Chapter 116
“Mary!”
Jo flung open the door to the room where Mary was staying and called out her name in a loud voice. It was strange that she hadn’t shown up even as breakfast time was nearly over, so Jo had come to check on her.
Until she reached the room, Jo had thought maybe Mary was just sleeping in. It was unusual for the child who was always the first to wake up in the Florence estate and bustle about energetically, but Jo didn’t think much of it.
However, after knocking several times with no response from inside, Jo started to feel anxious. That’s why she deliberately made a big noise as she opened the door.
“Phew.”
Fortunately, her worries were unfounded—Mary was lying quietly on the bed. It seemed her initial guess was right; she had overslept.
“You had me worried.”
Muttering in relief, Jo hesitated over whether to let Mary sleep more, then changed her mind and approached the bedside. She figured it was better to eat something before sleeping, even if she was resting.
But then.
“Oh my!”
Jo, who had been about to wake Mary, let out a huge gasp of shock.
“Oh my, what’s wrong with this child?”
Up close, Mary’s face was entirely flushed red. Upon closer inspection, beads of sweat were dotted across her forehead. A weak groan escaped from her parted lips.
Jo quickly placed her hand on Mary’s forehead. A hot sensation radiated into her palm. It was a fever exceeding normal body temperature. Jo’s eyes widened enormously.
“Mary! Mary, snap out of it! Mary!”
Jo patted Mary’s cheeks and shoulders relentlessly. In her panic, her touch wasn’t gentle. Even so, Mary only furrowed her brow and groaned, unable to open her eyes.
“What to do…”
Jo looked down at Mary with a worried expression, then backed away and soon dashed out of the room. Moments later, she rushed back into Mary’s room, bringing Hilda and the doctor with her.
But Mary, who should have been lying quietly on the bed, had vanished in that short time. Only the haphazardly thrown-back blanket greeted them.
Her shoes were still under the bed, so where on earth had this child gone?
Without a word on who should go first, Jo and Hilda bolted out of the room.
“Mary!”
“Mary!”
The two roamed through every corner of the estate, searching for Mary. Jo called her name once, then Hilda did. Despite the continuous calls searching for her, Mary didn’t show even a single strand of hair.
“Could it be…”
Only then did Hilda’s gaze turn toward the outside of the estate.
An unbearable cold wave had struck Ron. By this time, spring should have arrived, spreading warm gentleness and bursting flower buds, but instead of vibrant flowers, snow blossoms adorned every branch.
The Florence estate, in this climate unbelievable for Ron, had all windows and doors locked tight to preserve the internal warmth somehow.
Even those among the servants who had grown up only in Ron couldn’t endure the unprecedented cold despite these measures, layering winter clothes two or three times over as they went about their lives.
Many couldn’t bring themselves to leave the front of the fireplace. Other households were likely in similar straits.
In the midst of this, had Mary gone outside? Without even putting on her shoes?
Hilda’s steps noticeably quickened. Noticing her urgency, Jo stared at Hilda’s back, then gasped and covered her mouth before swiftly following after her.
Hoping against hope, the two emerged outside the estate and immediately wrapped their arms around themselves against the chilling wind. The cold pierced to the bone. Especially for Jo, who had never left Ron, the unfamiliar chill made her teeth chatter uncontrollably.
“I’ll look for her, so go back inside.”
Despite shivering herself, Hilda said this in a composed manner. Jo shook her head vigorously and quickly stepped toward the garden. Then, with a voice trembling like a lamb, she called for Mary.
“Maaary! Where aaare youuu, Maaary!”
It wasn’t a funny situation, yet a hollow laugh escaped. Hilda sighed as if there was no helping it, then moved in the opposite direction, beginning to search desperately for Mary.
It was baffling where the child with the smallest range of movement in the Florence estate could have gone. And in such poor health, no less.
As worries piled up layer by layer, wrinkles deepened on Jo and Hilda’s faces. That’s when servants from the estate started coming out one by one, adding their voices.
“Mary! Mary, where are you!”
“You rascal! Don’t worry us and come out quickly!”
“Mary!”
Their voices were filled with genuine concern. Perhaps because of that, it wasn’t long before Mary was found.
Jo and Hilda rushed toward the resounding voice shouting that she was here. And then they were left speechless.
Mary was curled up like a fetus on a bench thickly covered in snow, fast asleep. Was it because her fever was raging? She didn’t seem to feel the cold at all.
Still, they had found her, so Hilda refused the offers of help from the strong men and hoisted Mary onto her back herself, carrying her back to the room.
While the doctor, who had been waiting blankly after the patient disappeared, examined Mary, Jo brought a damp towel and carefully cleaned Mary’s feet.
If she knew so many people were pouring their care into her, she should open her eyes soon and show she was fine… But the boiling fever showed no sign of abating.
Moreover, at some point, faint mutterings began to flow continuously from her dry, parched lips.
“Miss…”
It was a longing that Jo and Hilda could do nothing about.
* * *
Angela stared blankly at the scene unfolding before her eyes. Her eyelids trembled faintly. Her shaking hand reached out toward the front, but it didn’t rise far before dropping limply back down. There was no strength left in her entire body.
“Kali… an…?”
Had there ever been a time when calling his name, thousands upon thousands of times, felt as desperate as this? She had believed every moment she called him was filled with longing, but it had all been an illusion. Only now could she see that clearly.
How did it come to this…? How…?
Angela asked herself, lost in a daze.
‘If you give me this… won’t you be able to live…?’
Dominic’s words startled her, causing the strength to slowly drain from the hand that had been stemming his bleeding. Her tear-soaked eyes were overtaken by an emotion she herself couldn’t define.
‘Hic.’
An unintended sob burst from her lips. Angela mulled over what she had just heard. The moment she chewed on it, a bitter stench assaulted her nostrils. Her stomach churned, and a sour bile rose up along with the urge to vomit.
She shoved Dominic’s hand away with all her might and stumbled back, her bloodstained hands shaking as if in convulsions. Her eyes, fixed on him, vibrated with the same intensity.
Watching her like that, Dominic slowly raised his upper body, his face still twisted in an expression that suggested his chest hurt so badly he might die from it.
Yet with his hand, he gripped her wrist tightly to prevent her from getting away.
‘You begged me not to die, didn’t you? If you want to achieve what you desire, you have to pay a fitting price, right?’
Such words poured from his mouth.
Angela checked the eyes directed at her. They were unmistakably amber.
The color that, in her childish mind, had made her pick up paints wondering if eyes could be colored. Why had it gone to Beatrice of all people—the very color that so often made her want to pluck out that girl’s eyes.
But… why did a green hue keep flickering within his eyes? She couldn’t understand it.
‘Gra… ce?’
Without realizing it, Angela called the name of someone already dead. A name she thought she’d never utter again. A name she believed she could bury forever.
Yet, mocking her foolish arrogance, Grace once more pried open Angela’s throat and revealed her existence to the world.
‘Grace?’
Dominic echoed back. His face was distorted so wretchedly it seemed on the verge of crumbling, but his voice was as sharp as a freshly honed blade.
It was an extreme disparity. Angela couldn’t tell who to see him as—this being that moved as if separated into parts.
‘Why are you looking for that woman? A woman who no longer exists in this world.’
Especially when Dominic said that.
Had she ever told Dominic about Grace’s death? No, she hadn’t.
Then, had he seen it? But he had been confronting Kalian, whom Angela had begged to stop her father caught in Grace’s curse?
Neither possibility made sense.
Then… who are you, sitting right in front of me?
Angela knew the answer but couldn’t even hold it in her mind. It was absurd. It couldn’t be. Really, it was…
‘No.’
Angela desperately denied the tragedy closing in on her. With a voice as clear and straight as a ruled line, she declared her refusal to accept this reality.
She hardened her resolve even more, fearing that if she showed even the slightest crack, Dominic’s face might change into someone else’s.
However, Dominic…
‘…Run… away.’
Instead, he wore Dominic’s face.
No, that wasn’t right. When had Dominic ever shown her such a face? When had he ever tried to imitate an ordinary father, even clumsily like that…? Angela shook her head inwardly.
‘Qui… ckly… I… I’ll… end up… killing you… again… don’t… let me…’
But the voice that followed left her no choice but to stop shaking her head.
Only then did Angela notice the agonizing torment flickering in the hand gripping her wrist. The strength in his grasp alternated between fierce determination and sudden looseness.
It clamped down as if it didn’t care if it crushed her wrist, then abruptly slackened as if begging her to escape. There was no longer any way to deny it.
‘…Grace.’
Angela called forth the specter she had wanted to erase, drawing it back with her own lips. Realizing there was no doubt in that call, Dominic—or rather, Grace nestled within him—revealed herself without hesitation.
‘A remnant… of the transferable curse remained… how fortunate… and that it happened to be Dominic… how delightful… Angela, you… wouldn’t understand even if you died and came back… Haha, ha…’
Grace expressed her excitement in a light voice, as if humming a tune. Yet the muscles moving across her face rampaged wildly. The distorted expression was almost comical.
But Angela, now realizing this was Dominic’s effort to save her, felt no laughter; instead, her breath caught at the sight of that clownish face. A heat she hadn’t felt in her body for so long erupted from her mouth.
‘What did you do? What have you wrought?’
Instead of fleeing, Angela questioned Grace, who wore Dominic’s shell. At that, Dominic’s face twisted in despair. Though his mouth let out a fresh, cackling laugh.
‘If you know…? Will you try… to kill this mother… again…?’
Grace tilted her head slightly and stared straight at Angela.
Should she have run away then, as Dominic had said? Would that have led to a different future from now?
Angela looked at Kalian, who knelt before her, barely managing to grasp her limply dropped hand.
Blood was streaming down from the chest that had always held Angela so firmly.
Yet Kalian caressed Angela’s hand gently, as if nothing were wrong with him. His delicate gestures showed that he was concerned only for her.
“Kalian…”
As if trying to respond to her desperate call, Kalian opened his mouth. In that instant, a gush of blood poured from Kalian’s lips. His mouth was stained red in a flash.
Angela stared at Kalian with parted lips, unable to even scream.
She took in the sight of him struggling to answer her call with “Angela.” Until the moment he finally collapsed onto the cold floor.
