The doctor let out a long sigh and left with his assistant, their steps heavy with exhaustion.
Vance stood frozen in place, keeping vigil outside the open door. He didn’t dare step inside.
It wasn’t until the butler brought breakfast that he finally moved, as though in a daze. He walked into the room and
approached my bedside.
I lay quietly on the bed, deathly pale, but my chest rose and fell steadily.
He pulled up a stool and sat beside me, taking my hand in his.
“Selene,” he said hoarsely, “Dr. Lucian must be lying.”
“You always have a strong will… how could you ever lose the will to live?”
As he spoke, he paused, then laughed through his tears.
She had thought she married a good man, only to find out their love had been a lie from the start.
Her husband had grabbed her by the hair and forced her to watch as her parents were beheaded.
All because of the Kreston family massacre, because even though Vance had hidden in the shadows that day, the blood
of his families had splattered on his clothes.
With both her parents dead and her lover turned into an enemy, she had wanted to die countless times.
But she had held on for five long years for atonement.
She had endured the humiliation of seeing other women surround her husband night after night.
When she finally conceived a child, hope sparked anew. She had picked up needle and thread, stitching clothes for the
baby.
But the red swaddling cloth ended up wrapped around a lifeless body buried in the frozen ground.
And she had to watch, helplessly, as her child was reduced to ashes before her eyes.
How could I lose the will to live?
How could I not lose the will to live?
Those five years… had already been the longest I could bear.
Clutching my hand, Vance finally broke down, sobbing openly.
“Selene… please, wake up.”
“I was wrong. I’m a monster.”
“Give me one more chance… please, Selene…”
But I didn’t hear a word of his apology.
I remained still, as if merely asleep.
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In the days that followed, Vance took a leave of absence from palace and stayed by my side day and night.
He held me in his arms and showed me the roses blooming outside the window, whispering about how we’d go fly kites in the countryside once spring arrived.
He visited the Holy Well and begged the seer to bless a protective amulet, which he solemnly hung around my neck.
He even took up a carving knife himself to engrave our child’s name on a memorial jewelry.
He said, “Selene, I buried the child’s ashes under the tree in front of the chapel.”
“I named him Alexander. His nickname is Alex.”
“Please wake up soon, Selene.”
And so he kept talking to me, tirelessly, day after day.
Perhaps the heavens were finally moved by his sincerity.
On the eve of the New Year, as the world prepared to welcome new beginnings. I slowly began to wake.
When I woke up, Vance froze in place, unable to believe his eyes.
Then, rubbing his eyes hard, he rushed to my bedside.
“Selene, y–you’re awake?”
I nodded calmly.
In truth, during the time I was unconscious, I hadn’t been completely unaware of the outside world.
I had some sense of everything Vance had done for me.
But just as I had said before–everything was already too late.
Vance was overjoyed that I’d woken up.
He kept saying he’d go to Holy Well in a few days to fulfill his vow.
He even cooked for me himself and grilled some steak.
The castle servants had long since been replaced.
They didn’t say much, but their reddened eyes said enough.
Everyone understood–my waking up was nothing more than a final flicker before the end.
Maybe Vance hadn’t noticed it, or maybe he didn’t want to–how pale my face had become.
He helped me sit up and eat a few bites of steak.
Outside, firecrackers went off one after another.
I gazed out the window at the fireworks in a daze.
A new year had arrived. It had been eleven years since Vance and I got married.
My body grew weaker by the day.
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I started slipping in and out of consciousness again.
Every morning, Vance would wake up and place his fingers under my nose to check if I was still breathing.
Only when he felt the faintest breath would he finally exhale in relief.
But things couldn’t go on like this.
He went back to the royal palace to beg the doctors for help, but after examining me, all they could do was sigh and shake
their heads.
Vance held me and cried every single day.
He had no choice but to admit–this time, I was truly leaving him.
On the morning of the seventh day of the new year, Vance sat beside the bed, painting me.
I stared at the dark canopy overhead and suddenly said to him, “Vance, I saw my mother.”
His brush paused mid–stroke.
Sniffling, he replied with a trembling voice, “Mmm.”
“She was holding our child.”
In my vision, my mother looked just as she had six years ago.
She wore a plain, elegant dress and held the hand of a little boy who looked about two or three.
The boy wore a red top, his hair soft and silky.
He called me Mother.
My eyes slowly lost focus, and a faint smile formed at the corners of my lips.
“Vance, if there’s a next life… let’s not meet again.”
The paintbrush slipped from Vance’s hand and fell to the floor.
Snow began to fall again outside the window.
That year, the seer at Holy Well had told me there was only one sign in my tea leaves.
And indeed, my life had followed that one prophecy that was: Endless hatred. No end in sight.
Chapter 6
