Chapter 5:
* * *
Once again, I opened my eyes to find myself back in that infamous third-class train car.
“Ugh…”
I kept my eyes shut, resisting the pain and terror washing over my entire body.
Whether I closed them or opened them, the silhouette of the colossal being capable of destroying the world with a mere gesture lingered before me.
I barely swallowed the sobs rising in my throat.
“Hrrgh…”
The end of the world.
Having witnessed with my own eyes a phenomenon that would sound absurd to anyone else, everything I now faced felt meaningless.
A terror that twisted my mind. A suffocating, ultimate sense of futility that made everything seem pointless.
The identity I had built over the past 28 years crumbled like a sandcastle in the face of that emotional maelstrom—until…
—My apostle… I shall guard your mind…
My mind was shielded.
With that whisper, my head suddenly cleared.
Hoo… hoo… I took slow, deliberate breaths.
My heart, which had been pounding as if it would burst, began to calm. Once I regained control, I felt the gazes of the passengers around me.
“What’s wrong with her?”
“Is she feeling unwell…?”
“She looked pale, like she was about to faint…”
Faces mixed with curiosity, worry, and unease stared at me. One person cautiously approached to ask if I was okay.
“…I’m fine, thank you for your concern.”
I responded politely, doing my best to appear unbothered. The person looked relieved and returned to their seat.
With that, the attention on me gradually faded. I turned to the train window, trying to regain my composure.
The peaceful scenery flew past in a blur, looking so indifferent it was almost cold. Watching it for a while helped restore my sense of calm and reason.
In the end, I reached a conclusion.
I became an apostle of the King in Yellow because I read his book.
If I don’t follow his orders, I’m doomed to witness the world’s end again and again.
If fate couldn’t be avoided no matter how far I ran, then there was only one option—
…To properly fulfill the role assigned to me.
—Next station is…
Just then, the train arrived at its destination.
This time, I got off at the original stop but didn’t head straight to the abandoned church.
Know thy enemy, and you shall not be defeated.
Instead, I went to a hunting supply store and bought a sufficient amount of shotguns and ammunition.
…After all, marksmanship was one of the few things my late husband left me alongside our crumbling house.
“Emily, don’t you want to learn how to shoot?”
My husband Randolph, despite his delicate appearance, enjoyed hunting and never missed a shot.
He was an excellent teacher, and I turned out to be a talented student.
“You’ve got a knack for this. If you keep going, you might even surpass me.”
Whenever I questioned the practicality of a woman learning to shoot, Randolph would shake his head and reassure me.
“Emily, one day, this skill will be useful. Trust me.”
…Though I never imagined this would be how it turned out to be useful.
While staying at a hotel in the city, I also wrote a letter to Madame Blavatsky—no, Helena.
[Helena, find out everything you can about ghouls.]
A week later, after receiving her reply, I set out to exterminate the ghouls.
—I shall take your time…
Only to die again at the hands of a ghoul.
Even after requesting help from Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard, I still died two more times before finally succeeding.
—My apostle, you have fulfilled your mission.
—In recognition of your merit…
Only then did I manage to see the next day without witnessing my death or the end of the world.
—I shall now reveal my true name…
Thus, I was finally acknowledged as a true apostle of the King in the Golden Cloak, the Unnameable Ruler, the Master of the Worlds Between the Stars.
The Yellow King—Hastur.
* * *
Overwhelmed by a surge of memories, I returned to reality. My vision slowly brightened.
Why had I forgotten something so important until now?
As I pieced together fragments of memory like a puzzle, intense light poured through my half-open eyelids.
When I fully opened my eyes, I began to recognize my surroundings.
An open window, a green field beyond it. A spring breeze tickled my cheeks.
This place is…
Richmond, a village on the outskirts of London, was a well-known resort town for the upper class to enjoy leisurely retreats.
My aunt, Lady Marilyn Soberg, owned a rather elegant villa here. After much persuasion, she had finally managed to bring her reclusive niece (me) to this beautiful estate.
“…So the land owned by the Langham family alone is—Emily, dear? Are you listening?”
“Ah…”
That ever-familiar voice of my aunt. I belatedly turned to look at her, and she frowned.
“You were dozing off while I was talking again, weren’t you?”
“I wasn’t dozing. By the way, what day is it today?”
A well-dressed, plump woman exuding elegance from head to toe.
She was my late father’s older sister and quite fond of me.
“What kind of random question is that now?” she grumbled, but eventually added, “It’s May 14th.”
“…The 14th?”
I sprang to my feet.
“Emily! What on earth—?”
Ignoring her, I searched the room for a clock. A grandfather clock, likely over a century old, showed the time as 10 a.m.
10 o’clock… Well, at least it’s not too late.
I, Emily Carter, do not truly die.
More precisely, I return to a point in time before my body meets complete death.
In other words, I “regress.” After more than ten regressions, I realized this ability comes with a cost:
I either forget something important,
or recall something I had forgotten—usually a horrific memory.
What I forget or remember is completely out of my control.
Knowing this, I started the habit of meticulously journaling each day, but…
When I regress, all those records vanish too. So it’s meaningless.
…Still, I compulsively record things. It’s more of a ritual to reassure myself.
Also worth noting: the regression point is assigned randomly.
Usually, I go back at least a day to have a chance to change the future.
But this time, I had only returned two hours.
Which means the future can be changed without needing more time.
Relieved, I turned my attention back to my aunt.
“…As I was saying earlier, this Sir Henry fellow seems like a real gem.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Despite being so popular, he’s hardly dated any women. That means you won’t have to worry about him being a womanizer, right?”
“I suppose not.”
Aunt Marilyn continued on and on. To sum up the essentials without the fluff:
“So, you’re saying he’s the ideal suitor?”
“Exactly. I don’t know why someone like him proposed to you, though.”
Who knows—he said he loved my novels.
I remembered what Sir Henry said before I regressed but didn’t respond to my aunt’s remark.
“So what are you going to do?”
What do you mean, “what am I going to do”? The meeting’s already scheduled.
This time, unlike before, I decided to go along with her plan without complaint.
“I’ll meet him.”
“If that’s really what you—wait, what?”
My aunt’s eyes widened as she turned to me. Judging by her reaction, she clearly expected me to refuse.
“I said I’ll meet him. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“W-well, yes, but… Is this really happening? Will the sun rise in the west tomorrow?”
Aunt Marilyn sprang up, clearly excited.
“Oh, I need to let Sir Henry know immediately!”
“…Didn’t you already schedule the meeting?”
“Oh my, how did you know that…? You’re practically psychic.”
Before I regressed, when I first met Sir Henry, I had exploded at my aunt upon learning she had arranged it without my consent.
Back then, she said:
“Dear, I’m doing this all for your own good. Do you think I enjoy doing this? If that damn husband of yours hadn’t gone and died on us like that…”
Blaming Randolph was one of her go-to routines.
Anyway.
For the next hour, Aunt Marilyn bustled around.
She bossed the maids around, double-checking preparations for the guest, throwing out perfectly fine tea leaves and demanding fresh ones, and fussing over my already impeccable attire from head to toe.
Give it a rest, already…
And finally, the guest arrived.
“Sir Henry Jekyll has arrived!”
…Aunt Marilyn tilted her head slightly at the name.
“Henry Jekyll? I thought today’s guest was Sir Henry Langham…”
“He is, Aunt.”
I recalled what Sir Henry had said before our first meeting:
“Miss Emily, feel free to call me Jekyll. My friends often use my middle name.”
“His full name is Henry Jekyll Langham.”
Yes. It’s exactly who you’re thinking of.
On the surface, a flawless gentleman.
But when night falls, he dons the mask of a devil called Edward Hyde and roams the back alleys—a man with two identities.
Sir Henry Jekyll had come to propose to me.
