Chapter 13
“Do I really have to touch you like this for you to be satisfied?”
“Ugh….”
“So what is it? Do you only feel content when you pick a fight with me like this?”
“I never asked you to—touch me….”
“You’ve got a talent for saying exactly what makes a person’s head hurt.”
Lirette clenched the white sheets tightly. The deep creases formed by her grip mirrored the storm in her heart. Watching her seething hand, Valderion let out a faint, almost amused sigh even in a situation like this.
No matter how easy the path could be, her rigid temperament always twisted it into something troublesome.
Valderion silently expressed his regret over how, once again, things were heading in an unpleasant direction.
“Why are you always so difficult? You could simply accept a person’s goodwill.”
“Is that really goodwill? Or something you’re calling a right?”
“Both.”
Apparently finding her posture inconvenient, he grabbed Lirette’s ankle and pulled her toward himself.
Her body slid helplessly, as if being dragged along by her leg. A faint chill ran down her spine.
Her upper body, half hanging off the bed, shifted as she was pulled around, and before she knew it, she was sitting upright with her back against the bed. Valderion adjusted his posture as well, firmly holding both of her legs.
He lifted the skirt that had been bothering him.
In an instant, Lirette snapped her hand down to hold it in place. Even now, her stubbornness was impressive enough to make one sigh.
“I always wonder what gives you the confidence to act like a wild horse.”
“I don’t have anything to rely on.”
For once, her obedient answer made Valderion look up at her. But Lirette wasn’t looking at him—she was looking down at her own legs being massaged. Her lowered eyes were strangely hollow.
“So I have nothing to lose.”
“That would explain it.”
It made sense.
Caution belonged to those who had something to protect. People with something precious always stepped back, always acted carefully.
But those with nothing in their hands—those who had nothing to lose even if they acted recklessly—tended to move without hesitation. That fearless attitude was often seen in those who had already lost everything and were making their last desperate stand.
Of course, there were many things a human had to protect, both tangible and intangible. Even one’s life could be counted among them.
And yet… that might not apply to Lirette.
Well.
If she truly feared death, she would never have run barefoot into a harsh winter forest wearing nothing but thin clothing. It was only speculation, but perhaps she had already accepted death when she collapsed in the snow.
That was the problem.
A courage so deep it erased even the fear of dying.
That was what constantly made things difficult for him.
“Ah….”
Lirette’s shoulders flinched slightly.
His hands, which had been moving repeatedly from her ankles to her calves, pressed into the hollow behind her knee.
Valderion’s gaze shifted toward her face. Lirette subtly composed her expression, as if trying not to reveal how her tension was easing. Though, judging by how her leg was already twitching under his hands, he likely noticed anyway.
He had intended to stop after a moment, but half of the usual thirty minutes he spent on this task had already passed. His large, firm hands kneaded her skin with a strange, unhurried rhythm.
It felt different from Dylan’s touch. Dylan’s hands only ever touched her in violence—when breaking bones or deliberately tearing skin.
Valderion’s hands, by contrast, were calm. Unrushed. Almost careless in their gentleness.
Only much later did his hands withdraw from beneath her skirt.
Lirette, who had been leaning limply against the bed, quickly straightened and pulled her skirt back down.
And then something appeared in front of her.
It was his hand—the same hand that had just been inside her skirt.
It took her a moment to realize he was telling her to take it and stand.
But refusing on instinct, she pushed herself up by bracing against the bed. He simply withdrew his hand without a trace of embarrassment, as if he had expected it.
That reaction startled her more than anything.
Even though she had already experienced it through his touch, her body still didn’t feel like her own. It was as if her fingers had only just regained their original form after being frozen numb.
“What exactly are you plotting lately?”
Valderion, turning as she finally straightened properly, asked suddenly.
“I hear you’ve been collecting books from the library nonstop.”
“….”
“What, planning to become a bookworm as your future dream?”
“Think whatever you want.”
The mention of books made her mind involuntarily recall the information she had learned—that she might only have five years left to live at best. Her mood sharpened.
Valderion frowned, but seemed too annoyed to continue the argument and simply turned his head slightly.
“Is it cold here?”
The question came out of nowhere.
Lirette tilted her head slightly.
“This annex isn’t used often, so even with the fireplace running, it doesn’t seem to warm up properly.”
It sounded oddly like concern.
No.
That couldn’t be it.
He would only be acting out of obligation—nothing more. Caring for a woman who might become his future lifeline.
Still, the way he spoke made it sound like he genuinely cared about her health, and that made Lirette open her mouth before she realized it.
“I’m fine with the cold. But… I was wondering if I could take a walk….”
“….”
“Probably not, right?”
Crackle.
The fire shifted within the hearth, sending sparks upward. The red glow painted Valderion’s eyes in flickering light.
“There you go again, asking things you already know the answer to.”
His response was cold, even though she had tried to be careful.
Rubbing his temple as though dealing with a troublesome matter, he continued.
“This is exactly why I didn’t want to allow it.”
“….”
“The human heart works like this. Once the chains are loosened—once you’re allowed to move freely in the library—you start wanting to go outside as well.”
He stepped closer.
One step. Two.
His shadow slowly swallowed the floor at her feet. Lirette instinctively backed away, but the bed stopped her and she sank down.
Valderion leaned in, placing his hands on either side of her.
“Hey, Lirette.”
A chill ran down her spine.
It felt as though a stray ember had landed on her ear.
Only then did she realize.
He had said her name.
“You’re not some guest I’ve carefully placed here.”
It wasn’t a direct accusation, but it cut deeper than one—quietly warping the very ground she stood on.
Lirette simply looked up at him, silently.
A thought crossed her mind.
Did this man know?
That a “single named manifestation bearer” would die from a terminal fate?
A weight pressed against her throat, but she didn’t ask.
He would either not care, or treat it as irrelevant to him.
And acknowledging it aloud felt too much like accepting her own death.
“So I know.”
She deflected the conversation.
It was easier that way.
She didn’t want to dig up wounds, and neither did he. They weren’t in any position to share their inner truths or make plans together.
As the thought settled, a faint bitterness rose in her chest.
She had always been alone.
In the past, in the present.
And likely in the future as well.
A lone figure discarded in a corner—dying unnoticed, uncared for.
Her thoughts grew heavier, until she slowly shook her head to clear them.
Only then did she notice his gaze piercing into her like a blade.
“You should try not to think so much.”
Now he was even trying to restrict her thoughts, as if confinement alone wasn’t enough.
Arguing would only lead to escalation. She was too tired for that today.
Besides, even if he told her not to, she would think anyway. So it hardly mattered.
“I want to take a bath.”
“Didn’t you already bathe earlier?”
That irritating tone made her frown.
He was the one who had shoved her into a bath in the first place.
Ignoring him, she headed toward the bathroom.
Her legs, surprisingly, moved more smoothly than usual. It felt strange how naturally her body obeyed.
When she returned after bathing, only the remnants of a dying fire remained in the room.
Droplets of water clung to her feet, soaking the floor with a damp chill.
And with it, a familiar loneliness—heavier than usual—seemed to suffocate the air.
