“You know what?”
Sybil asked. Else felt dizzy. When he stepped away, she lost her strength and felt extremely dizzy. As she was about to fall, Sybil, who had stepped away, came over and quickly caught her. Else looked up at the man in his arms. Sybil spoke softly to Else, who was in her arms.
“I won’t stop. Until you love me again. Nothing.”
"...No."
“I don’t know what you think.”
Else bit her lip in disgust. She felt nauseous. Behind him, the flowers and candles that had decorated the child swayed before her eyes. She couldn’t believe everything that was happening in front of the glass case where her daughter was placed. In the midst of all this, she heard Sibyl’s low mumbling.
“...You can make it again.”
It was disgusting. Else wanted to crush his lips in disgust. She could recreate the child where the child died... Her whole face trembled with horror and misery. Heat and dizziness shook her. Tears streamed down and gathered between her lips.
“…I hate the person you are. I hate the time I loved you.”
Else whispered softly in front of him, who was glaring at her as if he was going to devour her. Sybil whispered something. It seemed like there were curses mixed in, but Else didn’t hear a thing. The reality she was standing on was burning and eating her alive. So she didn’t even know what he was saying.
'I don't even know what I'm talking about.'
What on earth was happening? Why, why... What was Sybil doing to her? What was the father saying in front of his child? The things happening in front of Hermi didn’t seem real. In fact, the fact that Hermi had died didn’t seem real. Why on earth did a child who had only been able to cry softly since birth die? What was she doing while Hermi was dying...
'Dead babies don't cry.'
That was why it was even more horrible. Sybil often held her in the room where the children were. When she asked if she could send him away, he just buried his lips in the nape of her neck. So sometimes it occurred to her that babies were like living dolls.
Or a barking puppy. She thought that since he didn't know anything, he didn't care what he did in front of her. It was different from Else being miserable. He was a man who desired her even as he watched her suckling.
'Hermi.'
Else thought about her daughter. What kind of face would she smile with? What kind of face would she call her? What she liked and what she was good at. Else could not know what her daughter would grow up to be. She was just a small baby who looked like her. That was all she had left.
“You can have as many children as you want. I can make you pregnant again.”
A cruel voice sounded cold. Unlike Else, who was in a mess and crying, he was calm. He didn't seem like a father who had lost a child. Even when the child was born, Sibyl didn't seem like a father. That's why he didn't seem like a human being.
“I won’t get pregnant. Hermi won’t come back.”
“No. You must have my child back.”
“You disgusting son of a bitch...”
Else's mouth twisted at his words that she would have another child. She wanted to spit on him. She wanted to tear his face to shreds.
“Why did you stop talking?”
Sybil stared at her blankly. Else thought of Abelard. The words, “One of your disgusting children is enough,” did not come out of her mouth. Sybil seemed to know her mind. The man pressed his lips to Else’s delicate neck. Else pushed him away and slapped him. His face did not turn properly because she was weak.
“Else.”
Sybil pulled the wrist that had been slapped. Else gasped and fell limply into his arms. She looked up. A firm jaw appeared first, and then a handsome face.
Her sternly hardened face was calm. Else closed her eyes, leaving behind the man she had loved for a long time. Her forehead. Her eyes. Her philtrum... He wiped her tear-stained face. She wished that when she opened her eyes, all of this would be a dream.
Hermi had not died, and Sibyl had not given up his position as 'father'... She wanted to go back to Lugdun, where she had been a servant. But when he opened her eyes again, nothing had changed. They had crossed a river of no return. As terrifying as the twisted beginning. It was like a nightmare. Else thought about everything that had happened to her. All the conversations she had had with him were constantly playing in her ears. She wanted to wash her ears. This had to be a dream. Else had lost consciousness.
She had been looking at Hermi for a long time. Her daughter, who could not even walk, had grown up enough to run around the palace corridors. Long hair, the color of crushed flower water. The color of the breaking sky. Eyes like shards of glass. Her daughter, who was like a delicate flower bud, smiled. Else reached out and caressed her daughter. Her soft cheeks and soft eyes with a rosy blush. She wanted to push her back into her womb. Before she was scattered by the wind...
Else opened her eyes. The sense of being alive was terrible. She looked up at the high ceiling. She felt how many days had passed since her daughter died. Jules wiped her sweaty forehead with her hand. A dry cough shook her nasal passages.
“Jules.”
“It’s okay. It’s okay, Else...”
Jules stroked her with his wet face. The funeral was over. The mass. The burial... It was all over while Else was wandering in her dreams. Else didn’t cry. Jules hugged Else, who wasn’t crying, and cried out loud. Else looked up at the woman who was embracing her and then down at her damp chest. Milk flowed from her chest, pressed against Jules’s arm.
'Hermi is dead...'
Jules, who felt the gaze, pulled away. She was embarrassed when she saw the wet chest and told the maid to bring the Prince. Else stared at Hermi's half, who was being carried in the maid's arms. The remaining one of her two babies.
“Hug him.”
Jules, who received Abelard from the maid, placed him in Else's arms. Else carefully held her son and took out her breast. Her son bit the nipple as if he were used to it. Hermi, who resembled her, had difficulty even biting the nipple. Abelard, who resembled Sybil, was always healthy.
Her breathing was suffocating as if her neck was tied with a rope. She gently patted her son’s back and smiled. Jules, who was watching her, cried again. More sorrowfully than Else. Her endless crying echoed through the bedroom. Else looked away and down at the baby. She smiled faintly. She held the child affectionately and gently, like a mother breastfeeding her son for the last time.
When evening came, Sybil returned. He was still in mourning, so he was wearing his funeral clothes. Else put on her black dress again. He silently led Else to the crypt where Hermi was sleeping. Else did not cry, but looked down at the coffin where the child was sleeping. Jules said that such small lumps of blood could not be buried in the crypt.
It was customary to either throw the ashes into the river after cremation or to bury them in a garden near the palace. However, Sibyl said that she buried her daughter in the catacombs, thinking of Else in particular. It was disgusting. It made her sick to think that he was using even a child's funeral.
As Jules said, Sybil did not hold Hermi’s funeral so grandly because he cared for her. Because she was Else’s daughter. Not because he was ashamed of his own sins, but because she was Else’s daughter... Not because he cared for her as a father. Without the strength to turn away, she stared blankly at the sarcophagus and turned around. There was no need to cry out loud because she missed her daughter. They would meet again soon.
Else returned to the bedroom and went to sleep. After that, Sibyl didn't touch Else. He didn't talk to her or make eye contact. Else was the same. She didn't talk to Sibyl or make eye contact. When she returned to the catacombs and entered the bedroom.
“Else.”
He called her for the first time in days. Else turned around and stared at the man who called her. The man, whose fear had grown thick, was covered with sternness as he licked his lips.
“Else.”
She turned her gaze. Else took off her black dress and crawled under the covers. She didn’t even say that she was tired. It didn’t matter whether he lay down next to her or covered her again. She closed her eyes and fell asleep. She fiddled with the small knife under her pillow. Sybil didn’t say anything more to her. She turned around and heard him leave.
Else spent the night with her eyes open. A dead child, unable to walk, ran around in front of her. She had never called her mother, but she could hear her voice. She had never laughed, but it seemed as if she was laughing in Else’s ear.
The child simply opened her eyes and looked at Else. She made a sound for milk and bit the nipple, but the act of sucking the milk was too much for her, so she gasped for breath. What would Sybil think of the child? The sickly and weak child she had given birth to... That young and pitiful child.
Else almost fell down like a dog in front of that child. A child who cried and died. A child who cried and died while looking for her mother... A child who cried and fell asleep repeatedly for three days. She remembered the time she had dried her blood while listening to that child’s cries in the bedroom. During those three days, Else begged Sibyl. She knelt at his feet and begged him to return her to her.
'Hermi...'
But Sybil wouldn't give the child back. He said it was another woman's baby, even though it was hers. And even after the child died... So. All the horrible things he had said to her tormented her. She bit her lip hard. It bled. She couldn't bear it. All of this. All of this was real...
“Ugh, ugh….”
Else bit her lower lip until it bled, then took out a knife. One day, when Sybil was changing clothes for a moment, she put them on the table and hid them in a drawer. He usually wore a small sword at his waist. Else always kept an eye on that sword.
Sometimes she wanted to cut her wrists with that sword. And today was the day to do it. Else got up and rang the bell.
“I want to wash. Bring me some hot water."
Sybil asked. Else felt dizzy. When he stepped away, she lost her strength and felt extremely dizzy. As she was about to fall, Sybil, who had stepped away, came over and quickly caught her. Else looked up at the man in his arms. Sybil spoke softly to Else, who was in her arms.
“I won’t stop. Until you love me again. Nothing.”
"...No."
“I don’t know what you think.”
Else bit her lip in disgust. She felt nauseous. Behind him, the flowers and candles that had decorated the child swayed before her eyes. She couldn’t believe everything that was happening in front of the glass case where her daughter was placed. In the midst of all this, she heard Sibyl’s low mumbling.
“...You can make it again.”
It was disgusting. Else wanted to crush his lips in disgust. She could recreate the child where the child died... Her whole face trembled with horror and misery. Heat and dizziness shook her. Tears streamed down and gathered between her lips.
“…I hate the person you are. I hate the time I loved you.”
Else whispered softly in front of him, who was glaring at her as if he was going to devour her. Sybil whispered something. It seemed like there were curses mixed in, but Else didn’t hear a thing. The reality she was standing on was burning and eating her alive. So she didn’t even know what he was saying.
'I don't even know what I'm talking about.'
What on earth was happening? Why, why... What was Sybil doing to her? What was the father saying in front of his child? The things happening in front of Hermi didn’t seem real. In fact, the fact that Hermi had died didn’t seem real. Why on earth did a child who had only been able to cry softly since birth die? What was she doing while Hermi was dying...
'Dead babies don't cry.'
That was why it was even more horrible. Sybil often held her in the room where the children were. When she asked if she could send him away, he just buried his lips in the nape of her neck. So sometimes it occurred to her that babies were like living dolls.
Or a barking puppy. She thought that since he didn't know anything, he didn't care what he did in front of her. It was different from Else being miserable. He was a man who desired her even as he watched her suckling.
'Hermi.'
Else thought about her daughter. What kind of face would she smile with? What kind of face would she call her? What she liked and what she was good at. Else could not know what her daughter would grow up to be. She was just a small baby who looked like her. That was all she had left.
“You can have as many children as you want. I can make you pregnant again.”
A cruel voice sounded cold. Unlike Else, who was in a mess and crying, he was calm. He didn't seem like a father who had lost a child. Even when the child was born, Sibyl didn't seem like a father. That's why he didn't seem like a human being.
“I won’t get pregnant. Hermi won’t come back.”
“No. You must have my child back.”
“You disgusting son of a bitch...”
Else's mouth twisted at his words that she would have another child. She wanted to spit on him. She wanted to tear his face to shreds.
“Why did you stop talking?”
Sybil stared at her blankly. Else thought of Abelard. The words, “One of your disgusting children is enough,” did not come out of her mouth. Sybil seemed to know her mind. The man pressed his lips to Else’s delicate neck. Else pushed him away and slapped him. His face did not turn properly because she was weak.
“Else.”
Sybil pulled the wrist that had been slapped. Else gasped and fell limply into his arms. She looked up. A firm jaw appeared first, and then a handsome face.
Her sternly hardened face was calm. Else closed her eyes, leaving behind the man she had loved for a long time. Her forehead. Her eyes. Her philtrum... He wiped her tear-stained face. She wished that when she opened her eyes, all of this would be a dream.
Hermi had not died, and Sibyl had not given up his position as 'father'... She wanted to go back to Lugdun, where she had been a servant. But when he opened her eyes again, nothing had changed. They had crossed a river of no return. As terrifying as the twisted beginning. It was like a nightmare. Else thought about everything that had happened to her. All the conversations she had had with him were constantly playing in her ears. She wanted to wash her ears. This had to be a dream. Else had lost consciousness.
***
She had been looking at Hermi for a long time. Her daughter, who could not even walk, had grown up enough to run around the palace corridors. Long hair, the color of crushed flower water. The color of the breaking sky. Eyes like shards of glass. Her daughter, who was like a delicate flower bud, smiled. Else reached out and caressed her daughter. Her soft cheeks and soft eyes with a rosy blush. She wanted to push her back into her womb. Before she was scattered by the wind...
Else opened her eyes. The sense of being alive was terrible. She looked up at the high ceiling. She felt how many days had passed since her daughter died. Jules wiped her sweaty forehead with her hand. A dry cough shook her nasal passages.
“Jules.”
“It’s okay. It’s okay, Else...”
Jules stroked her with his wet face. The funeral was over. The mass. The burial... It was all over while Else was wandering in her dreams. Else didn’t cry. Jules hugged Else, who wasn’t crying, and cried out loud. Else looked up at the woman who was embracing her and then down at her damp chest. Milk flowed from her chest, pressed against Jules’s arm.
'Hermi is dead...'
Jules, who felt the gaze, pulled away. She was embarrassed when she saw the wet chest and told the maid to bring the Prince. Else stared at Hermi's half, who was being carried in the maid's arms. The remaining one of her two babies.
“Hug him.”
Jules, who received Abelard from the maid, placed him in Else's arms. Else carefully held her son and took out her breast. Her son bit the nipple as if he were used to it. Hermi, who resembled her, had difficulty even biting the nipple. Abelard, who resembled Sybil, was always healthy.
Her breathing was suffocating as if her neck was tied with a rope. She gently patted her son’s back and smiled. Jules, who was watching her, cried again. More sorrowfully than Else. Her endless crying echoed through the bedroom. Else looked away and down at the baby. She smiled faintly. She held the child affectionately and gently, like a mother breastfeeding her son for the last time.
***
When evening came, Sybil returned. He was still in mourning, so he was wearing his funeral clothes. Else put on her black dress again. He silently led Else to the crypt where Hermi was sleeping. Else did not cry, but looked down at the coffin where the child was sleeping. Jules said that such small lumps of blood could not be buried in the crypt.
It was customary to either throw the ashes into the river after cremation or to bury them in a garden near the palace. However, Sibyl said that she buried her daughter in the catacombs, thinking of Else in particular. It was disgusting. It made her sick to think that he was using even a child's funeral.
As Jules said, Sybil did not hold Hermi’s funeral so grandly because he cared for her. Because she was Else’s daughter. Not because he was ashamed of his own sins, but because she was Else’s daughter... Not because he cared for her as a father. Without the strength to turn away, she stared blankly at the sarcophagus and turned around. There was no need to cry out loud because she missed her daughter. They would meet again soon.
Else returned to the bedroom and went to sleep. After that, Sibyl didn't touch Else. He didn't talk to her or make eye contact. Else was the same. She didn't talk to Sibyl or make eye contact. When she returned to the catacombs and entered the bedroom.
“Else.”
He called her for the first time in days. Else turned around and stared at the man who called her. The man, whose fear had grown thick, was covered with sternness as he licked his lips.
“Else.”
She turned her gaze. Else took off her black dress and crawled under the covers. She didn’t even say that she was tired. It didn’t matter whether he lay down next to her or covered her again. She closed her eyes and fell asleep. She fiddled with the small knife under her pillow. Sybil didn’t say anything more to her. She turned around and heard him leave.
Else spent the night with her eyes open. A dead child, unable to walk, ran around in front of her. She had never called her mother, but she could hear her voice. She had never laughed, but it seemed as if she was laughing in Else’s ear.
The child simply opened her eyes and looked at Else. She made a sound for milk and bit the nipple, but the act of sucking the milk was too much for her, so she gasped for breath. What would Sybil think of the child? The sickly and weak child she had given birth to... That young and pitiful child.
Else almost fell down like a dog in front of that child. A child who cried and died. A child who cried and died while looking for her mother... A child who cried and fell asleep repeatedly for three days. She remembered the time she had dried her blood while listening to that child’s cries in the bedroom. During those three days, Else begged Sibyl. She knelt at his feet and begged him to return her to her.
'Hermi...'
But Sybil wouldn't give the child back. He said it was another woman's baby, even though it was hers. And even after the child died... So. All the horrible things he had said to her tormented her. She bit her lip hard. It bled. She couldn't bear it. All of this. All of this was real...
“Ugh, ugh….”
Else bit her lower lip until it bled, then took out a knife. One day, when Sybil was changing clothes for a moment, she put them on the table and hid them in a drawer. He usually wore a small sword at his waist. Else always kept an eye on that sword.
Sometimes she wanted to cut her wrists with that sword. And today was the day to do it. Else got up and rang the bell.
“I want to wash. Bring me some hot water."
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