42.

“Anything. But in that case, your soul will fall asleep once more.”

Sleep? Did that mean death? Rose glared at the glass vial with suspicion. Calypso thrust forward the claw-like hand holding the bottle, as if urging her to take it.

When she cautiously took the vial, Calypso twisted her lips in displeasure.

“Fate shaped you for a reason. What Calypso sees, foolish Rose cannot.”

Rose swallowed a bitter laugh. Was prolonging this kind of life truly what fate intended? Was she any better than a canary with broken wings locked inside a cage? Rose held the vial up to the sunlight. The ominous black liquid was thick and dense, blocking all light from passing through.

“If I drink this medicine… what will happen to me?”

No answer came. Only then did Rose suddenly snap back to her senses and look around. She had sensed no presence, and indeed, Calypso—who had just moments ago stood right before her—was nowhere to be seen. It was as if she had been swallowed whole by the alley.

“…Calypso?”

Frantically, Rose scanned her surroundings, searching the alley. But not only was Calypso gone—she couldn’t even find the old hag in the hooded cloak. Dazed, Rose looked down at her hand clutching the glass vial. Had it not been for this vial, she might have thought she’d merely dreamed the entire encounter.

Damn it. Had she truly been possessed by something?

“You are already a soul that has once been cursed. A single curse per soul—that is our rule.”

Those words Calypso had spoken rang in Rose’s ears like a nightmare far more terrifying than any heresy. To never escape Lea, never escape that fate.

Escaping the Valdemore dukedom was one thing, but she could never evade the family’s pursuit forever. With no hope of Calypso’s help, the only remaining option was to utterly ruin her own face beyond recognition. After that, she would survive by enduring people’s scorn and pity.

But if that was the price of survival… death would be easier. With trembling hands, Rose uncorked the vial. Honestly, she just wanted to shut her eyes and gulp it down, whatever it was.

But, damn it, the life she felt throughout her body was real. Her pounding heart, the pain beginning to throb in her tightly clenched palm—everything was proof she was alive.

In her past life, Rose had done absolutely everything just to survive. Being born a girl in the filthiest streets of the East, carving out a space where she wouldn’t be violated—this was impossible without daily struggle.

She had killed those who tried to take her life just to survive, and stolen bread when her stomach growled with hunger. Each time she survived through such wickedness, she firmly etched one promise into her heart: she would live on stubbornly, defiantly, longer than anyone else, having taken their share.

“…Fuck it.”

In the end, Rose dropped the vial as if letting it slip from her fingers. The glass shattered against the stone floor beneath her. The ominous black liquid pooled briefly before vanishing without a trace.

Slowly, she sank to the ground, clutching her head.

Until now, yes, let’s be honest—she had accepted the situation too lightly. Part of it had felt half like a dream. She had experienced being soaked in every kind of spice and gem, seen Cardier alive with her own eyes, worn silk dresses so soft they brought tears to her eyes. Only that damn ten-year-old’s underwear would have ruined it.

Those days… those days had felt like the idle daydreams she once had while lazily chewing grass on a ship had finally come true. But to live like this for the rest of her life? She had never even wished for such a thing. Everyone is born with their own fate. If noble children are born with jeweled rings on every finger, then Rose was born with salt in both hands.

If I return to the East, if I just return to the East. The thoughts she had repeated like a mantra slipped hollowly through her fingers. At that moment, it felt as if a shackle shaped like Lea was tightening around her neck.

The ground beneath her collapsed.

* * *

Rosetta spent several days afterward in a feverish delirium.

Her last memory had been collapsing in the alley, but when she opened her eyes, she was in the Valdemore mansion, with Anna beside her, changing the damp cloth on her forehead. After fainting so often since becoming Lea’s body, she thought Anna wouldn’t be surprised or cry anymore… but Anna’s eyes were swollen.

Sniffling, Anna explained what had happened while she was unconscious. The knights had only realized her disappearance belatedly, then scoured the alley thoroughly, eventually finding her asleep with her back against a shabby pillar. Despite the area being dangerous and nearly deserted, not a single jewel was missing from her.

Even in her daze, Rose realized Calypso must have taken some measure.

After all, it was Calypso who had broken the carriage wheel so she could follow. No matter how she thought about it, Calypso’s existence was suspicious. Could someone with such power really be just a mere witch? One who survived in the East on scraps left over from pirates? …Either way, it was a problem that needed deeper thought. That is, if her mind would only start working properly again.

Rose kept regaining consciousness only to wish she could faint again. While awake, she suffered nausea from high fever, and had already gone through three sets of bed linens soaked with cold sweat. She could barely swallow a sip of water, and her entire body trembled as if gripped by chills.

The attending physician visited four or five times, but her condition didn’t improve at all. In fact, it worsened. Some pessimistic people believed this time the Valdemore heiress would finally lose her life.

Just as a week had nearly passed, the heiress miraculously recovered. Color returned to her pale cheeks, and a faint warmth spread to her lips. She could sit up and speak briefly, and the time she remained conscious grew longer. Three more days passed, and she was strong enough to rise completely from her sickbed.

And it was that very day, around lunchtime, that the Montrosa Viscount visited the Valdemore Dukedom mansion.

* * *

Rose watched through the window as Cardier passed through the estate’s main gate. Because her forehead had been pressed against the glass, a circular mark remained on the window when she pulled back.

Her gaze suddenly fell upon her reflection in the glass. Having eaten no proper food for days, her cheeks and shoulders had thinned somewhat. Just that alone made her appear startlingly frail. Awkwardly, Rose brushed her cheek.

“Valdemore heiress.”

At the voice behind her, Rose turned. Cardier stood at the doorway of the parlor. He looked stunned, his eyes slowly traveling from her face to her thin shoulders, then to her slender fingers. Rose pretended not to notice and offered him a seat.

“Sit.”

“…I heard you were very ill.”

“It wasn’t faking.”

“You look like it.”

He raised a thin hand to rub his face. Cardier’s lips moved slightly, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t bring himself to speak. Finally, he lowered the hand that had been cupping his chin and said,

“…Was marrying me really that unbearable?”

Cardier himself seemed shocked by his own words. At that, Rosetta forgot the situation and let out a small chuckle. Well, when had the Montrosa Viscount ever considered such a thought? When women across the empire threw themselves at him to marry. Rose shook her head.

“That’s not it.”

“Then…?”

“I called you here for another reason.”

“If it’s another reason…”

Rose took a deep breath. Then she blurted it out.

“Let’s get married.”

“…What?”

Cardier’s eyes widened in disbelief, then froze in that state. Not a single eyebrow twitched—like a statue carved from stone.

Rose shrugged and repeated clearly, distinctly. Saying it a second time felt a little easier.

“I said, let’s get married.”

Now Cardier’s expression shifted to one of deep suspicion, as if staring at something inexplicable. He gazed at her like that for a long while before finally speaking.

“No taking it back.”

“Fine.”

“Once we marry, I won’t let go of you—even if I die.”

“I understand.”

At her prompt agreement, Cardier’s eyes narrowed. Her demeanor felt oddly light, as if she had prepared for everything, yet too bold to be mere resignation. Whatever was going on inside her, his own tendency to blindly trust her had long ceased to be amusing.

Cardier let out a slow, dry laugh. His eyes didn’t smile at all.