Lia’s Bad Ending

Chapter 1

“I want to die before I begin to suffer.”

The heroine that she was, Ophelia’s eyelashes remained long and beautiful despite her terminal illness. Instead of replying, I stroked her hair, which felt closer to strands of silk than mere human hair.

Her voice was calm. “I don’t think that’s too much to ask. It’s already unfair that I won’t live for much longer, and I hate the idea of being in pain.”

Without responding, I listened to the soft sound of the brush’s bristles as I gently dragged it through her hair. While Ophelia had grown alarmingly thin, her hair still had a healthy gleam to it.

“Everyone always tells me not to talk like this, even my parents. They ask me to hold on a little longer, even if I’m in pain. It’s so selfish of them.”

I stared at her dry lips.

“You wouldn’t say that to me, would you?” Her eyes were fierce.

“Never,” I replied.

“You won’t get angry at me even if I say something horrible?”

“I won’t.”

“What would you do if I asked you to kill me?”

I was silent for a moment as her gaze drilled into me. “I’d ask you to wait until I found the most painless way to do it,” I finally said.

Her expression softened. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Even if it meant you’d go to prison and everyone would hate you?”

“What you want is far more important to me than anyone else’s opinion.”

Ophelia’s face twisted pitifully as if she were about to weep. Instead, she smiled and clasped my hand. Though her fingers felt as brittle as dry twigs, they still possessed an elegance and beauty that mine did not. “Promise you’ll never forget me. Place flowers on my grave every spring,” she said.

“Okay.”

“And never let anyone get as close to you as I did.”

“I won’t.”

There was a sharp pain in my hand as she squeezed it tightly, but I didn’t let it show.

She smiled widely. Her pale face lit up in a way that reminded me of fresh spring flowers. It was an expression she only ever wore in my presence. This often stirred envy in others, much to my amusement.

Ophelia Windrose, the only daughter of a marquess, suffered from both a terminal illness and a challenging personality. Her parents were unable to leave their precious daughter in the care of mere servants, but they also knew her temperament made it hard for her to make friends. As a result, they had sought an alternative. They had found a poor girl of the same age born to distant relatives and procured that girl to be her friend.

That girl was me. I was her friend, her family, and her plaything all at once. If I were ever to be cast out of the marquess’s home, it would mean returning to a life where even moldy bread was a luxury, so I did everything I could to meet Ophelia’s demands. She was jealous of my good health and sometimes cruel, but I understood that she was just a sick little girl at heart.

Despite her noble birth, it was difficult to find a larger group of peers for her who would be willing to engage with a terminally ill and demanding child. In addition, her parents were preoccupied with their duties, rarely finding the time to even wish their beloved daughter “goodnight.” In the end, I became more than just a friend—I was her family and her entire world.

At this point, it was irrelevant to me that I was living in the world of a game I had played in my previous life.

Ophelia pressed her fevered forehead against my hand and gently nuzzled it. I stroked her head.

“I don’t want to die.” On the verge of tears, her words trembled. Ophelia shared these moments of vulnerability only with me as her way of protecting her pride. “I’m scared…” Her voice was fragile, like the cry of a frightened animal.

I felt deeply sorry for her. She was trapped in a heartbreaking situation. She was a lily, destined to bloom into a radiant and privileged existence, but also fated to meet a premature end.

The game I played in my past life was only a distant memory now, but I knew that Ophelia was fated to die early regardless of what route the player chose. None of the male love interests could do anything to alter her destiny.

Following her pointless death, her suitors would invariably be pulled from their sorrow as they fell for a baron’s daughter. Newly arrived from the countryside, the woman bore a striking resemblance to Ophelia.

The arrival of the baron’s daughter marked the true beginning of the story. All the unfulfilled desires and ambitions the suitors harbored for Ophelia were laid upon her. Yet in none of the game’s many possible endings did the men ever truly forget Ophelia or genuinely love the baron’s daughter.

Thus, Ophelia was the game’s true female protagonist—pale and delicate as a leaf on the verge of wilting, yet as breathtakingly beautiful as a lily floating on water. She was everyone’s first love, the dearest object in their hearts, and their greatest fantasy.

The very idea amused me. I felt deep empathy for Ophelia, but I was acutely aware that despite the myriad hardships I faced I would never attain even a fraction of the regard she enjoyed up until her very last days. When she died, I knew I would be expelled from the marquess’s house at once and forced to seek a new path.

“Should I die, too?” I asked.

Her eyes widened.

“If you’re scared, why don’t we die together?” I continued.

She was silent for a moment. “Are you being sincere?”

“I am.”

The marquess and his wife were not philanthropists. Should Ophelia die, it was almost guaranteed that I would be cast from their home.

My parents had sold me to them. Even in the nobility, there were no equals, and it could be argued that my precarious position was less favorable than that of a wealthy commoner. In assuming the role of Ophelia’s companion, family, and friend, I had forfeited the education a lady of noble birth was entitled to. I was also decidedly average in appearance, which didn’t make things any easier.

Ophelia was not just my childhood friend, she was the only family I had. The idea of dying together didn’t seem so dreadful to me.

But Ophelia shook her head. “I don’t want that.”

“Why not?”

“It’s a waste. You should live life in my stead. Wear beautiful dresses…” Her voice trailed off as she thought. “Travel the world, eat delicious food, ride horses…” She listed all her wishes, counting them on her fingers. “And fall in love.” I peered down at her as a wide grin spread across her face. “But if you end up with some weird deadbeat, I’ll come back to haunt you,” she added.

“If that’s the case, I’ll be too scared to meet any men.”

“I want you to wear a wedding dress one day, too. Something glamorous, covered in tiny flowers… blooming like spring along the hem…”

Such a lavish gown wouldn’t compliment my homely appearance. Yet I promised her I would.

She laughed in delight, her cheeks flushed with fever. “I want you to be happy.”

Happy…? I found myself at a loss for words.

And before summer arrived, Ophelia was gone.