Chapter 120
“Gaaah!”
The doctor, who had been about to cover Mary’s face with a blanket, let out a deafening scream and tumbled backward. Having landed flat on his backside, he forgot the pain entirely, his trembling finger pointing straight ahead.
“H-how…!”
Following the tip of the doctor’s finger, there sat Mary on the bed, bolt upright—the very same Mary who had just been pronounced dead. She was nonchalantly rubbing her sleepy eyes.
Jo, who had been burying her face in Hilda’s arm and sobbing, gaped her mouth open and then thudded down onto the floor right after the doctor.
Hilda, trying to catch her, fared no better. Her whole body went limp, and instead of holding Jo up, the two ended up side by side on the floor, bottoms planted firmly.
“M-Mary…?”
It was Hilda who spoke first, stepping in for Jo, who was sprawled out speechless, and the doctor, who looked like he’d seen a ghost.
Hilda herself was half out of her mind, so she couldn’t quite manage a clear call, but it was enough to make Mary turn her face toward her.
However, Mary’s gaze, which tilted curiously as she scanned the several pairs of eyes watching her, soon shifted elsewhere. Toward her own back, which she couldn’t possibly see.
Mary twisted her head this way and that for quite a while, trying to look over her shoulder. Then, realizing belatedly that she could never see her own back, she reached a hand behind her and began feeling her shoulder blades.
Her lips, pursed forward, jutted out in a pout. Her head cocked left and right. After spending another long moment like that, Mary finally spoke.
“That’s weird.”
“What… what’s weird?”
Hilda asked urgently. She was anxious—if she didn’t speak up, it felt like the Mary right in front of her might slip away somewhere forever. After all, it hadn’t even been a full hour since the doctor had told them Mary had gone to a place from which she’d never return.
“There were these huge wings sprouting right here, but they’re gone now.”
Mary replied, still groping at her sharply protruding shoulder blades.
“They were definitely here. It’s so strange.”
She kept tilting her head in confusion.
“Our Mary…”
This time, it was Jo who spoke up after hearing that.
“You really almost left us…”
She murmured in a voice drained of all strength. The image of Mary sprouting wings and flying off into the sky made her lips move without her willing it.
“You almost went to the other side for real…”
It was a good thing her voice was so faint that Mary didn’t hear it.
“Was it a dream? But it felt so real.”
Meanwhile, Mary scratched her head, muttering to herself. Still, no answer came, leaving her bewildered mind in turmoil.
“It must have been a dream.”
Hilda summed it up in one sentence. Mary, who had been staring at her with wide, round eyes, soon broke into her usual hehe laugh.
Kalian trying to marry a fake Angela, wings sprouting from her own back—if that wasn’t a dream, as Hilda said, then what was it?
“Yeah, it must have been a dream.”
Mary nodded several times.
“Ugh, if I was going to dream anyway, I should’ve dreamed about Lady Angela. Mary, you dummy.”
She lightly bonked her small head, not hard enough to hurt. It was a lively, energetic motion. No one could tear their eyes away from Mary’s vibrant display.
Then, suddenly, Mary asked with a truly curious expression.
“But.”
“…”
“Why is everyone sitting on the floor?”
Jo and Hilda burst into incredulous giggles. Then, all at once, they started sobbing. It was absurd, they wanted to scold Mary for worrying them so much, but nothing could be more relieving, and the tears just poured out.
“W-why is everyone crying?”
Startled by the sudden sea of tears, Mary hopped energetically down from the bed. Jo pulled her into a full embrace and wailed.
Mary, clueless about what was going on, figured Jo must have had a bad dream too and patted her back, telling her not to cry. Of course, that only made the sobs louder.
It was the next morning when news arrived at the Florence estate that Kalian and Angela had finished the war and were returning home, after all that commotion had passed.
* * *
“Hmm. That child always presents me with such challenges.”
The god, mulling over Kalian Florence’s wish, gave a single flap to his wings, which gleamed with a pure white sheen.
“Where does happiness begin and end in her memories?”
The formless lights scattered in all directions by the powerful wingbeat gathered once more around the wings. Yet none offered an answer to the question. As if by agreement, they all remained silent, merely observing the god’s decision.
“Is this unhappiness? Or does it seem like happiness? Hmm.”
The god unraveled Angela Bilton’s memories like a long ribbon, dissecting them with delicate precision. The deliberation continued with care. That said, the decisions rendered were not necessarily as delicate or cautious.
Snip.
As if finding his own pondering amusing, the god boldly cut into Angela Bilton’s memories without hesitation. Then, shaking the severed pieces, he wore an intrigued smile.
* * *
The army led by Anette cleaved through the clashing blades, positioning itself between the Taran Kingdom and the Phaelon Empire to act as mediator.
This was possible due to Anette’s status as both a blood relative of the Taran Kingdom and the Empress of the Phaelon Empire. The commander of the Taran Kingdom, who had ignited the battle in rage over the king’s death, briefly resisted but ultimately could not defy Anette’s will.
Arrows drawn on bowstrings pointed downward, swords and spears returned to their sheaths or were thrust into the ground. Shields, with nothing left to block, rolled across the earth. The soldiers on both sides were the same—limbs gone limp, they sprawled haphazardly on the ground.
Negotiations ensued between the Taran Kingdom and the Phaelon Empire. Finally, the horn blast signaling the end of the battle echoed across the field. The surviving soldiers, upon hearing it, vied to wipe away their tears.
In conclusion, since they hadn’t lost the ceded territories, it counted as a victory for the Phaelon Empire. However, there was no triumphant parade to proclaim the win to the world. For Phaelon had lost something as vital as the land itself.
A hero.
An empress.
Spring.
“…The funeral is over. I’m not sure if I should say it’s fortunate that Angela didn’t see it, or if it’s regrettable.”
Having returned to the Florence estate after Dominic’s funeral, Kalian took hold of Angela’s hand as she lay motionless on the bed and spoke to her.
It had already been a month since they’d returned to Ron after putting an end to the war. Whether something had gone wrong with Kalian’s wish or not, Angela continued to breathe steadily but had yet to regain consciousness.
The Bilton ducal family could wait no longer for Angela to awaken. Under pressure from relatives, Dominic—who had only been placed in the coffin—was finally laid to rest in the earth.
Even as he watched the headstone being erected, Kalian had no way of knowing if it was the right choice. The only one who could judge right from wrong for him was Angela, who lay there with her eyes closed.
He worried about what to do if she accused him of burying her father without even letting her see his face. Yet, making that worry seem unfounded, Angela remained deep in slumber even after another two weeks passed.
“I told you Her Majesty the Empress has been deposed, right? She returned to the Taran Kingdom this morning. She was quite regretful about leaving without saying goodbye.”
Kalian never missed a day in recounting the events of the day to Angela. When the news he delivered was as unwelcome as this, he’d furrow his brows as if apologizing himself.
Even so, Angela remained utterly unmoved. She seemed like she might spring up at any moment, kiss his furrowed brow, and coax him to soften his stern expression—but that was merely Kalian’s wishful thinking.
Her downcast eyelashes stirred only when touched by Kalian’s breath. Her plump lips were the same, moving not at all except when he kissed them good morning and good night, asking if she’d slept well or wishing her sweet dreams.
Still, she was breathing, wasn’t she?
That was the reason Kalian could maintain his composure without faltering. He’d once clung to her lifeless form, insisting she wasn’t dead. So now, with her breath continually reaching him like this, what was there to rush? Kalian could wait forever. Forever.
“Snow fell in Ron again today. I can’t even count how many snowmen are dotting the streets. Everyone was complaining about the cold, but it seems they’re finally adjusting to winter.”
Of course, there were still more people fretting that the chill hadn’t yet lifted. Even so, today, children who had been cooped up inside emerged, their noses red as they playfully tossed rounded snowballs here and there.
Kalian thought the scene looked like something Angela had created, so he paused his steps for a while to watch. He even spread his palm to catch the fluttering snowflakes in his grasp.
The chill spreading as the snow melted felt just like holding Angela. That’s why he hurried back to the estate, embraced her, and whispered.
Today, as always, Angela showed no movement…
Thinking it was the same as usual, Kalian sensed something off and slowly sat up. Cautiously, he took Angela’s hand, vaguely feeling a chill circulating. Then he meticulously traced from her fingertips to between them.
“An…gel…”
Unable to continue, Kalian pulled her other hand over and clasped it in his own. He checked it the same way.
“Angela.”
Soon, with firm conviction, Kalian called her name and brought her overlapped hands to his lips.
Warmth was emanating. Compared to his own, it was woefully tepid, but her body temperature, which had been as cold as winter, had risen noticeably.
It seemed as if he could hear the petulant whines of children lamenting the melting snowmen in his ears. That was surely the sound of spring arriving. And the sound of Angela walking toward him.
* * *
A room neatly and simply arranged. A space that matched her tastes perfectly, without a single flaw to nitpick.
But the important thing wasn’t how much this place appealed to her. It was that she had no idea where she was.
“…”
With a dazed expression, she looked around and, spotting a bell cord, began shaking it vigorously. Before long, more than four or five people came rushing in. Each one had tears welling in their faces.
“Miss!”
The child with the largest teardrops dangling rushed at tremendous speed and buried herself into her chest with a thud that almost sounded like a collision.
Blinking her wide eyes in surprise, she patted the back of the child who had buried her face in her bosom. She didn’t know why, but it somehow felt like the right thing to do.
“Miss, Miss! I missed you so much!”
After patting for quite a while, she lowered her gaze at the ear-piercingly loud voice. The child was staring up at her with a face that could be crying or smiling—it was hard to tell.
The wet face soon pressed against her cheek. It was damp, yet she couldn’t bring herself to push it away. Drawn by something, she stroked the back of the child’s head.
Then, when the child rubbed her eyes with her sleeve and wiped away the moisture covering her face, an opportunity to speak finally arose.
“I…”
Had her cautiously parted lips seemed odd? The child tilted her head, looking at her. Questions swirled in her eyes.
“Um, well, this might sound strange…”
Gazing into those eyes, unsure what or how to ask, she pondered deeply before finally opening her mouth.
“Who am I?”
At that moment, a thud echoed as something dropped. She turned her head involuntarily. There stood an incredibly handsome man who matched her tastes even more than this room.
