Lady Devil - Chapter 181

181.

It was that wrist that the Duchess herself had once stroked long ago. The moment the dry skin touched him, Johannes’ heart sank. He reflexively brushed away the Duchess’s hand as if it were on fire. But in that instant when he glimpsed between the fluttering curtains, following the arm that fell limply in the air.

…Ah.

Johannes’ eyes widened. The Duchess’s arm crumpled and hid inside the curtain. Did he see wrong? He couldn’t believe it. His lips parted involuntarily, but he couldn’t even let out a sigh. He merely tried to casually peek through the gap in the curtain that had just closed. But not daring to reach out his hand, his posture only lowered defensively. He could now suddenly understand Griselda’s admonition not to show too much shock at the Duchess’s condition.

That appearance.

“Um, mother…?”

He narrowed his eyes as if trying to scoop up what was under the fabric with his gaze, staring at the curtain. From behind the curtain that firmly blocked his view came the sound of rustling blankets along with labored breathing that seemed about to stop at any moment. In the deathly quiet chamber, there was only the eerily low noise and Johannes.

“All my struggles were in vain… I know that now.”

The Duchess, who had suddenly spoken, groaned for a moment.

“No… Actually, I knew from the beginning. I just couldn’t admit it….”

Soon the curtain that had swallowed the terrible sight alone in broad daylight slowly, slowly parted. The Duchess’s remaining hand was using all its strength to pull open the fabric. Half of the bed was revealed. She who had barely been able to stretch out an arm at first was now sitting up fully. The Duchess’s collarbone came into Johannes’ view between the parted curtains. Her face was not yet visible. Crawling, crawling. The woman with her thin neck wrapped tightly in blood-stained fabric began to climb down from the bed, dragging the blanket.

“My daughter will never be able to escape. Her every gesture, step, and voice is entangled in the spider’s web….”

And the long white hair covering her back.

White hair.

Johannes was finally certain he was not seeing things. The Duchess clearly had white hair. Silver threads that seemed to have traversed the years overnight during the days she had been bedridden flowed down to the floor along with the blanket. The whiteness made the young mother, not even in her thirties, look like a completely broken old woman. As if her very life force was draining away with the waterfall of white hair pouring down, her strength seemed to be waning moment by moment. Right now, she is dying.

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