XLI ※ Fear, Guilt, and the Eternal Blame Game: Who Needs Therapy When You’ve Got All This?

Aeneas let out a heavy sigh, his chest rising and falling with the weight of the emotion that seemed to be choking him from the inside. His shoulders slumped under the burden of his words, like he was carrying a load far too heavy for him to bear, one that had been growing for years. "It doesn't matter what comes out of my brother's mouth," he muttered, his voice laced with bitterness, the edges sharp like a blade cutting into the air. "The day she hit her head and almost died... that was the day I realized how much he truly cares about her. It wasn't just some passing thought or a quick surge of emotion—it was something deeper, something real. It was a moment of truth that he couldn't hide, no matter how much he wanted to. He cares about her more than he'll ever admit, even to himself."

Aeneas' voice grew darker as he spoke, his eyes clouded with frustration. "But it's like he refuses to acknowledge it. I can see it in his eyes, in the way he looks at her. He's too proud, too damn stubborn to let himself believe it, to let himself show it. He can't bring himself to admit it, even when it's staring him right in the face. And I know, without a doubt, that she will never, ever believe it. Not now. Not after everything that's happened between them. Not after all the pain, all the years of torment we've put her through."

Aeneas' laugh was dark and hollow, a sound that seemed to come from a place far too broken to be anything but painful. There was a twisted amusement in his voice, but it wasn't real. "She'd never believe him if he suddenly started acting like he cares. She'd think he was just faking it, trying to manipulate her, trying to get under her skin, maybe even using her fear as some sick, twisted game. And if I'm being honest, I think that's exactly what I'd do if I were in his position."

Adonis and Sohan exchanged a strange glance, one that spoke volumes without a single word being spoken. It wasn't a glance of understanding, but one of shared discomfort, as if they both knew something that neither of them wanted to say out loud. The air in the room seemed to grow heavier, like the weight of the conversation was pressing down on everyone in the room. Finally, it was Sohan who broke the silence, his voice steady, but laced with a weight that seemed to pull at his words.

"If I were in her place," Sohan began, his eyes dark with a quiet, painful understanding, "I wouldn't trust anyone. Not for a second. I wouldn't even know where to start. Not after everything she's been through. After more than fifteen years of being treated like trash, with every person she's ever known turning on her, wanting her dead, how could she ever believe anyone? How could she ever trust anyone when betrayal has been the only thing she's known? When fear and hatred have been her constant companions? It's been a lifetime of that. So no, I don't blame her for not trusting anyone. I wouldn't trust anyone, either. I wouldn't believe a single word."

His voice hardened, a bitter edge creeping in as he continued, "We all have a reason to hate her. It's not some blind hatred for no reason. We hate her because of the people we've lost, because of the lives that were shattered because of her. We hate her because of the pain we've been forced to carry. Some of those people we loved, others we cared for deeply, even if they weren't family. We watched them suffer, watched them die, all because of her. And it's hard to forget that. We can't. We can't just move on from it, no matter how hard we try."

Sohan took a deep breath, letting the words sink in before speaking again, his voice softer but no less resigned. "But you know what? The rest of the Kingdom doesn't know her. None of them know the truth about her. They don't have the history we do. They don't have the same reasons to hate her, and they sure as hell don't know the things we know. They've never even met her, never once spoken to her, and yet they blame her for everything bad in their lives. For every misfortune, every disgrace, every single thing that's gone wrong. They blame her like she's some kind of monster who's responsible for their suffering. And what's worse, they've never even bothered to find out the truth. They don't want to. It's easier for them to blame her, to turn her into a scapegoat, than to face the reality of what's really going on."

Sohan's words hung in the air like a thick fog, heavy with the weight of his truth. I could feel the tension in the room, the weight of what he was saying pressing down on all of us. There was no escaping it. I nodded slowly, swallowing hard as I tried to process it all. The truth was undeniable. She was hated by everyone, even by those who didn't know her. She was the perfect target, the perfect scapegoat for everyone's suffering. And living with that weight, knowing that there was no way out of it, had to be unbearable.

"Still," Sohan continued, his voice quieter now, almost resigned, "it can't be easy for her. All those people who want her dead, who blame her for everything wrong in their lives... they don't know her. They don't know what she's been through. They don't know who she really is. And yet, they still want her gone. They still want to see her suffer, and they don't care that she's already carrying a weight that most people couldn't even begin to imagine. She's out there, fighting against it all, trying to survive, and she's doing it alone. She doesn't have anyone on her side. Not really."

Elodie, who had been listening quietly, her gaze distant and troubled, spoke next. Her voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it was filled with an undeniable weight, a heaviness that echoed in the silence of the room. "Eileithya has never done anything against me. Not once. She's never crossed a line with me. I've told her before that I didn't want to see my own death, and she respected that. She's never tried to force me to face it. She's never tried to harm me, not in the way I've been afraid of her. I know that now." Elodie paused, her eyes flickering down as if she was trying to put her feelings into words that made sense. "But... even though she's never done anything bad to me, I can't control my fear of her. It takes over. It always does."

Elodie's voice wavered with guilt, her vulnerability clear in the way she spoke. "I know it's irrational. I know it's not right. She's never hurt me, never tried to. But the fear... it controls me. It's like a switch that flips in my mind, and I can't stop it. It's like my body and my mind are at war with each other, and the fear wins every time. And when that happens, I act out of instinct. I panic. I make mistakes."

She looked up at me, her eyes filled with sorrow, with the kind of guilt that comes from a place deep within. "What exactly happened in the hallway, Elodie?" I asked, my voice quieter now, full of uncertainty. I needed to know. I had to understand what had happened, even if it was painful.

Elodie bit her lip, the memory clearly difficult for her to relive. She hesitated for a moment, as if the weight of the memory was too much to bear, before finally speaking, her words slow and careful, like she was trying to find the right way to explain it. "I was daydreaming," she began, her voice distant, as though she was back in that moment. "I wasn't paying attention to anything around me. And then, out of nowhere, she was running. I don't know why, but she was running... and her eyes were closed. She seemed frustrated, like something was bothering her. But I didn't hear her coming. I didn't see her until it was too late. We collided. We both fell."

Elodie's breath hitched as she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "When I realized who it was, I just... I freaked out. The thought of meeting her eyes, of looking into her gaze, terrified me. I couldn't control it. And before she opened her eyes, she told me to close mine. She was trying to be considerate, trying to make sure I wasn't scared, even though she knew how I felt about her. But... I didn't listen. I let my fear control me, and I lied. I lied about everything, and she ended up hurt because of it. Because of my panic. Because I couldn't control my fear."

I could feel how guilty she was, even though she didn't have to say anything. The way she spoke, the way she avoided looking at me, made it clear. The weight of her guilt was almost tangible. And even though I understood why it had happened, why she'd reacted the way she did, there was nothing I could say to make it right.

Now that I knew what had happened, it all made sense. But as much as I understood it, there was no way for me to apologize for what I had done. It wasn't something that could be undone. It wasn't something that could be fixed. It wasn't something that could be undone. It had been an instinctive response, a reflex born out of fear. And beyond that, there was no way I could even begin to apologize for the pain I had caused. Eileithya was the reason my sister was dead. She was the one who had taken her away from me. This little bit of pain... it wouldn't change a thing.