Miss, stop committing suicide

Chapter 63

“Why are you still alive, anyway?”

That was the first thing the Crown Prince said as he grabbed my right hand, still clutching the pistol.

He fiddled with my stiff, unmoving fingers, forcing each one open until he tried to take the gun. But as soon as my index finger straightened, the gun slipped and fell to the floor.

He bent down to pick it up but seemed to lose interest halfway through, letting out a sigh. Then he dropped my right hand onto the ground as if it were useless.

The grip of the pistol was stained with dried blood, the once-vivid red now turned a dull brown.

“When a noble family falls, the greater the family, the harder it is for them to cope. Most can’t accept the gap between their former glory and their new reality, so they choose death. Be it murder or suicide, it makes no difference.”

Yes, whether by murder or suicide, I’ve died many times.

But it’s not something that can be resolved so easily, is it?

When time repeats endlessly, and I watch people behaving the same way, repeating their actions again and again, even I start to feel stupid.

They act like nothing happened, as if they’ve forgotten everything they ever did to me.

And the despair of realizing that nothing has truly changed—that there’s no justice for what was done—is something no one could understand.

Maybe Evan would.

If he’s trapped in the same endless cycle as I am.

Like those stupid koi fish in that small pond, endlessly swimming in circles, staring at the same things over and over again.

“At least I won’t die.

Even if I die, I won’t stay dead. Is there anything more divine than immortality bestowed by the gods?”

“Or have you lost your mind and joined some cult?”

The Crown Prince didn’t like that answer.

He picked up the gun from the floor, checked the magazine to see if it was loaded, then pointed it at me, cocking the hammer.

“Are you truly immortal?

Would you survive even being shot?

Are you, like the omnipotent gods themselves, invincible?”

“I wouldn’t know about omnipotence,” I replied.

At that, he let out a hollow laugh.

He stared at me for a long moment, then struck my philtrum with the gun handle, just as I had done to Lydia earlier.

Blood filled my mouth, the sharp tang of iron mingling with the metallic taste of humiliation.

Feeling disgusted, I spat the blood at his face.

The crimson spit dripped down his cheek in sticky trails.

He raised an eyebrow slightly, then caught a handkerchief and a wet cloth that seemed to appear from nowhere, using them to wipe his face clean.

“I don’t care if you’ve given up, but if you’re going to die, do it quietly in your room. Die in such a way that no one will remember you.”

I finally understood why I kept dying.

And I understood why no one ever helped me when I was in trouble, yet they rushed to save others.

I understood why I couldn’t survive or make a life for myself in this place.

Aside from Evan and Vivian, no one liked me. No one treated me kindly.

You’d think at least one person would, wouldn’t you?

“This isn’t a suggestion. It’s an order.

It’s better than being branded as the crazy Mecklenburg girl who tried to kill the Crown Prince and getting your head chopped off, isn’t it?”

The man before me, lacking the dignity of a ruler yet radiating an oppressive presence, wanted me dead.

A lonely, miserable, pathetic death.

“Being dragged to the execution grounds isn’t something I’d recommend.

I’d assign a novice executioner to you—one who’d take multiple tries to sever your neck properly. You’d end up as a toy for some clumsy butcher. Would that be alright?”

It had been agonizing.

If I survived just two swings, I suppose I’d be lucky.

“This empire is a place where everything happens as I wish.

And now, I’m commanding you under the guise of a request. You should answer.”

The Empire was, quite literally, the Emperor’s land.

And soon, the young man before me would become Emperor, given that the current one was old and nearing the end of his reign.

Thus, the Empire itself wished for my death.

The Crown Prince stepped closer, brushing the muzzle of the gun against my cheek several times.

He grabbed my chin with his left hand, tilting my head this way and that, scrutinizing my face.

Then, he smiled.

“Alternatively, though it’s not ideal, your looks are decent. I could give you the chance to do what any woman can do.

I’ve always enjoyed confining learned, ambitious women in gilded cages and watching them wither away.

What do you say? You might not find happiness, but you’d live like a well-fed pig.”

Every breath he took, every puff of smoke he exhaled, every mocking word he uttered, every sneer, every brush of his hand against my cheek—each one felt like another string snapping in my mind.

If only my hands were free, I’d strangle him right now.

If only I had the gun, I wouldn’t aim for his head or chest—I’d start with his limbs, turning them into Swiss cheese, then hack them apart with a shovel.

When I glared at him with murderous intent, he smirked and struck my face repeatedly with the gun handle.

Bound by the shadow, I couldn’t even fall backward. I just stood there, taking the blows to my face.

The burst blood vessels in my right eye turned my vision red, and my head spun.

My face felt wet—probably from the blood streaming from my nose.

All I could do was resist in the one way left to me.

I bit down on my tongue and spat blood at Johannes—the wretched man’s face.

This time, something blocked it before it could reach his face.

“You look at me as if I’m your mortal enemy.

Oh? Did you find out that I killed your family’s eldest son like a dog?

That poor man, begging for mercy, only for me to force him into submission and take his head.

Look at my right eye, shedding red tears of grief. Can’t you see how sorrowful I am?”

He wiped the blood from his face and pressed his finger against my throat.

If he pressed any harder, I thought, he might snap my neck.

“Choose.

Return to your room and blow your brains out, or become a flower in the Imperial Garden—a rare bloom that I occasionally visit and pluck.”

When I get angry, my vision blurs, and my breathing quickens.

But this wasn’t anger. It wasn’t rage.

It was something far deeper and darker.

I wanted to kill this man before me.

I would sell my soul to a demon if that’s what it took.

I’d sacrifice myself again and again if it meant I could destroy him.

And with so many sacrifices to offer here… why not?

Lost in those thoughts, I took the pistol he handed me.

I sat on the bench, contemplating whether I could turn the gun on him.

As if reading my thoughts, he spoke, throwing out a chilling comment.

“If you aim that gun at me, I’ll turn you into a plaything for my teenage cousins, who are just entering their most lustful years.”

Speaking of sacrifices… How does one make an offering?

Who knows? I’ll have to look into it next time.

This isn’t suicide, my dear.

It’s just murder, forced upon you by others.

It’s alright. I haven’t given up.

I lightly brushed my finger along the trigger, as if I might pull it any second. Before pressing down, I looked at Johannes and spoke softly, clearly enunciating each word.

“Johannes. Your glorious, radiant empire will meet its end with you.

Everyone will remember it—how a great empire was dragged into the abyss and destroyed by its most infamous and incompetent ruler.

Because you were so afraid of the capable, you made feeble excuses to slaughter them ruthlessly.

You crushed the cries of the weak begging for mercy under the pretense of noblesse oblige.

And what can someone like you—a man who can’t even bring himself to kill one insignificant girl standing right before him—possibly accomplish?”

He listened silently, as if he thought I was reciting my final words.

When I stopped speaking, he gave a sigh, sounding annoyed, and asked,

“Quite the sharp tongue. So, are you done talking now?”

I ignored his question. Placing the muzzle of the gun into my mouth, I looked straight ahead—and saw someone.

“If so, then pull that trigger already.”

Evan stood there, his face stiff, tears streaming down his cheeks. But he made no move to stop me, as if frozen in place, held there by some invisible force.

His lips moved.

Reading his lips, I saw that he was repeating the same words: don’t do it.

If you want to stop me that badly, why don’t you run over here and save me? Why are you just standing there, doing nothing…

Maybe something’s stopping him.

Not that it matters to me.

I shoved the muzzle further into my mouth and tried to remember how I had pulled the trigger the first time.

Then, I tilted the gun slightly downward and squeezed the trigger.

Bang!

With the gunshot, I collapsed onto the floor, my mouth filling with blood from the recoil.

But I didn’t let go of the gun.

Ignoring the overwhelming reflexes screaming at me to stop the bleeding, I retrieved the blood-soaked gun from my mouth.

For once, Johannes looked startled.

Trembling, I aimed the gun at that pathetic excuse for a man and pulled the trigger.

Mocking him with every ounce of scorn I could muster.