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Another week passed, and there had been no contact with Edwin. Not since that day when they had faced each other across the closed door.
Delcia had told Theo not to create any awkward situations, but secretly, she had hoped to run into Edwin by chance.
Even if she received his cold glare, she wanted, just once, to see his real face—not the large portrait hanging in the annex, but Edwin himself.
Human desire truly seemed endless. What had once been a small wish, something worth only jotting in her diary, was steadily growing larger.
Delcia gazed out the window at the raindrops and drifted into her daydreams. And in those daydreams, Edwin was always the protagonist, with a field of flowers as the backdrop.
It was inevitable. In their childhood, Delcia and Edwin had spent countless hours picnicking or napping in flower-filled meadows.
Those memories naturally shaped her imagination. She smiled wryly at the sight of rose petals falling one by one in the heavy rain.
She didn’t want to admit it, but it reminded her perfectly of herself—destined to wither and fade away in the pouring rain.
“Miss, aren’t you cold?”
“No, it’s just right.”
“That’s good. But… you seem thinner than last time.”
“Really? I thought I’d been eating well.”
During her week in the annex, Delcia had practiced proper breathing techniques. Learning to speak without panting had required considerable effort, continuing even through nights when Ella was asleep.
Watching Delcia gradually improve, Ella felt nothing but joy. It seemed that now, everything could only get better.
Delcia, however, never realized that her progress was the result of relentless, self-imposed adaptation.
“Miss, aren’t you bored?”
“No, just looking outside is enough.”
“Why don’t you write a letter to the Count? He must be waiting. It’s been over a week since he arrived here…”
“Hmm. Maybe I should?”
Encouraged by Ella’s gentle suggestion, Delcia agreed without hesitation. With Ella’s help, she sat at the desk, picked up her pen, and began writing.
After writing a brief greeting and inquiry about his well-being, she paused and added a short postscript:
I miss you.
Below it, she drew the little rabbit she often sketched. The lines were shaky, lacking precision, but she decided that completing it at all was meaningful.
She perfumed the letter and sealed it with wax before handing it to Ella.
“Please take care of this, Ella.”
“Of course. I’ll deliver it to Theo.”
Helping Delcia had brought Ella and Theo closer—they had even begun speaking casually with each other. Rumors had started to circulate, suggesting something romantic might be brewing between them.
Delcia, for her part, was pleased to see Ella bonding with others. It made her feel reassured, knowing that Ella could manage without her presence.
After delivering the letter, Ella returned, a bright smile on her face, and shared updates about Edwin.
“Miss, while delivering the letter, I heard that today the Duke overslept because he was catching up on work.”
“Really?”
“And tomorrow, he’ll be attending an audience with His Majesty.”
Delcia could hear these updates from her bedroom. Ella relayed Edwin’s schedule and mood in simple terms.
“By the way, Sir Balein mentioned that the Duke has grown distant from the Sacred Sword. But… can he really grow distant from it? It’s not like it talks to him.”
“…What do you mean?”
Ella occasionally passed along stories from Balein. Normally, Delcia would have laughed them off lightly, but this new piece of news made her react differently.
She asked with a somewhat stiff expression. She had not expected to hear that Edwin had grown apart from the Sacred Sword.
She tried to imagine Edwin without his connection to the Sacred Sword, but it was impossible. She couldn’t picture him without it—especially considering that, while not exactly friends, Edwin and the Sword shared a close and intricate bond.
“Miss, what are you thinking about?”
“…Nothing.”
Delcia shook her head and opened her diary. Lately, she had been writing diligently, as if preparing to leave a record of her story for the end.
Ella, seeing Delcia overexert herself and fall asleep exhausted, felt a pang of worry. Delcia could only sleep if her body was utterly spent, so she devoted her days entirely to activity—needlework, writing, drawing—anything to prove she was still alive.
The pale moonlight obscured by raindrops shone dimly. Ella checked the window and stood up.
“Sleep early tonight, Miss.”
“Mm, you too, Ella. Sweet dreams.”
“Miss, sweet dreams as well.”
Ella left after a bittersweet farewell, closing the bedroom door behind her. Alone, Delcia returned to her diary, writing about Edwin and the Sacred Sword.
Even when thunder rolled, shaking the annex, and made her shiver, her handwriting remained steady. This, too, was the fruit of her relentless effort—her denial of weakness and her struggle to endure.
A month had passed since Delcia had moved into Edwin’s estate. In that time, she had grown thinner, and the faint smile she once wore gradually faded. Meanwhile, Edwin was frequently absent from the estate on various outings.
Delcia never once glimpsed the Edwin she dreamed of. Though the portrait in her room reminded her of his face each morning, it left a hollow sensation, as if a large fragment had fallen from her chest.
She resisted adapting to her weakening body. She tried to prove to herself that she was still alive, pushing herself to sew, write, and capture fragments of the past in drawings, or hum songs in the garden. She devoted her time fully to these endeavors.
But soon, even those tasks became impossible as her physical strength waned.
“Miss!”
“Yes?”
“The hunting tournament is coming up! I think it was good that you pre-embroidered the handkerchief!”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Have you finished the handkerchief for the young master?”
“Just a little more.”
What she used to complete in a day now took longer. Even ten minutes of sewing left her eyes strained and head dizzy.
Sometimes, nausea struck as well. Each time, Delcia felt as though her body was signaling its demise, making her anxious.
Just a little more, she thought. Just a little more to see Edwin smile. To know that he’s happy. That’s all I need to see.
Her wish to see Edwin safe and happy grew, until it became a desire to see his laughter, to witness his happiness.
“Ella.”
“Yes, Miss.”
“Give these to Theo.”
“Should I give this one to the Duke and this one to the young master?”
“Yes.”
Handing over two handkerchiefs, Delcia exhaled slowly. As soon as Ella left the room, Delcia coughed violently.
She covered her mouth with her hand and froze at the sight of her palm—stained bright red. She could taste blood on her tongue. Frowning, she scrubbed it with her own handkerchief.
The blood smeared despite her efforts, and another fit of coughing seized her.
“Ha… haah…”
Exhausted, Delcia closed her eyes tightly. Her throat stung, and her body felt utterly drained.
She staggered to the bed and collapsed onto it. A sense of unease pressed over her.
Her head buzzed, her ears felt muffled. She felt as if she were running a high fever. Delcia vaguely sensed that her condition was deteriorating day by day.
But fully accepting it was impossible. She wanted to deny it, to delay it, to live just a little longer.
Her feelings changed dozens, even hundreds of times a day, which she found frustrating, but there was nothing she could do. One cannot become calm and detached from everything so easily.
“Just a little more… just a little more.”
Please, just let me endure a little longer. Please, God, watch over me a little longer.
Placing her hand over her rapidly beating heart, Delcia inhaled deeply. Her breaths came slowly, almost unwillingly.
She was too exhausted to notice Ella opening the door. Staring at the ceiling from her bed, she slowly turned her eyes toward the shadow she sensed.
Blinking a few times, she saw Ella standing beside the bed, trembling.
“Ella.”
Delcia struggled to sit up, but it was difficult. Ella, panicked, hadn’t thought to help and still held her hand over her mouth.
“…Ella?”
Delcia looked at her with a puzzled expression. Ella should have been used to seeing her lying there, so why did she look so alarmed?
“Mi-Miss…! Your dress… there’s… blood…”
“Blood?”
Delcia asked quietly, noticing the tremor in Ella’s voice. She had assumed the blood was only on her palm, but some had apparently stained her dress during her earlier coughing. Ella had seen the marks she hadn’t managed to clean.
