Chapter 02
Lying on your bed, it felt as though your scent still lingered in this room.
A scent like a winter forest.
Whenever I caught that smell while walking and turned around, you were always there.
I like your scent.
Still.
I stared out the darkened window, then slowly lifted my upper body. As if by habit, I walked over and sat at your desk.
Every time Kardin died, I always sat here and wrote a letter.
At first, what kind of feelings did I write to you with?
Was it grief?
Or guilt?
Or—like now—was it because your absence felt so empty that I tried to fill it with words?
I don’t know.
Even so, I picked up the pen and wrote on the stiff paper without fail.
To you.
Kardin, do you know what day it was today?
I held your funeral again.
This makes the third time I’ve sent you away.
You won’t be able to answer, I know…
but I’ll ask you through this letter anyway.
Right now—
do you hate me?
Since you died like this because of me, it would only be natural for you to hate me.
But there’s something I’m more afraid of than your hatred.
I’m afraid that time won’t turn back.
That I’ll never be able to see you again.
That thought terrifies me.
I know I’m being selfish.
But Kardin—please come back soon.
And then…
As the pen reached the end of the page, I bit my lip tightly.
Staring at the paper now filled with black ink, I forced a faint smile and spoke softly.
“…I mean it.”
I carefully folded the letter.
I placed the letter—one that would never reach anyone—into an envelope, then gently brushed my hand over it again and again.
After putting it away in the drawer, I stood and looked out the window once more.
How long would I have to wait this time to return to the past?
My thoughts spiraled, dragging me backward in time.
The former Saintess—Shallen Melissa.
The name and title I held before becoming Shallen Ferdian.
I was from the Melissa Grand Temple, a Saintess of that place.
I blessed many people.
I cared for many lives.
It was my duty.
That an orphan like me could enter the temple, and that I possessed holy power—it was all a strange coincidence.
Before becoming a Saintess, I admired the former one deeply.
Being a Saintess was a position loved by many.
But there was a side no one talked about.
A Saintess’s holy power did not last long.
Ancient texts said that Saintesses once had power abundant enough to bless thousands.
But in my time, it was different.
At most ten years.
Sometimes not even three.
Once a Saintess lost her holy power, she was placed in a dark, secluded corner of the temple.
They couldn’t send her outside—the people already knew her face.
Even so, I didn’t think life would be that different.
Not until it was my turn.
My life as a Saintess lasted seven years.
Not short enough to dismiss, not long enough to call it plenty.
When I was sent to where the former Saintess had been kept and saw the truth, I wanted to deny everything.
I couldn’t believe it.
That someone who had once been revered could be abandoned like that.
Those who once treated her as sacred were gone.
What remained was confinement.
She wasn’t chained, but she lived no differently from a criminal—locked alone, surviving on a single piece of bread tossed in.
As time passed, even those meals came less often.
At first, skipping a day felt like a mistake.
Then the gaps grew longer.
The Saintess I had admired no longer existed.
She did not meet a beautiful death by offering her soul to God.
She died miserably—of starvation.
All Saintesses before me met the same end.
And I was next.
Yet, contrary to the wishes of those who wanted me to starve to death, God must have still favored me—or pitied me.
I was given a chance to escape.
While I was imprisoned, the Melissa Temple—now a holy nation—formed an alliance with the Helen Kingdom, home of the Ferdian Grand Ducal family.
Perhaps they thought it strange for the former Saintess not to appear at the alliance celebration.
The meals changed.
From one dry piece of bread at long intervals, I was suddenly given proper food a few days before the banquet.
It was humiliating.
Should I refuse to eat and die?
Or endure and appear at the banquet in this pitiful state?
Many thoughts crossed my mind.
But I was only human.
I ate the food they gave me.
And just before the banquet, I was finally released from that prison—no, that jail.
People swarmed around me, dressing me up as they once did when I was a revered Saintess.
They praised my lifeless, doll-like appearance.
And I thought—
Soon, another Saintess would be chosen.
And she would walk the same path as me.
These were truths I never knew when I was paraded as a Saintess.
The one who saved me—who would have thrown me back into that corner once the banquet ended—was my husband.
Kardin Lord Ferdian.
His purpose was simple.
The king was pressuring him to marry, so he wanted a woman with no attachments—someone convenient.
I happened to meet that condition.
I smiled unconsciously as I remembered the first words he said to me.
“Do you have any attachment to this place?”
No noble greetings.
Just that.
To me, it felt like a ray of light.
“No. None.”
“Then how about marrying me?”
How did I feel when I first heard that?
I think my heart raced.
Before he could continue, I interrupted him and answered quickly.
“Alright.”
“…It will only be for appearances. But you will lack for nothing—”
“Anything is fine. Let’s get married.”
What expression did Kardin make then?
Maybe because I’ve returned so many times, the memory is blurry now.
That’s a shame.
Your first death.
About two weeks after you died, I returned to the past.
When I opened my eyes, it was our wedding day.
Back then, I couldn’t believe I had gone back in time. I thought it was just a dream.
I refused to accept your first death.
Even as our relationship flowed like a dream, I lived comfortably.
Looking back, it feels ridiculous.
Just leaving the temple was enough to put my heart at ease. I didn’t think about the future at all.
Then came news of your deployment.
Only then did I begin to worry.
If that first death had been a dream, maybe my remaining holy power had shown me the future.
But with no warning and no preparation, you met your second death.
Because you died in war, your body was cold and broken, stained with blood.
With trembling hands, I wiped the dried blood away and apologized.
I said it was my fault.
I said I was sorry.
After your death, I became anxious.
Even then, I was pathetic.
I was anxious because the man who stood firmly behind me was gone.
If the first death had been dismissed as a dream, the second return was different.
When I returned just before the wedding, I hesitated.
Should I choose unbearable guilt—or return to that place of suffering?
I chose my own desire.
I was no different from your killer.
After your second death, I saw you again in less than half a year.
Does God love me?
Pity me?
Or is He angry that someone who should have died miserably in a prison escaped and found comfort?
I don’t know God’s intent.
But I made a choice.
I would leave this peaceful, warm place—and carry this guilt with me.
The day I asked you for a divorce became our last conversation.
You went to war without a word.
And once again, you returned to me as a cold corpse.
Was I calmer this time?
What kind of face did I make earlier today?
You died again, so I’ll see you again—won’t I?
I’ll go back again—won’t I?
Then why am I always afraid?
Afraid that maybe—just maybe—time won’t turn back.
That this time, it will truly end.
I turned away from the window and walked to the bed.
My trembling body sank onto it.
Burying my face in the pillow, tears soaked the fabric before I even realized they were there.
Closing my eyes tightly, I muttered softly.
“I hope that when I wake up like this, you’ll be alive again. Truly.”
…
If God is giving me this trial because He finds me unforgivable,
then next time, I’ll take your death upon myself and pay the price in that hell.
So please—
don’t walk this path with me again.
Kardin, I hope your next winter is not cold.
And that flowers bloom in your winter.
Tonight as well,
sleeping in your room—
Shallen Ferdian.
