Chapter 4

* * *

The manor was in a state of disarray. Concerned that the fainting marchioness needed solitude, the guests had quickly departed, leaving the maids in a flurry of activity behind them.

I was sitting in the empty reception room when a nervous maid came to inform me that nearly all the guests had left. She added that the marquess was resting, exhausted from comforting his grieving wife. Laertes had taken his place in tending to the marchioness, who had regained consciousness after her fainting spell.

As well as a relative of the marchioness, Laertes was a promising knight. He had a kind personality and was trusted by the Windrose family. Ophelia might have viewed most of her suitors as nothing more than annoying bugs, but she always, albeit reluctantly, took a somewhat softer stance toward him. If Ophelia was the fairytale princess, then Laertes was her knight in shining armor.

I lost myself in thought, sipping a cup of tea that the maid had brewed somewhat too bitterly in her haste. I needed to decide when I would leave. An immediate departure would be impractical, but it seemed unwise to delay it much further as well.

In this mansion, Ophelia had been my unwavering ally. Because of her, not even the marquess could easily disregard me. Now, however, there was no longer any reason for me to remain. I had become an unwelcome presence overnight.

Having spent so many years here, I knew that some of the manor’s residents would understand my lack of tears. Others would surely criticize me. I was not a lady of House Windrose, strictly speaking, and pretending otherwise felt unnatural.

It was no secret that many held me in little favor. They believed Ophelia was an angel, and they were dissatisfied that she had given so much of her attention to a girl of average looks and modest status. This sentiment was particularly strong among the maids and lesser noble ladies. They would whisper that I was only a purchase, that I had just lucked out to be distantly related to the family and similar in age to Ophelia. I was just Emilia, the girl who had monopolized too many privileges for herself.

Those who thought they deserved to be closer to Ophelia envied everything they believed I enjoyed. But the true object of their envy wasn’t me—it was Ophelia herself. They wanted her beauty, her background, the love she received, and her power. Yet they were unable to openly resent the beautiful, pitiable, and beloved girl, so they directed their frustrations toward her mediocre accessory. They must have felt vindicated after her death, believing it was high time that I assumed my deserved place in the social pecking order.

I set down my empty teacup and slowly made my way to my room. The servants I passed in the hall wore uniformly somber expressions. A familiar maid carrying a tray paused upon seeing me.

“Where are you going, Lady Emilia?”

“To my room. How is the marchioness?”

“She’s all right. Sir Laertes is with her, so you needn’t worry.”

“In that case, I’ll retire to my room.”

“Um…” The maid hesitated. Her name was Sally. She was an especially adorable young woman, with her short hair in neat braids and freckles sprinkled across her nose. “Are you all right? You must be tired. Would you like me to bring you some soup?”

I offered a faint smile in response. “No, but thank you for your concern.”

I refrained from assuring her I was all right. In truth, I wasn’t. Still, I still found myself unable to cry.

Ophelia had suffered so much. Initially, I had prayed for her swift recovery, but as her condition worsened, my pleas drifted toward wishing her a painless death if recovery was out of reach. Had her agony persisted, I might have eventually been driven to alleviate her pain by discreet means. Fortunately, her ordeal ended before anything of the sort became necessary.

It’s finally over, I had thought to myself as I gazed upon Ophelia in her casket. Even in death, she remained the epitome of beauty, purity, and tranquility. It was as if she were merely sleeping. Above her silky hair, I had placed a floral crown I had woven myself. It had become somewhat sparse after the marchioness threw herself at the casket and caused a few flowers to fall away, but I was not bothered.

So, it’s truly done, I found myself numbly thinking. She’s gone. There’s no need to hold on anymore.

Even prior to my arrival at the Windrose Estate, I was aware of my place. The memories of the game from my past life provided me with a guiding light, albeit a faint one. I stood by Ophelia’s side, choosing friendship over envy and rivalry. But this choice came with its own sort of anguish as I was always burdened by the knowledge of her impending death.

When I’d offered to join her, it hadn’t been on a mere whim—I had genuinely been willing to give my life for her. My love for her was as profound as that of the men who were now destined to remain haunted by her memory. Ophelia’s deep affection for me was even greater, and although I couldn’t return it, her passing didn’t free me to pursue any specific dreams or future aspirations either.

Living in this world was often like picnicking under looming storm clouds. I felt constantly vulnerable and on edge, always anticipating a sudden onset of harsh reality to pour down on me and catch me without an umbrella. I could only watch the dreary sky with the wind whipping at my dress.

Then, the inevitable happened. The storm finally broke, rain torrenting down and putting an end to the picnic. There was no longer any need to brace for the sadness of the men haunted by her memory, nor to worry about Ophelia’s wellbeing. Her death finally put an end to the endless cycle of imagining what it would be like to lose her and the pain that would accompany it. All that was left now was to leave the grandeur of a manor that had never truly suited me and confront whatever lay ahead.

After dragging myself to my room, I opened the door and allowed myself to fall onto my bed. I thought about changing out of my black mourning attire, but I didn’t want nor have the energy to.

The weight of my exhaustion didn’t hit me until I lay down. I suddenly realized how heavy my body felt. Closing my eyes, sleep swiftly drew me into a deep, dark tranquility, like I was sinking into the depths of a murky lake.

* * *

“Sir Cassio visited again,” Ophelia said with a sour expression.

I plucked a dandelion petal from the corner of her mouth.

“I told you not to eat the flowers.” I said.

“If he dares to visit again, I’ll have cold water thrown on him.”

I carefully discarded the yellow petal. We lay side-by-side on a thin blanket spread out in the middle of the estate’s expansive garden. Ophelia’s calves, barely covered by the hem of her pale green dress, trembled in the breeze like delicate butterflies. Ever since I mentioned some flowers were edible, she had taken to occasionally trying to eat a few petals.

“Why do you dislike Lord Cassio so much?” I asked.

“He’s arrogant,” she said, unceremoniously spitting out a mouthful of saliva and chewed leaves.

I chuckled softly.

“I don’t like the way he looks at me, and I especially don’t like how he looks at you,” she continued.

I reached into the basket a maid had arranged for us and I produced a cookie. As I broke off a chunk, it snapped loudly. “Why do you care about the way he looks at me? He’s likely just jealous because I’m so close to you.”

“It’s selfish of him. I prefer to spend my remaining time with you because I like you. He refuses to understand such a simple wish and just thinks of himself.” Despite often being confined to her bed, she was as insightful as ever. She rested her head on my hand as I offered her the piece of cookie, her soft hair spilling over my fingers. “But if he isn’t jealous, then he’s seriously mistaken about something.”

The echo of her voice bounced through my dream like a stone skimming across a puddle.

* * *

Waking up, I found myself soaked through with sweat. As I struggled to my feet, the room around me suddenly felt strangely unfamiliar.

Ophelia hated being alone, meaning I was always by her side. Even in her fevered state, I was always there to provide her with companionship.

“Sometimes I wish we were twin sisters,”

Ophelia had once said. But she had retracted her wish moments later.

“Then again , I wouldn’t want you to suffer from this illness too. It’s better that I bear this pain alone.”

In response, I would hug her tightly and gently pat her back.

“We’re already inseparable, aren’t we? We’re distant relatives. And your illness isn’t contagious.”

My reminder always managed to earn a smile in return.

The room was silent as I took a deep breath and rose from my bed. The satin dress that I had hastily thrown on was the only black article of clothing I had. I didn’t feel like changing into anything else. The formal funeral proceedings had ended yesterday, but in my heart, I wasn’t ready to be done with mourning. It was my way of holding onto her.

My legs felt weak, but I was overcome with the urge to eat something. I was eventually forced to my feet.