“Clothes and food to change into.”
The maid's voice echoed in the dark, closed room. Ayla's bleary eyes, even on the verge of starvation, ignored the delicious food before her. Her gaze, filled with her own will, turned to the elderly maid who had brought her the food and dress.
"No matter how much you starve me or coax me, I will never obey. Such an order..."
"I'm just giving it to you. By any chance, is the high-ranking official at Frogen you were running an errand for the child's father?"
Ayla didn't answer the maid's question. The maid sighed softly and continued in a dry voice.
“He’s coming to get you, so hurry up and change your clothes and have a meal.”
Ayla smiled sadly as she saw a glimmer of sympathy on her icy face.
“Thank you, maid. I know you’ve been secretly looking after me all this time.”
At Ayla's thanks, the maid's face paled for a moment, then she bit her lip and turned to leave. Ayla, dressed in a pure white dress like a shroud, knelt before the food, clasped her hands, and recited a prayer.
“God, grant me the freedom to do my best in what I can, the courage to completely abandon what I cannot, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
Despair, disguised as hope, taunted her. It always hovered high, unattainable, twinkling like a traveler's guiding star.
Ayla smiled into the air, mustering up her courage. Her hands, trembling with pain, picked up the cup filled with bright red wine. Tears pooled beneath her small chin, falling drop by drop.
“If I were to be reborn, in a world different from this one where only giving up is allowed, like that...”
I realized it was too late. I was determined to save her, to help her to the end.
I was just standing there, watching the hopeless end of one person, at the end of a fool's reach.
Ayla was in Erita's arms, wearing a luxurious white dress that felt out of place. Her skin, as pale as lime, was almost indistinguishable from the color of the dress. Erita, her face flushed crimson, cried out, tears streaming down her face.
“This child is desperate and has been drinking poison. Please save her quickly!”
The royal doctor checked Ayla's pulse and pupils as she slumped over and gasped for breath, and asked the maids.
“I need to detox quickly. What medication did she take?”
“I don’t know.”
The attending doctor, observing Ayla's body turning increasingly crimson, relayed something to another doctor. The guards surrounded her and carried her to the palace infirmary.
Renier and I followed them. I turned to see Erita bursting into loud sobs. She was on the floor, covering her face with her white fingers, and the corners of her mouth, visible through them, were twitching upwards. It was a clear mockery.
'I told you it was useless.'
The moment I grasped the diabolical deception, a sense of utter loss of humanity and a painful sense of defeat washed over me. A chilling triumph of immorality. This was not a lesson learned, but a painful lesson experienced firsthand, a realistic retribution for those who chose justice.
Celine's advice to pretend not to see or hear came to mind. It would have been better if I hadn't known. If I had known, I should have done my best.
I muttered a sorrowful sentiment to myself. I transferred Ayla to the palace infirmary, but the doctor said there was no hope. I asked about transferring her to a larger hospital for intensive care, but they said there was a high chance she would die during transport. I didn't even know what expression I was making.
Dying?
Only then did reality sink in. I had absolutely no idea what to do in a situation like this. I called Ayla's name, but all I got was a scratchy, rasping sound and a grunting mouth. The doctor simply injected her with a strong painkiller to ease the pain that was threatening her life.
With each breath Ayla took, a painful, metallic sound mingled with the sound of metal. Even that flickered like a candle in the bitter wind, fading away. I carefully held her in my arms and grasped her rough, swollen hands, squeezing them.
“Ayla.”
Ayla's unfocused eyes narrowed delicately. Tears welled up at the corners of her delicate eyes. I wanted to hold onto her breath, which seemed to be fading away. I held her hand, counting the faint rise and fall of her breath.
“The doctor said he’ll treat you. When you wake up, something good will happen.”
At my words, her lips fluttered a couple of times like a fish out of water, as if asking what the good thing was.
"He said he'd be here soon. I think he was shy. He said he was happy to have a child and that he planned to marry you and raise you as a family. He also thanked you for all your hard work. The wedding will be held in a beautiful garden like ours, and..."
And what happened after that? I desperately recalled the happy endings of the fairy tales I'd read, and told her a hopeful story that could never come true.
"He's thinking of living in a beautiful castle in the capital of Francia. They say there's a beautiful river flowing in front of the castle. Ayla, you've been wanting to go there, haven't you? You mentioned the chimney bread. You could live like a princess there. You'll invite me, right?"
I constantly spewed lies, like empty monologues with no one listening. I'm glad I'm so good at lying.
Instead of answering, Ayla's cold fingers grasped mine. Was this the salvation she'd been hoping for? I could see tears welling up in the corners of her delicate eyes, pooling in her ears.
The false peace that lingered in her heart was all too short-lived.
Her sky-blue eyes were half-open, but she didn't seem to hear me. I supported Ayla's head as she fell limply.
“She died.”
A voice, announcing that it was already too late, seeped deep into the abyss, filling it with the color of loneliness. Watching the doctor, with his extremely dry expression, try to cover it with a white cloth, I conveyed my futile sincerity.
"I didn't want you to become my precious person. Because you seemed too fragile, too easily able to leave my side, that's why."
The maid's voice echoed in the dark, closed room. Ayla's bleary eyes, even on the verge of starvation, ignored the delicious food before her. Her gaze, filled with her own will, turned to the elderly maid who had brought her the food and dress.
"No matter how much you starve me or coax me, I will never obey. Such an order..."
"I'm just giving it to you. By any chance, is the high-ranking official at Frogen you were running an errand for the child's father?"
Ayla didn't answer the maid's question. The maid sighed softly and continued in a dry voice.
“He’s coming to get you, so hurry up and change your clothes and have a meal.”
Ayla smiled sadly as she saw a glimmer of sympathy on her icy face.
“Thank you, maid. I know you’ve been secretly looking after me all this time.”
At Ayla's thanks, the maid's face paled for a moment, then she bit her lip and turned to leave. Ayla, dressed in a pure white dress like a shroud, knelt before the food, clasped her hands, and recited a prayer.
“God, grant me the freedom to do my best in what I can, the courage to completely abandon what I cannot, and the wisdom to know the difference.”
Despair, disguised as hope, taunted her. It always hovered high, unattainable, twinkling like a traveler's guiding star.
Ayla smiled into the air, mustering up her courage. Her hands, trembling with pain, picked up the cup filled with bright red wine. Tears pooled beneath her small chin, falling drop by drop.
“If I were to be reborn, in a world different from this one where only giving up is allowed, like that...”
***
I realized it was too late. I was determined to save her, to help her to the end.
I was just standing there, watching the hopeless end of one person, at the end of a fool's reach.
Ayla was in Erita's arms, wearing a luxurious white dress that felt out of place. Her skin, as pale as lime, was almost indistinguishable from the color of the dress. Erita, her face flushed crimson, cried out, tears streaming down her face.
“This child is desperate and has been drinking poison. Please save her quickly!”
The royal doctor checked Ayla's pulse and pupils as she slumped over and gasped for breath, and asked the maids.
“I need to detox quickly. What medication did she take?”
“I don’t know.”
The attending doctor, observing Ayla's body turning increasingly crimson, relayed something to another doctor. The guards surrounded her and carried her to the palace infirmary.
Renier and I followed them. I turned to see Erita bursting into loud sobs. She was on the floor, covering her face with her white fingers, and the corners of her mouth, visible through them, were twitching upwards. It was a clear mockery.
'I told you it was useless.'
The moment I grasped the diabolical deception, a sense of utter loss of humanity and a painful sense of defeat washed over me. A chilling triumph of immorality. This was not a lesson learned, but a painful lesson experienced firsthand, a realistic retribution for those who chose justice.
Celine's advice to pretend not to see or hear came to mind. It would have been better if I hadn't known. If I had known, I should have done my best.
I muttered a sorrowful sentiment to myself. I transferred Ayla to the palace infirmary, but the doctor said there was no hope. I asked about transferring her to a larger hospital for intensive care, but they said there was a high chance she would die during transport. I didn't even know what expression I was making.
Dying?
Only then did reality sink in. I had absolutely no idea what to do in a situation like this. I called Ayla's name, but all I got was a scratchy, rasping sound and a grunting mouth. The doctor simply injected her with a strong painkiller to ease the pain that was threatening her life.
With each breath Ayla took, a painful, metallic sound mingled with the sound of metal. Even that flickered like a candle in the bitter wind, fading away. I carefully held her in my arms and grasped her rough, swollen hands, squeezing them.
“Ayla.”
Ayla's unfocused eyes narrowed delicately. Tears welled up at the corners of her delicate eyes. I wanted to hold onto her breath, which seemed to be fading away. I held her hand, counting the faint rise and fall of her breath.
“The doctor said he’ll treat you. When you wake up, something good will happen.”
At my words, her lips fluttered a couple of times like a fish out of water, as if asking what the good thing was.
"He said he'd be here soon. I think he was shy. He said he was happy to have a child and that he planned to marry you and raise you as a family. He also thanked you for all your hard work. The wedding will be held in a beautiful garden like ours, and..."
And what happened after that? I desperately recalled the happy endings of the fairy tales I'd read, and told her a hopeful story that could never come true.
"He's thinking of living in a beautiful castle in the capital of Francia. They say there's a beautiful river flowing in front of the castle. Ayla, you've been wanting to go there, haven't you? You mentioned the chimney bread. You could live like a princess there. You'll invite me, right?"
I constantly spewed lies, like empty monologues with no one listening. I'm glad I'm so good at lying.
Instead of answering, Ayla's cold fingers grasped mine. Was this the salvation she'd been hoping for? I could see tears welling up in the corners of her delicate eyes, pooling in her ears.
The false peace that lingered in her heart was all too short-lived.
Her sky-blue eyes were half-open, but she didn't seem to hear me. I supported Ayla's head as she fell limply.
“She died.”
A voice, announcing that it was already too late, seeped deep into the abyss, filling it with the color of loneliness. Watching the doctor, with his extremely dry expression, try to cover it with a white cloth, I conveyed my futile sincerity.
"I didn't want you to become my precious person. Because you seemed too fragile, too easily able to leave my side, that's why."
Because I hate that kind of providence of reorganization so much.
Her eyes, frozen and clouded, stared into space. What was she staring at? This world only showed you harsh things. And even that was obscured by a white cloth.
“I’m sorry, Ayla.”
She is a good person who accidentally fell into hell, so I wonder if they'll take her away quickly. This place is only for someone as lowly and cunning as me. I didn't cry. I simply hugged the thin body covered in white cloth, feeling the traces of her life fading away. This woman's body was so small and light, as if it had been considered a fragile being. On the other hand, it felt incredibly heavy and burdensome.
“It’s because I decided too late...”
I heard Renier's desperate voice. She turned away, lowered her head, and sobbed. I spoke to her in a voice devoid of emotion.
“It’s my fault.”
I hesitated, lacking confidence, because I foresaw this outcome. Because I'm a coward. There was a time when I hoped Ayla would be a coward, thinking only of her own safety and submitting to authority.
“We failed, Sir Renier.”
This was also something I said to myself.
I became even more indifferent to the truth that I could not change the natural course of things. The death of the weak, this realistic ending, mocked and horribly deceived my resolve to make even the slightest difference.
Ayla's death will be ruled a suicide, not a murder. They won't even give her a proper funeral, calling her a sinner who committed suicide. The miserable treatment she endured will only end with the punishment of those responsible who stood by and watched.
Renier will be banished and separated from her siblings. Noah will be the one responsible for the suicide of a palace maid. I, hated by the royal family, may one day lose my husband to war. What other disadvantages will Count and Lady Reuben face?
Amidst a sea of emotions, the train, barreling along the tracks, abruptly halted, making a shrill, almost rasping noise. In truth, I knew better than anyone that there was no way forward. Yet, recalling the path of light I'd seen from Count Ruben's mansion, I harbored a vain hope for the triumph of good.
I mistakenly believed that the radiant light shining down was something everyone could see equally. Little did I realize that at the time, I was in darkness, completely impervious to light.
“I can’t save others. I’m self-centered.”
I muttered, as if trying to imprint the cognitive dissonance into my head. Renier approached me cautiously, stroked my back, and spoke.
"I don't think I'm qualified to help others, Madam. If I had only put my mind to it, I could have..."
Her words trailed off. Her face, contorted with sorrow, seemed to be sinking into a river of regret and sorrow.
"Miss Ayla Delson. She didn't know me, but I knew her circumstances well enough, yet I didn't act. I watched her suffer physically and mentally, unable to eat properly while pregnant, working too hard, and suffering. I'm truly sorry. Please don't forgive me."
We were the only ones left behind, regretting and suffering after the cruel ending of the story, and apologizing to her.
***
The Countess of Reuben, who had adopted her, took charge of Ayla's funeral. Standing beside the Count, the Supreme Court Justice, the Countess looked pale and repeatedly wiped away tears with a handkerchief.
The coffin was tightly closed because the body was in poor condition.
"Diana, don't blame yourself too much. It wasn't a useless act of kindness. She didn't die miserably, but went to a much happier place than this. She probably left with the memory of someone who loved her too."
In this cruel world, is death better than living? Isn't that a kind of moral victory? I raised my head and looked into the Countess's blue eyes, which looked at me with pity. I felt bad for having passed on the guilt to her, so I didn't say anything else.
Soon, Erita, dressed in black mourning attire, arrived at the funeral. She entered with a commanding stride, brushed my shoulder lightly, and whispered softly.
“How clever of you to ask my mother to save the maid so that you don’t get accused of murder.”
“Is that so?”
"Yeah, you're not ordinary either. You're the worst. You predicted this would happen, so you made up an excuse to help and get away with it, didn't you?"
"Princess."
Erita, who was about to pass by at my call, turned to look at me. I smiled at her.
“I’m not messing with anyone out of the ordinary.”
“Do your best. That’s what you said you were good at.”
The moment I saw Erita turn around with a triumphant expression on her face and unfold her handkerchief, I felt a surge of disgust.
Even if one person died tragically, the world didn't change. It was purely someone else's problem, a personal misfortune. Most people would express a fleeting feeling of pity or pity, then forget about it.
The media poured out articles praising Erita's good deeds because she, as a Princess, went to the funeral of a mere maid and mourned her death with tears in her eyes.
The royal family offered a condolence money to the Counts of Reuben, who had formally adopted her and buried her in the family cemetery, but the Counts and Countess flatly refused.
As a result of Ayla's petition and complaints about the unfair treatment she received, the head maid and other lower-level supervisors were brought to trial, and some were suspended or even resigned. It's a fair amount of evidence.
"Elita Spencer Grace, a righteous Princess who personally practiced noblesse oblige by looking after the lowly."
It was a newspaper headline. The article, "Erita, who recognized the circumstances of the dead maid and protected her, but ultimately failed to prevent her from taking such a drastic step, was overcome with grief and, at the risk of damaging the royal family's reputation, reported her," took up a whole page.
I felt nauseated, trapped between reality and ideals, unable to move, forcing myself to swallow the expected outcomes. I couldn't even fathom what was right. Feeling suffocated, I tried to compromise with the principles of this place where justice and conscience were ignored, and, standing in the midst of despair, I struggled to find a suitable place to escape.
Spring was drawing to a close. I hurried to the Queen's tea party, to which I had been invited for the first time in a long time. Perhaps she had summoned me to remind me that nothing matters in the face of power.
The trees that lined the paths of the Tempshire Palace gardens, filled with colorful flowers, were turning a uniform shade of green.
The petals of a tree that had been blooming pink until the very end were falling, fluttering in a belated farewell. People called it a foolish tree, blooming late and falling last.
'Hello.'
I seemed to hear Ayla's cautious voice from somewhere. She, always timid, always found the courage to speak to me.
"Hello."
I answered.
"How have you been?"
The first kind words I'd asked her were now gone, and with no one to answer, they scattered into the air along with the petals blooming from the stupid tree. I smiled belatedly at the regrets that had already passed.
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