Griselda gazed steadily at the boy who had grown tall before her eyes. There was not even a calm ripple in her gaze. For that reason, it did not appear harsh. Like a teacher imparting an obvious life lesson to a young and foolish disciple. Who would dare accuse me of hypocrisy? Griselda felt an inexplicably lukewarm sensation behind her eyes.

In truth, her demands had always been consistent. After losing her husband and even his child to the flames of the curse, she had only shifted her target once, never changing by even an inch. Cruel duchess, unfortunate devil. Be strong alone. Be as tall as a cliff, as solid as an iron fortress. The murky resentment, hatred, contempt. Fiery and icy sorrow. Those crumbs shed by the distant outer walls, I who starved from sorrow and pain will swallow them all and save myself.

Thus you sustain me.

Nothing could be more consistent.

“Today, I did not come to see you.”

Griselda turned away from Johannes, who was barely standing as if about to collapse, and adjusted her clothing.

“I will pretend I did not see or hear how you have been looking at the young lady. There’s no point in trying to find out since no one would believe me anyway. It would be useless knowledge. However, you.”

Griselda closed her mouth for a moment. She straightened her posture. Then she approached Johannes, gazing at him intently.

“You… maintain this mindset. Consider it your own form of chastity and guard it with your life. Keep the young lady as an outsider to the curse. Never forget that her fate… depends on your actions alone. Even if it means gnawing at your own bones and flesh, you must accomplish this.”

She refrained from explicitly stating that her concern extended beyond just the duchess. Like a mother addressing her son, she pressed her entire palm near Johannes’ heart as he leaned to the side. Johannes’ pale gaze flowed downward, fixing on her eyes. Those wide-open eyes. As if entranced, as if wretched. Without even the slightest movement. He seemed to have stopped breathing altogether.

“Are you alright? You are Johannes Valdemar. And a devil.”

“……”

“Because you are… the root of all evil.”

Griselda lightly patted Johannes’ chest with her outstretched fingertips. With such a brief lingering, she imprints it like a spell. Johannes’ head, which had been biting his lips, finally dropped. Below the deeply sunken shadows of his eyes, he exhaled roughly, just once, even more deeply. He looked as if he was disgusted by Griselda’s touch.

“…Remove it.”

He whispered with difficulty. Is the moisture this monster is dropping from his chin sweat that has not yet evaporated? Perhaps this time it might truly be tears. Come to think of it, he had looked like he was about to burst into tears for a while now. We shall see. A crying devil, how absurd.

“Excuse me.”

Griselda slowly withdrew her body, finally removing her palm at the very last moment. She immediately walked out to the exit but did not forget to bow politely. As she finally left the heir’s bedroom and was about to close the door.

She peeked into the inner room through the not fully closed door gap.

The sunset, still only crimson as it had not yet completed its task. Johannes standing motionless within caught her gaze in a peculiar way. He suddenly seemed dazed.

The monster’s gaze as he stared straight ahead was unfocused. His thinly closed lips were frozen like a sculpture. That empty and somehow unstable expression was neither the heir who had been fiercely engaged in a non-confrontation with his nanny until now, nor the devil who had been emitting a miserable light with strange eyes. He looked just like a dazed dog. Indeed, hunting dogs during hunting season looked exactly like that. Even while running frantically, they would stop all movement as if paralyzed by the sound of a distant whistle. With just a formless audio signal, they would have all consciousness stolen while only their eyes remained wide open.

It was only when Johannes’ face turned pale and a terrible color rose over his delicate features that Griselda realized she had been watching him for an impolitely long time. She felt a pang of guilt from within, as was appropriate. Even though the heir of the fortress didn’t seem to care whether she had left or not.

Ah.

Something like an exclamation or a groan shallowly flowed from Johannes’ slightly parted lips. His gaze, which had been staring into space, lost its way at that moment and seemed not to know what to do.

Johannes turned around abruptly. Griselda’s eyes also jumped at that violent movement. The devil lost his balance at the same time as he hugged his abdomen with both arms. He fell forward, burying his forehead on the table. Ah. Hnng… As if his back was being torn, the tips of his fingers, which were tightly wrapped around his side, were now all a strange bronze color. He gripped his own body so forcefully with his long-grown nails that there was even a small sound of tearing cloth. He continued to let out low groans as if in great pain.

What is that state?

Is his body twisting?

Griselda opened both her eyes and ears. The situation was far from ordinary, so all her attention was naturally drawn to it. Johannes, who had been clutching his upper body, suddenly stood up, shaking it off. Naturally, his knees buckled from behind. He hurriedly grasped the table to support his falling body, then somehow made it to the bed and collapsed headfirst.

It seems he intends to rest as his body is in such pain. It just looks like he’s trying to return to his original form, but is it such a painful process? Is it not possible even for a moment? Griselda recalled the devil burning with blue flames in the duchess’s birthing room long ago. At that time, its face seemed to have abandoned not only pain but even emotion. Like a blank sheet of paper.

When her thoughts reached that point, Griselda’s eyes cooled once again. Whether this was deliberate exaggeration or genuine, she still did not want to know. You bear it and live with it. As she was finally withdrawing her attention and about to close the door completely, Johannes, who had been lying on his side showing his back, flinched and moved slightly. Breathing heavily like a terminally ill patient, he seemed to be opening the drawer beside the bed with his outstretched arm. Griselda’s eyes widened. She stopped her departing steps and fixed her gaze on the spot where….

There was a dagger.

Johannes took out the dagger. Due to the considerable distance to the bed, Griselda could not make out the pattern on the blade. She only saw the metal glowing red in the sunset light. However, Griselda could assert that what Johannes held was the dagger of Ducomagne that the duchess had thrown. Because nothing else would make sense. It seemed that the monster had retrieved the one that had been stuck in his shoulder and kept it well.

How… chilling. Griselda quietly suppressed the emotion that momentarily rose. And then. Slowly….

The dagger rose over Johannes’ shoulder. Johannes, lying stretched out and panting, had brought the hand holding the dagger behind his nape. The sharp angle of the upside-down blade tip looked ominous even at a glance.

Surely not.

Griselda swallowed. Soon after, her shoulders flinched. Even then, her wide-open eyes could hardly be torn away from Johannes’ bed. Although she was clearly seeing it, what was happening before her eyes was so wicked that it didn’t seem real at all. Only some sound filled her ears. A sound that didn’t match the place. So it was a strange sound. A sound she could only hear in the kitchen. The sound of metal… penetrating flesh. It seemed like it would stop, but it didn’t.

That was the sound of Johannes stabbing the knife into his own shoulder blade.

Griselda finally covered her mouth. On the red bed, Johannes was pushing the blade stuck in his body one notch, then another notch. At such regular intervals. A deep voice, as if holding his breath, shallowly echoed at the head of the bed from time to time. Each time the weapon dug deeper into his body, he raised thick veins on his neck. His broad shoulders gradually shrank. Finally… even his head twisted back. His face, lying at an angle, suddenly burrowed into the pillow. Like a painful groan absorbed into the cloth, a red energy was spreading along his collar. One step. Griselda took a step back. Ah.

Its….

Shoulders are heaving. Its… breathing is rough like tears. The back of the hand that doesn’t release the pressure. It was red. Twilight. Long and low. Although almost inaudible to Griselda’s ears, his exhalations, as vivid as that color to the point of making her shudder, occasionally mixed with unfamiliar and faint curses. And. Ah.

“…You.”

As if broken while completely wet. As if going mad with anger, that call….

It let out a short, tear-tinged breath. Although saying it could never forgive, yet inevitably longing to death. Is it such a divisive thing? Is it such a desirable thing? Should it be that person?

Around that time, the final sunset that had deeply invaded completely covered Griselda’s face, and even the top of her forehead was already red. She couldn’t even think of sealing the slightly open gap. Stumbling, stumbling, she just retreated. One step back. Two steps further back, three steps…. Only when her back touched the corridor wall did she finally turn her body and begin to flee. Ah! What… What was that…! For some reason, the feeling of having seen something she shouldn’t have was unbearable. Her whole body trembled like an aspen tree. Small spasms kept jumping at the corners of her eyes. She ran.

Until she was out of breath. Until night finally arrived. Until she escaped the seemingly endless corridor. Until all the strangely flushing shame and resulting humiliation fell away. Until she saw the door of the women’s quarters and reconsidered her position. Why should I endure such a sight, such a weight?

She was forever an unfortunate victim.

Until welcoming the duchess, she had no acquaintance with the bloodline of Ducomagne. It was a life completely unrelated to the curse. Then she served Ducomagne’s woman, married Ducomagne’s man, bore Ducomagne’s child, and lost all the love she held. Her husband and child were unfortunate victims entangled in their own bloodline, but if she herself had any sin, it was only that she loved members of that family. What about Siglinde, who ended her life in a way that could not be forgiven even in death? Was she not merely a retainer who served the bloodline of Ducomagne?

So the vicious snares sown by the curse were scattered wherever Ducomagne laid their bodies. It was not the law that only Ducomagne would be caught in those snares. In the end, everyone living in this fortress, including the duchess who was the last remaining Ducomagne, was a hostage to the curse. Even Winfrid, whom she loved endlessly. Given these circumstances, that devil who should rightfully stand upright if he had any sense…. How can he be so vulgar, how can he show only such weak appearances….

“…Dreaming of immortality soon to be created by my own blood amidst misfortune, would that be my sin alone…?”

At the sudden sound of singing, Griselda abruptly raised her head. She saw a familiar entrance. It was in front of the women’s quarters that she had habitually arrived at while running with a terrible feeling. Griselda caught her breath. She lowered her gaze following the voice she heard. The singing sound seeping through the tightly closed door gap like fine light. That….

“…So that I may close my eyes as if falling asleep, drinking that hot red wine of life…”

“…O death, grant me a ripe old age…”

It was the duchess’s song.