right to interfere any further. Sarotte and Séraphine will remain here with us. You should leave tomorrow.”
“No!” Sarotte cried desperately. “We’re not staying!”
Her sister pleaded, “Don’t do this. It’s too cruel.”
But the parents remained unmoved.
“She’s safe with the piano now. She’s strong again. This is where she belongs.”
Naoaki couldn’t argue with what he had seen. Naosa, who had been so close to death, had indeed regained her strength the moment she touched those ancient keys.
Still, he said firmly,
“I need to speak with Sarotte alone.”
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They returned to their room, carrying the sleeping Naosa between them.
Naoaki looked at Sarotte with pain-filled eyes.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore. But if this legend is true—if you knew this might happen—why didn’t you tell me?”
Sarotte, exhausted by grief and fear, whispered through her tears,
“I never dreamed she’d be chosen as Séraphine. I just wanted a normal life with you—a child, a future together. I never meant to deceive you.”
Naoaki held both of them close, his heart breaking.
“I understand. I just… don’t know what we should do.”
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The next morning, they told her parents their decision: they were leaving.
“We’re going back to America,” Naoaki declared. “Séraphine is just a story—a fairy tale from the past.”
Surprisingly, her parents didn’t try to stop them. Naosa looked healthy and strong. If she could maintain that strength away from the piano, perhaps they could finally find peace.
But when Naosa turned six, the mysterious illness returned—worse than before, as if making up for lost time.
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After countless medical tests, doctors suspected a rare blood disorder. A bone marrow transplant was her only hope for survival.
Miraculously, Sarotte was a perfect match.
Naoaki tried to dissuade her, a terrible suspicion growing in his mind.
“If the treatment works and she gets better… maybe we should consider going back to France.”
But Sarotte shook her head with fierce determination.
“She’s sick, not cursed. You don’t believe in Séraphine anymore, remember?”
She refused to believe her daughter could be trapped in the same supernatural fate that had claimed others before her.
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The transplant was successful, and Naosa’s life was saved.
But Sarotte’s body couldn’t recover from the procedure. Her health failed rapidly, and within days, she was gone.
In her final moments, she held Naoaki’s hand with the last of her strength and whispered through tears,
“Keep painting. Protect her. Take her far away—from the De Valois family, from that piano, from everything.”
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After Sarotte’s death, Naoaki accepted a commission in Russia to paint portraits for wealthy families. He needed distance from everything that reminded him of his loss—and Naosa, still so young, needed specialized care and education.
He enrolled her in an exclusive boarding school for children from around the world. They studied languages, culture, and etiquette, alongside intensive musical training in piano, violin, and cello.
When Naosa cried and reached for him, begging,
“Daddy, please don’t leave me alone!”
—his heart shattered. But he left anyway, unable to bear the weight of his grief while caring for her.
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Russia was rich in art, music, and brilliant minds. The school would give Naosa everything she needed to thrive.
Naoaki convinced himself they had finally escaped the curse.
We’re free, he told himself. She’s safe now.
But when Naosa turned twelve, her condition returned with a vengeance.
The doctors in Russia were blunt: there was nothing more they could do. She was dying, and no medical intervention could save her.
Naoaki rushed to the school, his heart breaking as he watched his daughter fade before his eyes. He had already lost Sarotte. He couldn’t lose Naosa too.
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With a heart full of guilt and desperation, he returned to France—carrying his dying daughter back to the place he’d sworn never to see again.
The ancient piano was waiting for them, exactly as it had always been.
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