My Beloved, Whom I Desire to Kill - 330

Why didn’t you just admit it sooner? Then I wouldn’t have abandoned you.

—I didn’t have faith that you would forgive me.

Because no matter how much atonement he offered, he was never saved.

It’s my fault. But it’s your fault. It was as if I was trapped in a measure, cursed by a repeat sign to loop forever, playing the same sound over and over.

—Forget me. Like an itch that disappears when you scratch it. Rejoice in that sense of liberation, and forget me forever.

But I couldn’t forget him, even after two seasons had passed. Acknowledging his death didn’t bring liberation. My heart didn’t just feel briefly itchy; it ached for a long time.

What exactly were you to me?

I had no word to define him. Just as he had no real physical substance.

—I’ll only remain in your memory. Once you die, even that memory will vanish forever, and no one will know that I was ever here… It’s all so futile.

Do you think you’re the only one who feels futile? I feel futile too.

As he said, he was a man who left no trace even in death. Edwin never spoke a word about him. Because of this, I sometimes wondered if the existence of Lorenz was a dream, or an imaginary figure I had created in my madness.

I was either lucky or unlucky that I wasn’t mad enough to believe that delusion. If I were mad, I would have dismissed all the emotions Lorenz left behind like unwelcome baggage, calling them fake and throwing them away.

Isn’t it too cruel for a person to die and only the feelings for that person to survive? In my chest, choked with so many words, I hear only my own echo.

I feel so suffocated.

Giselle’s steps, as she climbed the deck to go inside and lie down, halted when her gaze was suddenly caught by something. It was a single flowerpot in the corner of the shaded terrace. A pot of aster that had withered and died from lack of Giselle’s attention.

—Natalia, my love will never wither.

In the end, it withered and died.

—If I don’t water it, it will wither and die forever.

I had neglected even his pure affection and enjoyed watching him feel lonely. I believed I had the right to do so, because it was retaliation—paying him back for what he had done to me.

So, did that petty revenge feel satisfying?

There were times it felt satisfying, and times it felt sweet. But other times, it left a bitter aftertaste. Revenge offers a reward, but it also carries a punishment.

I’d laugh after doing something mean, then suddenly flinch. My smiling face resembled the person who had been cruel to me too closely. Giselle felt more pathetic than the skeletal aster, which had died still clinging to last year’s brown, dried-out flowers—a casualty of her childish revenge.

She picked up the pot she had ignored for nearly a year, and sometimes cruelly forgotten. She returned to Lodi’s grave and, with bare hands, dug up the flowerbed beside it.

—Do you know? The day you proposed, I envied your dead parents at the cemetery. Although their bodies have long since decomposed, they left a trace—a name that proved they once lived in this world.

She dug deep into the earth and picked up a sharp-edged stone. Ignoring the familiar feeling that tugged at her, she pressed down on the rim of the terracotta pot so hard that her fingernails turned white, and engraved a name:

LORENZ

This is your tombstone. At least you left a name on a tombstone.

The crookedly carved name seemed to mock Giselle.

She buried the dead aster, pot and all, in the ground. She erected a tomb for the man who was saddened by the thought of dying without leaving anything behind. She did it with the name of the man who died because he couldn’t bear the usurpation of his life by another’s name.

When a person dies, they must be buried.

The reason I can’t forget is because I didn’t bury him. That’s why I haven’t been able to send him off yet.

But even after erecting the tomb, her heart ached with a hollowness, as if the most important element was missing. She felt angry, like someone who had read a text filled with countless narratives that remained unfinished, a story whose ending she would never know.

—Natalia, will you pray that I go to hell when I die?

Yes, the prayer was missing.

Giselle knelt, put her hands together, and closed her eyes. The words of the prayer took a long time to come out.

She realized she had never prayed for Lorenz.

She had prayed countless times, twice a day. Even when their relationship cooled, she never failed to pray for Edwin’s well-being. Yet the man she thought of every day, empathizing with his position of hopeless unrequited love, was Lorenz.

And so, the regrets continued to mount.

Praying for him to go to hell, as he requested, was nothing short of a curse. Lorenz hadn’t truly wished to go to hell.

—May Lorenz have a soul, and may that soul finally find peace. And please, forget me…

Was it a prayer for him, or for herself? God clearly answered Giselle, if not Lorenz.

I still feel so suffocated.

She had hoped that holding a funeral would empty the feelings contained within her. But the liberation the dead enjoyed was denied to the living. Death is the pain of the living.

The curse of the repeat sign, forever cycling the same sound within a measure, might be because she hadn’t put a final period to close the chapter on their relationship. She began to hate the deceased, who hadn’t given her that chance.

You should have given me time to speak too. You should have given me a chance to say goodbye. You ran away, throwing out a final greeting—shameless to the very end.

—Natalia, I’m going to die now.

—Yes, goodbye! Go away, you shameless bastard!

The goodbyes that could never reach him scattered into the cold air and disappeared. A farewell is the conscious act of two people. A farewell done alone was meaningless.

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

The following spring, the day she had awaited since the moment she filled out her enlistment application finally arrived: the Royal Investiture Ceremony at the palace.

—Captain Giselle Bishop of the Army Intelligence Bureau.

She had retired as a Lieutenant, but her meritorious service was recognized with a special promotion, making her final rank Captain. When her name was called, Giselle stepped forward toward the dais where the Queen stood.

It had been a long time since she had worn her officer’s uniform or seen the Queen. The woman, visibly more aged than she had been years ago, didn’t spare a glance for Giselle. It wasn’t until the investiture procedure required her to face the audience that she felt the sting of countless eyes pouring onto her back.

—Captain Giselle Bishop of the Army Intelligence Bureau, a survivor of the Rosellean massacre…

Hearing the opening phrase of her introduction, Giselle smiled proudly. This was exactly as she had demanded.

Apparently, the Royal Household had initially intended to introduce Giselle only as a Rosellean, excluding the phrase —survivor of the massacre. The massacre was an inconvenient topic because the Mersian military was also responsible for atrocities.

That’s precisely why I demanded they include it.

Edwin had told her not to worry, saying he had ways to manage it. She confirmed once again what a remarkably resourceful man he was.

Giselle’s wish—to somehow force the Royal Household to acknowledge the massacre as fact—had been fulfilled. She had won another battle.

—…accurately predicted the enemy’s Wilmers Bay invasion, thereby protecting the lives and property of the citizens…

The moment it was finally announced that Giselle was the hidden hero of Wilmers Bay, respect and reverence began to fill the eyes of the audience looking up at her.

—Furthermore, she dedicated herself to espionage operations, not only leading the nation to victory…

Operation Weasel was still classified, so it was only briefly mentioned.

—…and endured injury to devote herself to the defense of the Birkenbach Dam, ensuring the smooth initiation of Operation Horizon, for which she is hereby awarded this medal.

When the reading of her long list of merits concluded, Giselle turned to face her long-time nemesis. The Queen made no attempt to hide her displeasure, from her expression to her demeanor as she approached.

It wasn’t because of a nonexistent conscience. She was annoyed because the piece of used, discarded tissue had the audacity to crawl up here on its own, and worse, use the Duke Eccleston’s power to force this humiliating public acknowledgment.

‘Your Majesty, as you can see, I am doing perfectly well despite the incident you orchestrated.’

Giselle smiled broadly for the Queen to see, but the Queen did not look at her once. Not even as she lowered the sword onto Giselle’s shoulder while she knelt.

It was time to receive the medal. The standard procedure was to pin it to her chest, but the Queen unceremoniously lifted the open presentation box and simply held it out.

Even better.

Giselle performed an equally transparent maneuver. As she received the box with her right hand, she deliberately placed her left hand on top of it.

This forced the Queen to look at the large engagement ring, which shone even more brilliantly than the medal, thanks to the palace’s excellent lighting.

With their intelligence network, the Queen surely knew who the fiancé was. But seeing it with her own eyes would feel different.

The moment the Queen’s gaze fixed on the ring, Giselle did not miss the solemn royal face contorting with fury.

Indeed, revenge is sweet. If the aftertaste felt bitter, it was only because of sympathy for a mother who had lost her daughter. Since that sympathy stemmed from Giselle’s own humanity, not because the Queen was a good person, she felt no reason to feel guilty toward the old woman.

Oh dear, she seems quite upset.

The Queen skipped both the handshake and the congratulatory words, the final parts of the investiture, and pointedly signaled her aide to call the next honoree, openly snubbing Giselle.

How small-minded. One would think I stole her daughter’s fiancé.

A rational person wouldn’t be furious that Giselle was engaged to the Duke of Eccleston. After all, the Queen had used Gizelle precisely because she didn’t want him engaged to her daughter.

Furthermore, her daughter’s death had nothing to do with Giselle or Edwin. If anything, the two were merely dogs who had fought on the Queen’s behalf for her revenge.

Yet, she treats them with such disrespect?

With a disposition this nasty, it was no wonder her approval ratings were dropping. If one’s heart is not pure, it will inevitably be exposed someday. This was a lesson Giselle had to engrave deeply in her heart if she didn’t want to become like her.

And also the lesson that sunshine always follows behind the storm clouds. Giselle looked down at the brilliant golden medal and smiled with a sense of relief. She had left this place shrouded in storm clouds, but today, she was returning home bathed in sunshine.