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***

When Inés finished discussing the urgent reports sent from Esposa with Isabella, it was nearly noon.

She politely declined Isabella's offer to have late breakfast together and returned to her bedroom. Luciano would be coming by in just a few hours, but she figured he would awaken her.

Although she hadn't eaten, she chose sleep over filling up her stomach, as was her usual habit. She had always found it difficult to rise early in the morning and stay awake. Not only did she not feel particularly hungry, but she also ended up dozing off whenever she was left by herself with nothing to do due to the many sleepless nights she had sat through. She could get a few hours of sleep during the day, at the very least-perhaps it was because the weather appeared to be peaceful, although she knew this didn't guarantee the distant ocean was serene as well. In a way, she was lying to herself, but she had no other choice. She could never fall into the embrace of sleep when it was pitch black outside and she knew she'd be all alone in the vast room all night.

Her eyes lost their sharp focus as she sat in front of the vanity and let her hair down. She allowed her eyelids to fall shut, as if this would expel the image of the dark ocean from her head. However, the fear was still there like a snake that had been slowly coiling around her feet for many years, poised to swallow her the first chance it got. Recently, she had been mulling over this uncomfortable yet familiar fear every single day while stuck in the endless limbo of waiting, searching for an end to her present suffering.

Yet, she knew she truly had no choice but to wait for Cárcel to return-he was the only one who could peel back the curtain of darkness and clear the cloud from her eyes. Her soul knew this very well even when her head screamed otherwise. After all, she had feared that dark ocean every single night.

She thought of the sleeve of the black cassock, Arondra's tears, the room in Calztela, then even further back... "And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away." (Revelation 21:4 KJV) Just like the prayer, so many memories had slipped away from her the moment her heart stopped. But now, she remembered the fear and endless waiting she had encountered in her first life.

It had been such a long war that even the conquest of Las Sandiago or the Battle of Palencia paled in comparison. The old memories resurfaced like dead fish whenever she found herself immersed in a similar period of waiting, and she etched them into her mind no matter how painful they were. Although the memories took the form of misshapen fragments, she was able to piece them together to know that Ortega had stood on a precarious ledge for the entire duration of the war-starting from the moment that Cárcel left her for the very last time and stretching past the last breath she took as she laid in bed, still waiting for her husband.

Similar to the present, she hadn't been interested in the outcome of the war in her first life; she had simply wished to know whether her husband lived or died. Unfortunately, there had been very little that she could learn by herself as a dying woman who could only stand on the shore of Calztela and stare at the ocean.

Whenever she had received any messengers, they only informed her that the war was still ongoing. The few letters she had gotten from Cárcel had been delayed by several months, and the contents were brief, simply letting her know that he had been alive around the time they were written. Back then, she had occupied herself by crying over those letters. One day, she had gotten rid of the pillow and vase that would no longer receive any flowers from Cárcel or herself, then put them back frantically when it began to feel like all of his traces had been erased from the world. Every morning, she had stared at the two forlorn objects, wondering if her husband was still alive.

Indeed, those days had felt like an eternity, probably because she only had a handful of years remaining in her life.

Now, she knew the place where "she" had lingered until she could no longer sit in a chair: the balcony where he used to step out for a cigar every evening, back when their lives had known more peace. From there, she could see the blue ocean at the foot of Logorño Hill as well as the distant horizon. She had always sat there and prayed for his safe return, to be able to see him again... for a ship to appear on the horizon, carrying him back home...

In that lifetime, she had died without ever knowing an end to her longing or discovering whether Cárcel was alive.

Now, she knew why "she" had been staring at the empty room at the moment of her death as if to confirm that Cárcel wasn't there. He had never abandoned her out of disgust or died in war-it had been the fear of the unknown that kept her gaze locked there until the very end. She had been praying that he wasn't dead, and she had felt terrified upon realizing that he would only find her cold grave if he ever returned. Finally, she had cursed herself for never bringing him anything but grief.

Her head spun, and she leaned her forehead against her hand. When this did not help, she allowed her upper body to slump over the vanity. A fragment of the long-forgotten conversation flooded her mind.

"I have always longed for you, Inés... and I will continue to, even if you never return those feelings. But... I wonder if you will miss me some day, just once. That might be more than enough to carry me back home..."

"If you fear so much that you will find me dead upon your return, tell them you will not go to war-"

"Inés... Do not ever say such dreadful words. You are not going to die."

"It will happen, and you know it. I don't know why you continue to delude yourself..."

"Please... listen to me. I go only because I am certain that you will live on. I fight to protect the land that sustains you. I may not return this time, Inés. I have entrusted Captain Noriega with your care. He will reach out to you if our forces begin to falter. Promise me that you will go to Esposa immediately if such a thing happens."

She inhaled several times, deeply and slowly.

It was like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over her head. Her eyes flew open, as if she had ripped herself out of a nightmare. Her breathing was ragged despite her efforts to steady it. This war was not the same one that she remembered.

With newfound determination, Inés dove back into the vile memories from when she had been married to Oscar-those were much more vivid in comparison, not to mention that Cárcel had been alive until the very end. In that lifetime, Cárcel had fought in the conquest of Las Sandiago, which had occurred slightly later than the current one. Then he had been discharged after sustaining a severe shoulder injury in the Battle of Palencia. Although physicians had predicted that his arm may be permanently damaged, he had recovered, and he had lived.

Right. Nothing happened. Nothing...especially not in Las Sandiago, she told herself over and over again as she recalled Arondra's aged face and doleful eyes that had been staring at her as she quietly slipped away.

As far as she could remember, she had lived the longest back when she was married to Oscar, dying at the age of twenty-six. How old had she been when she died in her first life? Thirty? This meant she still had several more years until she truly had something to fear. In fact, it was possible that Cárcel would never be sent to that war-after all, when she turned thirty, Oscar would no longer be in Ortega or her life.

Perhaps she would be able to exterminate him earlier, so that she would no longer even remember his disgusting face by the time she entered her thirties...

Disgusting, pathetic Oscar. Even now, he was allowing his wife to destroy his brain as he despaired over his unrequited love. As for the woman he claimed to cherish so devotedly, she was damaging his insides little by little in secret. His loyal, loving wife was at the root of all of these attacks-after all, Alicia had already said that she would do anything to own Oscar, even at the risk of killing him. Her bravery was truly admirable, and Inés was willing to grant her one wish: for Oscar to be hers and hers alone, as he died in her arms.

It was the least she could do after everything Alicia had done for her. That lunatic had been taking the drugs from the man Luciano had hired and putting them in her dear husband's mouth, as well as the herb that was "newer and better" than vergo. Inés was truly thankful that Alicia had already impaired Oscar's faculties so much that he didn't even suspect that Inés was destroying him further.

In fact, she was even willing to take, or at least pretend to take, the abominable drug that was used to breed farm animals, if only to entertain Alicia briefly. She would use that drug to eventually turn the tide in her favor and sweep Alicia off her feet. Death would be too merciful of a punishment for Oscar and Alicia.

"Do not fear the future of a lifetime that has already passed," Anastasio had told her. When she asked if there was any way to avoid her death in a few years, he had simply answered that she was already living a different life, and that she hadn't remembered anything about her first death because it wasn't one that aligned with fate.

Indeed, her illness had been swift and unforgiving back then, as she had been nearing the brink of death even at Viviana's funeral.

But now, things were different. Cárcel had a revelation; they had the apostle on their side.

Everything would be different now-it had to be. This time, she refused to have such regrets in her life.

Inés only managed to rise to her feet after repeating these words in her head like a chant and praying for what felt like eternity.

Her body felt so heavy that she couldn't even remember how she had managed to function in Calztela in the past. Every single one of her nerves had been on edge ever since Cárcel departed Mendoza. She trudged over to the bed, hoping to rest her eyes briefly and thinking of her little pawns that were walking around the palace even now.

Suddenly, her gaze landed on the innocuous brown envelope that lay on top of the sheets. She saw the three words written in familiar script: Inés, mi vida.

It was the first letter that Cárcel had written to her ever since he had gone to war.

The thoughts that had been filling her head like a swarm of angry bees disappeared in an instant.