TFM 244

(⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)(⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)(⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)(⁠╥⁠﹏⁠╥⁠)

Chapter 244

How long had he been turning page after page like that?

Within the sentences stained with hatred, deep regret began to seep through.

[I cannot stop hating you. You always make it impossible for me to remain myself. I hate you for making me feel this way. And I hate myself for being unable to let you go completely, even after things have come to this.]

[Every night, I hear Khan crying. Have I finally gone completely mad? It feels as though Khan’s soul is circling around me. If I could, I would give birth to that child again. But my body is already ruined. It has been a long time since the blood that came every month stopped flowing. I keep hoping that this medicine will one day stop my life as well.]

[Perhaps I only wanted to reclaim the happiest moment of my life. I must have held on to the foolish hope that, if I had a child again, I might be able to return to that time. Now I know how foolish that thought was. There were surely moments I could have turned back, and yet I only repeated the wrong choices. I tore at the wound with my own hands and dug into it so it could never heal, and still, all I did was resent the fact that the pain would not end.]

[The truth is, I knew. My injured leg, losing the child, Khan’s death—all of it was my fault. I knew, and still I poured resentment onto you. Because the moment I admitted I had brought it all upon myself, I felt as though I would truly want to die. I wounded you so that I could survive. Even though some part of me knew that you were suffering too.]

[I am growing used to watching you leave. For the first time, as I watched you grow distant, I thought about your happiness. I thought that one day, I hoped you would become happier than anyone else in the world… But for that to happen, I must disappear from your life. Because I am nothing more than a worm eating away at it. If I want to save your life, all I need to do is climb to the top of the tower and fly like a bird. I hope one day I will have the courage to do that.]

[Today, I finally let you go forever. Now, there is nothing I wish for. Until this life comes to an end, I will wish for nothing at all.]

With that, the diary that had continued on in disorder came to a complete end.

From the middle onward, even the dates had no longer been recorded, making it impossible to guess when those sentences had been written.

He read them again and again, over and over. Then, hearing the thickening rain strike fiercely against the window frame, he lifted his head.

Beyond the ash-gray clouds covering the sky, he could tell that dawn was slowly beginning to break.

He closed the diary and slowly rose.

His knees trembled, as though his bones had melted away and vanished.

Only then did he realize he was in a state where it would not be strange for him to collapse at any moment. But he paid it no mind and opened the bedroom door.

Passing through the corridor that swayed like a marsh, he descended the stairs, and the great hall, sunk in darkness, came into view.

He stepped out through the rear door into the rain-drenched garden.

Cold rainwater ran down his hair and along the nape of his neck.

It was only when he had crossed about half of the rear garden that he realized where he was heading.

Beyond the curtain of rain, the dim outline of a dark building slowly emerged.

It was the place where she had stayed for one season.

Clinging to the hope that traces of her he had not yet gathered might remain there, he staggered forward.

The annex was empty.

After she had moved her residence back to the main castle, it seemed the servants had also returned to the quarters they had originally used.

Varkas stepped into the dim hall, rainwater dripping from him, and slowly crossed the dark interior.

On the first floor were the common spaces used by the servants, the kitchen, and the guards’ quarters.

Passing through the space where a faint layer of dust had settled, he climbed the stairs. There, he saw the neatly arranged drawing room, the common room the maids had used, and the door to the bedroom where she had stayed.

He slowly approached it and pulled the handle.

With a creak, the warmly furnished bedroom was revealed.

He looked over the scene, unchanged in every way from the last time he had visited, then moved his gaze to the bed she had used.

At that moment, above the neatly arranged bedding, the image of a woman with desolate eyes appeared like a vision.

Blue eyes stained with sorrow and wounds looked at him resentfully.

The words he had spoken to that face echoed in his ears.

'Regret is always too late, no matter how quickly it comes.'

For a long while, he stood frozen without moving. Then he slowly approached the bedside.

When he opened the drawer, he saw several candles arranged neatly inside, along with a quill and an ink bottle. But there was no sign they had ever been used. They seemed to be nothing more than supplies the servants had placed there.

He immediately opened another drawer.

At last, he found something that appeared to be hers: a small tray containing a hand mirror, an ivory comb, and a pair of tiny tweezers.

He took it out and searched through it all the way to the bottom, where he found a small metal key.

At a glance, it did not seem to be something used to open a door or a chest.

Varkas examined the tiny key, no bigger than his little finger, for a while before shoving it into the pocket of his coat.

Then he rose and began searching through the desk drawers and display shelves.

But nowhere could he find anything resembling a journal.

After staring blankly into the empty storage spaces, he turned at once and began rummaging through the wardrobe and chests without restraint.

This could not be the end.

Surely, there had to be something else she had left behind.

There was no way her life had ended after she had resigned herself to everything like that.

How long had he searched every corner of the room in a state near madness?

He picked up the crumpled cloth and carefully unfolded it.

On the crookedly cut piece of fabric, a dark-colored bird had been embroidered.

As he brushed his fingertips over it, a passage from her diary suddenly came to mind.

[It has been raining all day today. Like a fool, I find myself thinking again of the day we first met. I wanted to ask you at least once. What happened to the bird you took with you that day? If I had asked you on the day you became my knight, what would you have answered? Now I will never hear that answer. You probably do not even remember something so long ago.]

Varkas slowly blinked his blurred eyes, then lifted his head and looked toward the glass window where rainwater was splashing.

The wind passed by, shaking the window frame violently.

For a long while, he did not move. Then a short, ragged breath slipped between his lips.

“...I let it fly away.”

His body, unable to bear its own weight, tilted helplessly.

Varkas staggered and sank down onto the edge of the bed, then muttered in a cracked voice,

“I let it fly far, far away.”

The afterimage of the bird spreading its small wings wide and soaring into the blue sky passed before his eyes.

Without realizing it, he clenched the embroidered bird in the cloth tightly.

Then, unable to endure the pain carving through his insides any longer, he bent deeply over his knees.

Cold sweat streamed down his body as it convulsed like an aspen leaf.

Soaked in sweat, rainwater, and tears, he gasped roughly for breath. Then, suddenly feeling his vision grow distant, he lowered himself onto the cold sheets as though collapsing.

He did not know how long he remained like that.

At some point, a gentle hand settled over his head.

With great effort, he lifted his fading eyes and saw her sitting at the head of the bed.

He murmured inwardly.

See?

I knew it.

All of it was a lie.

The idea that you are no longer in this world-it was all a lie.

I was only having a terrible, dreadful dream.

When I wake from this nightmare, I will never let you leave my sight again. No matter how much you cry and plead, I will never leave your side.