Confrontation

"Lady, would you like me to tell you another story to help you sleep tonight?" Serra's voice, soft and steady, reached through the stillness of the room.

I nodded.

"A hundred years ago, there was a witch—"

It had been a month now, a month since I'd been confined to this room. The nights were the hardest. Sleep never came easily, not until Serra began to speak. Her voice, low and melodic, wrapped around me like a fragile thread keeping me tethered to the world. Even when she fell silent, just hearing her breathe in the quiet darkness was enough to remind me I was still alive.

Funny, isn't it? She only knows the histories of this land, as if her entire world begins and ends here. Has she ever read a novel? Does she even know how to dream beyond what's been written in dusty tomes?

I was fully healed now, though. Soon, the duke will summon me.

Turning my head, I looked at Serra. The dim light of the lamp cast her face in soft shadows, her lips curling into a small, serene smile as she spoke. Her words flowed effortlessly, painting a vivid tale of witches and curses, yet I barely heard them. My eyes drifted upward, drawn to the faint, glowing text that hovered above her:

[Love: 0] [Hate: 0] [Jealousy: 0] [Lust: 0]

A perfect void.

Her care seemed so genuine, her kindness so effortless. Without this screen, I might have been fooled into thinking she truly cared. But the numbers never lied.

A soft yawn escaped me, and my body grew heavy with exhaustion.

I closed my eyes, her voice still weaving its quiet spell. Her stories didn't matter, nor did her intentions. As long as she spoke, as long as she breathed, I could pretend I wasn't alone.

And for tonight, that was enough.

---

She had drifted off, her breaths slow and steady, lost in the quiet of sleep. I stopped mid-story, the words lingering in the air like a phantom. Rising from the chair, I moved silently, my heart pounding in rhythm with the single thought consuming me:

It has to be today. I must kill her. No more waiting. No more tomorrows.

Reaching down, I retrieved the knife I had hidden in my stocking. The blade felt cold and solid in my hand, a chilling reminder of what I was about to do. I approached her bed, my steps measured and deliberate, until I stood over her fragile, sleeping form.

Carefully, I placed the knife against her neck. Her skin was warm and delicate, so vulnerable beneath the sharp edge. The thought struck me—how easily she could die. Just a slight press of my fingers, a quick motion, and her life would be over.

But then, her eyes opened.

I froze, my breath hitching. The knife was still pressed against her neck, but she didn't flinch. She didn't scream.

Instead, she smiled—a soft, genuine smile that caught me off guard.

"You're here," she rasped, her voice barely a whisper. "I thought you'd left." A pause, then, "Thank you for staying."

Her eyelids fluttered closed once more, and I stood frozen, unable to move, the knife trembling in my hand. It was the first time she had spoken to me, the first time a smile had touched her lips.

It wasn't fear I saw in her eyes—no plea for mercy, no resistance. Just a calm acceptance. Her words played over and over in my head.

It wasn't gratitude. It felt like... a farewell. As if she had already made peace with her end, knowing I would be the one to deliver it.

As if my murderous intent was an open book to her.

My hand loosened, and the knife fell to the floor with a dull thud. My chest tightened as a storm of emotions erupted within me—confusion, anger, guilt.

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms as a single thought consumed me, louder and heavier than anything else:

"Do you want to die?"

---

The morning light poured into the room like liquid gold as Serra pulled back the heavy curtains, allowing the sun to flood the space. The warmth kissed my skin, yet my heart felt cold, weighed down by a strange mix of anticipation and dread.

I sighed deeply, my breath stirring the still air. "Twenty-seven times now," I thought, my gaze following Serra as she moved with quiet precision. "Twenty-seven attempts to kill me, and every time, you stop. Why?"

There was no mistaking it—how could I not recognize her? Even without her actions, her scent, her presence, her very essence were etched into my soul. Serra… In my past life, you were—

"My lady," Serra's calm voice interrupted my thoughts, steady as always. "The Duke has summoned you for the family breakfast."

Breakfast? The word hung in the air, unfamiliar and strange. I had expected a summons eventually, but to the family table? That had never happened in my past life. I had always been an afterthought, a shadow no one acknowledged.

If I go, I'll have to face him. That snake. The one who has every reason to despise me now. And yet, avoiding it isn't an option.

With a groan, I pushed myself upright. A dull ache radiated through my back, a painful reminder of the month I had spent confined to bed. My body protested every movement, sluggish and weak as though I had aged decades overnight.

Serra was already by my side, her touch gentle yet efficient as she wrapped a warm blanket around me. "I've prepared hot water for your shower, my lady," she said softly.

I stepped into the grand washing room, its polished marble walls gleaming under the soft glow of golden lamps. The air was heavy with the faint scent of lavender and rosewater. Slowly, I sank into the vast bath, the warm water enveloping me like a gentle embrace.

I let myself sink further, deeper, until the water closed over my head. My body floated weightless beneath the surface, and I stared at the rippling light filtering through the water above me.

No matter how long I remained submerged, my breath never faltered, my chest never ached for air. This body didn't cling to life like it used to—it was almost as if it had forgotten what it meant to be alive.

Eventually, I resurfaced, the droplets cascading down my face as I pulled myself out of the bath. Serra was waiting, her movements brisk yet tentative as she began preparing me for breakfast.

Her hands worked quickly, albeit with a touch of clumsiness, fumbling with makeup and the intricate clasps of my dresses. I watched her quietly, her brow furrowed in concentration, and then raised a hand to stop her.

I gestured subtly, a silent command for no makeup and a simple dress.

She hesitated, her gaze meeting mine for a fleeting moment, before nodding. Without a word, she selected a gown—a soft blue dress. It wasn't extravagant, but its understated beauty spoke volumes.

As she helped me into it, I caught my reflection in the mirror. My hair remained untouched, falling in loose, untamed waves around my face. Despite the lack of embellishments, there was something striking about the simplicity—Erana's beauty didn't need gilding or polish. It was raw, natural, and haunting in a way that made it impossible to look away.

Serra's eyes lingered on me for a moment, her expression unreadable, and I wondered what she saw.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open.

I stepped forward, the hem of my dress brushing against the polished floor. The air outside felt different, charged with a strange energy, a mix of promise and peril.

Behind me, Serra followed, silent but steadfast.

While walking down the hallway, I felt the weight of the gazes from all the maids. It was hard to miss their subtle glances, some tinged with [hatred 40%] or [jealousy 50%]. I could feel their resentment, almost palpable in the air.

Finally, I stood before the grand doors of the dining room. One of the guard knights opened the door, his gaze cold as ever. As the door swung open, I caught a glimpse of his status screen—[hatred 34%], [jealousy 53%], [lust 3%]. The combination of emotions was revolting, and I had to suppress the urge to recoil.

'How disgusting.'

Inside the room, three figures were seated at the grand dining table. The moment they noticed me, the duke spoke up, his voice sharp, as if irritated by my lateness.

"Why are you so late?"

I met his gaze, my eyes scanning his status screen.

'What's this?'

A sudden chill ran down my spine. My hand trembled, and I clenched the fabric of my dress tightly, the sensation of panic clawing at my chest. I couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps it would have been better if I had stayed dead, never having to face this moment.