How many pages did he turn again and again like that? Deep regret began to settle within the sentences stained with hatred.
[I just can't stop hating you. You always make it impossible for me to be myself.
I hate you for making me feel this way. I find myself terrible for not being able to completely let you go even after things have come to this point.]
[I hear Khan crying every night. Have I finally gone completely insane?
It feels like Khan's soul is hovering around me. If only I could, I would want to give birth to that child again.
But my body is already broken. The blood that used to flow every month stopped a long time ago.
I hope this medicine will stop my life someday, too.]
[Maybe I just wanted to reclaim the happiest moment of my life.
I harbored the vain hope that if I had another child, I might be able to go back to that time.
Now I know. How foolish that thought was.
Even though there were clearly moments when I could have turned back time, I only repeated the wrong choices.
Even as I tore at and rummaged through the wound with my own hands so that it would never heal, I only resented that the pain would not end.]
[The truth is, I knew. That injuring my leg, losing the child, and Khan's death were all my fault.
I poured out my resentment on you, even though I knew better. Because the moment I admitted that I brought this upon myself, I felt like I would truly want to die.
I hurt you to survive. I did it even though I knew deep down that you were suffering too.
I'm getting used to watching you leave.
Watching you walk away, I thought about your happiness for the first time. That someday you would be happier than anyone in the world...
But for that to happen, I would have to disappear from your life. Because I am just a worm eating away at your life.
If I want to save your life, all I have to do is climb to the top of the castle tower and fly like a bird. I hope someday I dare to do that.]
[Today, I finally let you go forever.
Now I have nothing left to wish for.
I won't wish for anything until the end of this life.]
The diary, which had been continuing incoherently, came to a complete halt with that as the last one.
From the middle onwards, no dates were recorded, so it was impossible to guess when it had been written. He looked down at the last page with empty eyes, then raised his head upon hearing the sound of heavy rain pounding against the window frame.
The gray clouds covering the sky were relentlessly pouring down angry rain.
He closed his diary and slowly rose to his feet. His knees trembled as if his bones had melted away.
Only then did he realize that he was in a state where it wouldn't be surprising if he collapsed at any moment. However, undeterred, he opened the door and went outside.
As he passed through the corridor that swayed like a swamp and went down the stairs, the Great Hall, shrouded in darkness, came into view.
He stepped into the rain-soaked garden through the back gate. Cold rainwater trickled down his hair and onto the nape of his neck.
It was when he was about halfway through the retreat that he realized where he was headed.
Beyond the curtain of rain, a dark building revealed its faint outline. It was the space where she had stayed for a season.
Clinging to the hope that traces of her might still remain there, he staggered along.
The annex was empty. It seemed that after she moved her residence back to the main castle, the servants had also returned to their original quarters.
Barcas stepped into the dim hall and slowly crossed the dark interior, dripping rainwater.
On the first floor were the common area used by the servants, the kitchen, and the guards' quarters.
As he passed through the space where a light layer of dust had accumulated and climbed the stairs, he saw the neatly arranged drawing room, the common room used by the maids, and the door to the bedroom where she had stayed.
He slowly walked forward and pulled the doorknob. With a creaking sound, the cozy interior of the bedroom was revealed.
He slowly looked around the scenery, which hadn't changed a single thing since his last visit, then shifted his gaze to the bed she used.
At that moment, the image of a woman with desolate eyes rose like a hallucination above the neatly made bedding.
Blue eyes stained with sorrow and wounds stared at him resentfully. The words he had spoken to that face echoed in his ears.
"Regret is always too late, no matter how soon it comes."
He stood frozen without moving for a while, then slowly approached the side of the bed.
When he opened the drawer, he saw a few candles, a quill, and an ink bottle neatly arranged. However, there were no signs that anyone had used them. They appeared to be nothing more than supplies stocked by the servants.
He immediately opened another drawer. Finally, he was able to find what appeared to be her belongings. It was a small tray containing a small hand mirror, an ivory comb, and small tweezers.
He took it out and ran his fingertips over it all the way to the bottom. It didn't look like it was used to open doors or chests.
After examining the small key, about the size of a little finger, for a while, he stuffed it into his coat pocket and stood up. Then, he approached the desk and opened the drawers and display cases one by one. However, nowhere could he find an item that looked like a diary.
Looking into the empty storage space with a dejected expression, he soon began rummaging through the wardrobes and chests indiscriminately.
This can't be the end. Surely, there must be something more she left behind.
There is no way her life would have ended like that, having resigned herself to everything.
How long did he rummage through every nook and cranny of the room in a fit of madness? He discovered as mall sewing box under the bed and poured all its contents onto the carpet. Neatly twisted skeins of thread and small bundles of rolled cloth rolled onto the floor.
He picked up the tattered, crumpled cloth and carefully unfolded it.
A dark-colored bird was embroidered on the crookedly cut fabric. As he ran his fingertips over it, a phrase written in her diary suddenly came to mind.
[It has been raining all day today.
Like a fool, I recall the day we first met. I wanted to ask you at least once: what happened to the bird you took with you that day?
What would you have answered if I had asked you that on the day you became my Royal Guard?
I will never be able to hear that answer now. Because you won't even be able to remember such things from the past.]
Barcas, slowly blinking his blurry eyes, raised his head and looked at the windowpane where rainwater was splashing.
The wind roughly shook the window frame as it passed. A short, rough breath escaped from his lips, which had remained motionless for a while.
"...I sent it flying."
The body, unable to bear its own weight, tilted limply.
Barcas staggered and slumped onto the edge of the bed, muttering in a cracked voice.
"I sent it flying far, far away."
The afterimage of a bird spreading its small wings wide and soaring into the blue sky flashed before his eyes.
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