The Snow Queen

“That’s right! The Duke asked Owin if he was Snake from outside the cell. When Owin said no, the Duke sneered and said, ‘We’ll find out tomorrow, hahaha!’ and then disappeared. Two days later, he came back and growled, ‘Give me the address of the blonde sorcerer.’ We kept quiet, knowing that if we gave him your address, the Duke would kill us immediately.”

Sonia paused for a moment to wipe her tears.

“The Duke brought us food once a day, and every time he asked for Ray’s whereabouts. A few times, he even starved us and threatened us with a gun. Then, just a while ago, the Duke carried you in and threw you into the next cell. He laughed and said, ‘Now you’re all going to starve to death.'”

I jumped to my feet and started pacing the cell.

What a terrifying man…

I had underestimated Duke Vardi. He wasn’t just some random actor. He realized that Snake was trying to purge him, so he tracked me down, hoping to kill Snake.

But thankfully, the Duke was on the verge of being purged himself. The next steps were clear. The Duke would try to use me as bait to negotiate with Messara. I sighed.

“Don’t worry. If we can hold out for a few more days, we’ll be released. But until then, we’ll have to starve. Can you handle that, Sonia?”

“Ah, I can handle it. It’s just been so tedious here!” Sonia’s face brightened with relief. I gave a bitter smile and lay back down on the bed. I carefully assessed the situation. Just like 600 years ago, it seemed that Lady Luck was on Messara’s side.

Despite coveting the queen’s throne, Duke Vardi hadn’t managed to eliminate Irina’s partner. Messara had been watching his every move, which likely prevented him from hiring a professional hitman. The fact that he had to rely on amateur bodyguards to kidnap Owin and Sonia was proof of that. Sonia and Owin were tough, hardened by their lives in the underworld, which in the end worked in Messara’s favor.

Even the fact that my phone was broken worked as a stroke of luck for Messara. If it hadn’t been, the Duke would have undoubtedly called Messara to lure him in and kill him.

Still, the thought gave me chills. I remembered the moment after I parted ways with the Duke at the GallerLee building, riding in Messara’s car. It had been a close call. If the Duke had seen Messara back then…

I now understood the story behind the queen’s legacy. The Vardi family had a reputation for their cooking skills, and the Duke must have approached the royal chef to pass along the “recipe of death.” A truly despicable man. I let out a small laugh.

Whitebirch had also cursed the pregnant Levitan, hadn’t she?

The taste in my mouth turned bitter. Both of them, man and woman alike, had gotten what they deserved.

The true lover of the king and rightful queen, Laertes…

I chuckled. Looking back, Daytanz seemed like an unlucky man when it came to wives. The portrait I’d seen of Laertes was of a bald, pockmarked man who looked like a stingy merchant. No wonder they called history “his story.” It was all too funny.

A bit of calm returned to me as I reflected on the events that had transpired since I lost my memory.

Messara is pretty eccentric too, isn’t he…?

I furrowed my brows. Messara was indeed odd, now that I thought about it. Why had he acted that way? He couldn’t reveal his identity as Snake, of course, but the lies he told during sex were absurd. Losing my memory must have caused my IQ to drop as well. Why else would he have made me read fairytales aloud or have such a ridiculous apron collection?

It made me laugh. I had been anxious over whether Messara was overspending. I didn’t even want to think about the walnuts. How could 17-year-old Ray Arisa have been so dense? Instead of eating walnuts, I should have just asked Messara to cut back on our time in bed! It would have been a much simpler and more rational solution. Thanks to clueless 17-year-old Ray, all I did was exhaust myself. I sighed, trying to calm my irritation, and closed my eyes.

At any rate, I had come to a chilling realization. Messara had expressed concern on multiple occasions, saying that our neighbors mentioned I would often zone out. I had brushed it off as an effect of Orchitunica. But I was wrong. It was a sign of a deeper mental illness.

Should I tell him?

Maybe I should confess to Messara during our trip, as planned. As long as I didn’t mention that Messara was Daytanz, it would be fine. After all, Messara probably wouldn’t believe me anyway. He wouldn’t believe it. Messara was a believer in common sense. It was surprising, considering his naturally ruthless nature, but that was the truth.

“Pathetic, pathetic. Truly pathetic.”

I pulled the covers over my head. When would Messara come? In my estimation, Duke Vardi would be ruined in a day or two. Maybe Messara had already taken care of him.

…

What a fool.

I suddenly sat up. I hadn’t accounted for Pusher. If I were Pusher, I would seize this opportunity to eliminate Karl as quickly as possible. It was the perfect chance to make it look like Guiger had done it while also taking down the head of the traitors. If Pusher had already made his move, then we were as good as dead. We would starve to death.

I started pacing the cell again. My lips were dry, so I went to the small sink in the makeshift bathroom and drank some cold water.

Stay calm, Ray Arisa.

I examined the cell door’s lock. There were three locks, all old-fashioned and connected by chains. I figured that if I could find something sharp to use, I might be able to open them. Sonia asked, “What are you doing?” but I remained silent as I opened the toilet lid.

“It’s useless, dear. We’ve already tried all that. Don’t waste your energy.”

I pressed my temples. My head throbbed from where the Duke had hit me, but I had to think of a solution. Just as I touched my forehead, I froze.

Footsteps echoed in the darkness. Sonia and Owin stiffened as well. I quickly stood up. Could it be Messara? Had the Duke successfully negotiated with him?

A chill ran down my spine. Those footsteps…

It wasn’t Messara. Messara always wore boots because of his profession. The sharp clicking sound could only come from high-end dress shoes. That meant it could only be one person: Duke Vardi.

The purge hadn’t happened yet. He was coming, hoping to use me to pressure Messara somehow. I clenched my fists and stepped back.

Stay calm, Ray Arisa.

The shadow in the darkness slowly took shape. He was holding something in his hand. I quickly realized it was a gun. I clutched my chest as my heart began to race.

The sound of footsteps grew closer. Under the dim light seeping through the iron bars, his face was fully revealed. I opened my eyes wide. It was Count Saxela.

Why is he here… and then it hit me.

From the first moment I met the Count in the courtyard of Mazharini Castle, I had a familiar impression. I had thought it was because he was a distant relative of Lord Manen. But that was a mistake. The Count and I had met before—at Mr. Sorel’s masquerade ball.

A shiver ran through my body. It was him. Among the noblemen who sat with me, he was the one who stood up eagerly to greet Duke Vardi, even offering him a seat. The man with black hair. Count Saxela and Duke Vardi were close friends.

The muzzle of the gun pointed toward me. There was no time to dodge. Count Saxela pulled the trigger. The gunshot tore through the darkness. Instinctively, I called out a name.

Messara.

꙳•❅*ִ

Diana dashed into the darkness. I snapped back to reality, taking a moment to catch my breath before switching on the bedroom light. The room was instantly illuminated.

“……”

After a long pause, I exhaled. Sweat trickled down my temple. Slowly, I walked to the bed and pulled back the sheet, revealing gleaming amber hair. And Ray, sleeping soundly next to it.

He was sleeping peacefully, a soft smile on his lips.

I loosened my tie. I felt like I’d just returned from a whirlwind trip between hell and heaven. There was a trench coat sprawled under the bed. I picked it up and hung it in the closet. It was damp, as if he’d just come back from being outside.

Where had he gone in the middle of the night?

I decided to ask him tomorrow. After changing and taking a shower, I returned to the bedroom. Diana was sitting stubbornly at the foot of the bed. I started to move her to her dog bed but changed my mind and placed her next to Ray.

As I lay down, I glanced at Ray. It was a face I had never seen before—peaceful. I wanted to admire it longer, but I was too tired. Fatigue washed over me like a wave. Diana curled up beside Ray’s pillow and closed her eyes. I switched off the bedside lamp and wrapped my arms around Ray.

I fell asleep quickly, and in my dream, I was galloping through a raging storm, overwhelmed by immense anger and despair. No matter how far or how fast I rode, nothing appeared—only darkness. It was terrifyingly empty, an endless abyss.

In the morning, Diana woke me up by licking my cheek. When I opened my eyes, Ray was drawing the curtains. Sunlight flooded the room.

“The name Capri comes from the ancient Greek word KAPRO, which means wild boar. After Emperor Augustus visited Capri, he was so enchanted by its beauty that he gave up a much larger neighboring island to purchase it from Naples,”

explained the Herman couple we met at the Artemisia Hotel in Capri. They were Americans from Texas, and I expected them to spend the whole day chewing gum and spouting nonsense about how the U.S. was the “guardian of the world.” But they turned out to be very polite, knowledgeable, and excellent guides.

It had been three days since we arrived in Capri. The island was warm and green. It felt like spring here, though it was autumn back in the kingdom.

Suddenly, a mischievous breeze swept by us. Ray grabbed his straw hat and exclaimed, “Wow!” I chuckled.

We boarded a tourist boat at Marina Grande. The Mediterranean sparkled under the sunlight, and in the distance, we could faintly see Naples and Mount Vesuvius. Ray leaned against the side of the boat, gazing out at the sea.

It was strange. He had been wearing that expression for a few days now—soft and serene. I handed him a lemon drink and said, “Do you know what’s odd?”

“Odd? What do you mean?”

“Well… I don’t mean it in a bad way, but your face has been so bright lately. You’ve had a smile on your lips the whole time.”

“Really?”

Ray smiled and stretched his back. His honey-blonde hair swirled around his eyes, which crinkled in a crescent shape. For a moment, I was captivated.

Captivated…

It was a feeling that overwhelmed me every time I looked at Ray. I had never imagined such a thing—being captivated by someone’s soul—not even a little, up until I was 29. I would have died without ever knowing that sensation if I had lived solely as the villain, Snake.

Looking back, I reflected on all the emotions born from that feeling—joy, sorrow, coldness, warmth, hope, despair, hate, and love. It had been an arduous journey, a breathless one. Perhaps closer to an adventure.

But it was okay. It wasn’t a bad feeling. As the human, Four Messara, it was something worth experiencing. And as a man, it was an adventure worth undertaking—to give your entire soul to someone for a lifetime.

Ray turned to me, blinking.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Oh. It’s nothing.”

I smiled and sipped my lemon beer.

The dark veil that had always seemed to shroud Ray had lifted, and now he was glowing in a way that was indescribable. No pure carbon crystal could ever shine as brightly as he did. I wondered if Ray felt this way about me too.

Probably not.

I clicked my tongue and wrapped my arm around Ray’s shoulders. Would that oblivious person feel dizzy and have a fluttering heart every time they looked at me? No way. If that were true, my name wouldn’t be FOUR MESSARA but FIVE WASTE.

I looked out at the distant horizon. It truly was an adventure worth throwing myself into. A perilous one. Sometimes, I had to throw away my pride. Sometimes, I had to endure indescribable humiliation. I had crossed between heaven and hell countless times. Yet, the sense of satisfaction I felt now was deep enough to erase all the pain.

Could I be proud of myself? I had resisted this adventure with all my might. I didn’t run away. I didn’t give up, but fought back with my bare hands. I sought Ray’s forgiveness and received it. And now, here I was, watching the blue sea with Ray.

Suddenly, I thought of Chubby and Cucumber, and I chuckled. Ever since they received my warning call, I hadn’t heard from them. I doubted I ever would again. They would never experience the joy I was now living.

The distant sea shimmered with light. It was a happiness so intense it almost felt frightening, even draining. It was similar to that feeling of exhaustion and relief I had after holding a deranged Ray under the red streetlight, as if I had barely returned from a long and arduous journey.

A long and exhausting journey…

It had definitely been worth it, but now, I never wanted to set off on such a journey again. I wished only to stay here with Ray, quietly and peacefully.

Suddenly, the heavy darkness of the bedroom that night came to mind. Ray later explained that he had just gone for a walk, but for some reason, I didn’t want to revisit that memory. If things had happened as I imagined, if Karl had found Ray’s hiding place and kidnapped him…

I shook the beer bottle and fell into thought. I recalled the question, “Why?” Why did the gods always set traps at the most crucial moments? And why did I run blindly into them, unaware?

Now I knew the answer. I understood clearly. It wasn’t the gods’ fault. They had given me many warnings, leaving hints along the way. It wasn’t because I was careless or unlucky that I had missed those clues. It was time to admit the truth. In fact, I had known it all along—I had just been in denial, turning a blind eye.

If I had only confirmed Ryeong’s identity before pulling the trigger, that tragedy could have been avoided. If I had asked Karl why he was looking for me, I wouldn’t have been shocked at home. But I hadn’t done any of that. Why?

It was because I had been blinded by a red curtain of desire. The burning ambition of Four Messara had been the true cause of all the tragedies. My frantic pursuit of power and the thrill of being at the top—those were the root causes. That despicable ambition was the real trap.

And perhaps it still was.

A throbbing pain shot through my ankle, as if it were caught in some invisible trap. I shook my head. No, two mistakes were enough. There wouldn’t be a third.

Was this what Ray meant when he said, “If you’re going to do it, it’s better to be a villain who helps many”? Was it a warning about my desires?

It was a mystery. I couldn’t ask Ray, who had lost his memories, about the deeper meaning behind those words.

I scratched my chin. I decided I’d visit Karl once he recovered and ask him. I wanted to know just how magnificent this masterpiece was that he so confidently predicted would bring me to tears. Who knows, if it turned out to be something on par with Michelangelo’s Pietà, I might end up jumping up and down, seeing stars.

Though that was extremely unlikely.

“Messara, is that the Blue Grotto over there?”

Ray tugged at my arm, snapping me out of my thoughts. Around us, boats packed with tourists were gathering in one spot.

The Blue Grotto,

, was a must-see in Capri. The low cave glowed with light as the water reflected the sunlight. Mr. Hermann gave us a warning.

“You’ll need to lie back. The cave is very low. At high tide, it’s completely submerged.”

Our boat was drawn into the cave, and inside, deep blue and emerald hues danced like glass shards. It was a stunning sight, as mesmerizing as a sun-drenched summer field.

Ray…

The name escaped my lips before I realized it. It felt as if I were submerged in the blue depths of Ray’s sapphire eyes. My head spun, as if I were under the influence of a drug. I was so captivated by the blue light that I could barely breathe for a while, my eyes half-closed.

A strange emotion suddenly welled up within me. It was something like yearning. I remembered the time Ray and I danced under the full moonlight. That same dizzying sensation filled my body, and impulsively, I lifted Ray’s left hand to my lips. The sapphire ring caught the light and shimmered like the sea. I kissed that blue gem.

Afterward, we arrived in Naples and took a ferry back to Capri. Despite its fame, Naples had been disappointing. I had heard the city was breathtaking at night, but during the day, it was just an ordinary fishing town. The Hermanns mentioned they had never been to the kingdom before. As we ate lunch on the ferry, I described the kingdom’s winters, which left them astonished.

“Then the snow removal and energy resource issues must be serious,” they said.

“Of course. But we’re making significant progress with energy resources and products derived from snow, so things should improve in a few years. We’ve already been using genetically engineered microorganisms for snow removal for the past decade. It’s a patented technology we monopolized, and the export profits are enormous.”

We arrived at a small beach on Capri, but it too was a letdown. There was no white sand, only pebbles and rocks. My ambitious plan to walk barefoot with Ray on the beach had fallen through. Forget walking barefoot—the pebbles were so sharp I worried the soles of my slippers would get punctured.

“Well, this makes my newly bought swimsuit pointless. Next time, let’s go to Hawaii or Guam,” I said.

“Just seeing the sea is enjoyable enough for me.”

“That’s true, but the highlight of a trip is always the white swimsuit tan lines, isn’t it? I really wanted to see you with a perfect bronze tan, except for those swimsuit lines.”

“Haha. It might suit you, but I’d just look silly if I got tanned.”

Ray laughed out loud. I shrugged and said, “Maybe you’re right.” After all, if Ray’s fair skin turned tan, he would indeed embody the perfect golden-haired, clueless beauty.

The afternoon had passed before we knew it. We arrived at Piazza Umberto by car at 5 p.m. The steep cliffs and blue sea blended into a stunning landscape. We bought some local lemonade from Capri and wandered through the narrow, winding alleyways teeming with tourists.

Suddenly, I looked up at the sky. The blue expanse was giving way to a dusky twilight.

So tomorrow, the trip ends…

I felt a twinge of regret. We were set to leave for the kingdom tomorrow afternoon. I hadn’t expected the five-night, six-day trip to pass so quickly. I wished we could stay for ten more days, but considering Pusher’s madness and Karl’s movements, even taking this much time off had been a luxury.

“It’s about time we head back to the hotel. We’ll need to sleep early if we want to visit the Gardens of Augustus tomorrow morning,” I said.

“Yeah…”

Ray answered, but his gaze was fixed on something. It was the lush olive grove on the cliff above. He mumbled, “Olive trees…”

“Let’s go up there,” Ray suggested.

“The olive grove? Why all of a sudden? Haha, are you planning to make a laurel wreath and crown me with it?”

“Haha, not that. I just wanted to take a look… and, I have something I want to tell you, Messara.”

Hmm…?

I immediately had a feeling. Ever since before the trip, I had sensed something unusual about Ray. Starting with revealing Marata’s existence, it seemed like he was now ready to confess the secrets he had been keeping all this time.

I smiled softly.

“Alright. Let’s grab another lemonade and head up. Hmm, I see the stairs leading up the cliff over there. Covered in ivy—quite charming.”

We bought lemonade and climbed the cliff stairs into the olive grove. The forest was deep and wide, with no one in sight. Ray walked silently through the olive trees for a while.

“Olives…”

Ray muttered quietly to himself. Then he stopped at a spot and broke off a branch from an olive tree.

“The Romans offered olive trees to Jupiter and Minerva. Do you know why?”

“No. Haha… how could I know? That’s more your expertise, Ray.”

“Look it up sometime. It’s a shame, though. If we had come in the fall, we could’ve seen the yellow-green olives.”

“Oh dear. Does that mean we’ll have to come back here for our next trip? But I agree, this island is worth visiting a hundred times.”

I replied with a laugh. Ray silently gazed at the olive branch. The silence stretched on. I didn’t mind. I was a patient man. I could wait as long as it took. I needed to hear it. It was crucial for Ray’s healing.

If, as I had suspected from the beginning, some bastard had gathered his friends to assault Ray, I planned to track him down and make him pay. I would tear him apart and chew him up alive. The mere thought of hawthorn thorns made my blood boil.

Ray sat under an olive tree. I sat next to him. A cool breeze swept through the olive grove. Ray sat, almost hidden in the shadow of the trees, shaking the branch in his hand.

Ray’s thin lips trembled slightly. His mouth opened, “I…”

The story went back 600 years. There was a man. In a black palace full of savagery and madness, he bled and died. After a long time passed, he was reincarnated as a poor shaman. At the age of 17, in a lonely winter, he summoned a greedy tyrant to a graveyard. For 10 long years, he devoted himself entirely to cold and darkness, chasing after the fleeting mirage of revenge.

As I listened, my heart ached. It felt like I was hitting a dead end only to find another maze. Ray’s story was theoretically flawless. There wasn’t a speck of doubt. I already knew. The amber strands of hair I loved so much were fluttering in the spiteful wind. Abandoned by his parents, abused by his mentor, and shot by his lover—there was no way the wind wouldn’t drive him mad.

But if that story had perfectly ordered itself in Ray’s mind and was controlling him, I had to accept it. Even if I couldn’t fully understand it, I had to embrace it. I pulled Ray closer to me.

Why, I wondered, did a completely random thought about Andersen’s fairy tale come to mind?

…

Kay had turned blue with cold. The Snow Queen had cast a spell on him with her kiss, so he couldn’t feel the cold. He played by piecing together fragments of ice like a puzzle. Sometimes, he formed words, but there was one word he couldn’t manage to create.

The Snow Queen told Kay:

“If you can figure out this word, then you will be your own master.”

Finally, Gerda found Kay and cried. Her tears fell on his chest, melting the ice and dissolving the shard of the mirror embedded in his heart. The boy woke up, and the two, full of joy, danced together. Then, exhausted, they pieced together the one word they had never been able to before.

“…I see. Thank you for sharing this with me. From now on, let’s face this together. You’re not alone anymore.”

I embraced him, the one who had been trapped by the radiant white queen, with shards of the mirror embedded in his heart and eyes. And just like Gerda, I kissed Ray’s cheek.

“I love you.”

On a harsh winter day, out of nowhere, I had received a phone call. It was Ray. Like the cold-hearted queen in a white dress, Ray had frozen me with a mocking smile on his lips. But now, here he was, whispering that he loved me. He told me that the command to leave had never been sincere. He said he was sorry.

His confession dripped onto me like Gerda’s warm tears. It brought life back to me. It revived me. I breathed again. Ray had become my Gerda, melting the mirror shards embedded in my heart and eyes.

I looked straight ahead. The Blue Grotto stretched out between the olive trees. What had I longed for back then? I had wished to stay with Ray in this sea. I had wanted time, caught in an endless loop, to stop.

But it was a vain wish. Soon, the boat would leave the cave, and the tide would mercilessly swallow up that pure blue light. We had to return—to the cold, deadly garden where pure white snowflakes scattered and a queen in a snow-white dress ruled over a cruel kingdom of winter.

But there was one thing I was certain of. One thing that would remain unchanged. This feeling—this alone would not falter in the flow of time and space. Even if this bountiful olive grove around us were to turn into a blood-red wasteland right now.

I held Ray close once more. And I said it again.

“I love you.”

For the first and last time in my life.

With all I had to give.

The boy and the girl, full of joy, danced together, then exhausted, pieced together the one word they had never managed to before…

The word Kay and Gerda pieced together.

It was “eternity.”

꙳•❅*ִ

I glanced out the window of the second-hand bookstore. It was early evening, and the July wind was sweeping through the streets. July… Time was passing quickly. It had already been three months since I had moved and reopened the store.

I turned my attention back to the newspaper. It was a small box article about the mischievous billionaire, Mr. Sorel, leaving for Germany yesterday. I had read the article so many times today I had lost count.

Suddenly, the phone rang, snapping me back to reality.

“Haha. Sorry, Sonia. I think I can come by the weekend after next.”

After some small talk, I hung up the phone. Once again, I flipped through the newspaper, one page at a time. The front page was an article about Karl (who was no longer a duke after his title was stripped). It reported that Karl, who regained consciousness after three months, had lashed out at

and

when they came to visit him.

I chuckled to myself. What a fool. Irina had already announced her engagement to a Greek shipping magnate a month ago, yet Karl was still acting arrogantly, flaunting his position as the illegitimate uncle. He was worlds apart from the king, who had fully transformed into a “modern man,” wielding the art of media manipulation with finesse.

Still, if Karl hadn’t been oblivious to his past life, he might not have committed such an anachronistic blunder. After all, he was fundamentally a smart person.

Karl had been sentenced to 12 years of imprisonment and permanent exile. While he was in a coma,

had swiftly concluded all his trials. Irina was preparing a lawsuit to challenge the unjust legal proceedings.

It was strange. Why did an old Sicilian proverb suddenly come to mind? “Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

But this wasn’t the revenge I had sought.

Was it the king’s revenge?

Against the subordinate who had deceived him so thoroughly…?

I stared at the

painting hanging on the wall of the secondhand bookstore. It was a painting that

had discreetly despised, forcing me to move it to the store. Our conversation from the day I brought the painting flashed in my mind.

Necrophilia…

Diana jumped onto my lap. She was now full-grown and rather heavy. As I scratched Diana’s chubby neck, I poured myself some tea.

… I probably won’t see him again.

Neither he nor I would chase after a corpse from 600 years ago anymore, gathering in one place.

I sipped my tea, reflecting on that day.

That day, it was Count

who rescued us from the cage. He broke the chain with a gun and freed us. Following him up the stairs, we ended up in a room connected to a secret door.

The castle had already descended into chaos, with spectators and media teams swarming the place. Thanks to that, we were able to slip out of the castle without much trouble. Count Saxella, who had remained silent the whole time, only spoke once we reached the front of

Station.

“Someone wants to have a word with the sorcerer. You folks can head to a restaurant and grab a bite in the meantime.”

Count Saxella pointed to a fancy car parked in front of the station. As we hesitantly approached the car, the door opened. My eyes widened. It was Sorel.

“Haha, were you surprised? I couldn’t exactly roam around the Duke’s castle freely, so I asked Count Saxella for a favor. Hop in.”

“So that’s what happened. But how did you know I was imprisoned?”

I asked, and Sorel shrugged.

“Your conversation didn’t seem ordinary. So I followed you two into the secret room. The Duke’s bodyguards lacked loyalty. I slipped them some money, and they stepped aside easily. Thanks to that, I witnessed the Duke dragging you away.”

“I see.”

“That handsome Duke not only had a taste for molesting children, but it seems he also enjoyed kidnapping and ‘training’ people. Lucky for me, things turned out well. Count Saxella, who didn’t believe me at first, finally acted after this morning’s scandal about the Duke’s child molestation broke out. Haha.”

Child molestation… The happy face of Duke

, who had been feeding snacks to children on the Food Channel, flashed before my eyes. It was chilling.

“Thank you. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay this kindness.”

“Kindness? It was quite the entertaining experience for me. I heard Count Saxella asked you to overlook the Duke’s kidnapping. Since he’s already in deep trouble with the child molestation case, adding kidnapping would only make it worse for him. Haha, that perverted Duke sure has a good friend. Oh, and here’s a gift for you.”

Sorel handed me a small red case. I blinked in surprise.

“A gift? But I’m the one who owes you a debt. I should be the one offering something in return.”

“Haha, don’t be so serious. It’s actually a book I wrote. I’m a children’s author, you see. I even signed it for you, so please accept it. Take care on your way back.”

“Ah, thank you. I’ll gladly accept it.”

As I took the case, I couldn’t help but think what an eccentric man he was. Sorel gave me a soft look. Just as I was about to awkwardly turn my head, wondering why he was staring at me like that, Sorel kissed my forehead and whispered:

“May the blessings of the gods always be with you.”

It was a strange, quirky gesture fitting for such an odd man.

After saying goodbye to Sorel, I got out of the car and headed to the restaurant, where Sonia and

were seated. It was already past 8 p.m., having survived through the night.

The crisis was over, but my mind was still a jumble. I needed to talk to Messara about Sonia’s situation and get the compensation ready… Just as I was about to start, Sonia spoke up.

“What’s in that box, honey?”

“Oh, this? It’s a gift.”

I opened the box. Inside were a beautifully crafted children’s book and a small case. Without much thought, I flipped through the book. Suddenly, I felt a shock reverberate through my entire body, as if my heart had been slashed by a sharp scythe. My heart raced abnormally, and my vision spun. After a moment, I regained my composure and began to slowly turn the pages again.

“The Tale of the Mirror Queen” by Margaret Demeter

Once upon a time, a long time ago, there lived a young girl. When she was twelve, her greedy father pushed her into a grand cathedral, where she became queen.

However, the king paid no attention to the queen. He was too busy with affairs of state and only loved his daughter from his previous marriage. So, he locked the queen away in a tower.

Bored, the queen spent her days playing with a mirror. It was no ordinary mirror; it could talk to the queen and show her anything she wished to see. The queen used it to observe the world, but there was one thing she never looked at: the king. She hated the king for locking her in the tower.

Fifteen years later, news spread that the king’s daughter was getting married. The queen spoke to the mirror.

“Mirror, mirror, show me the king’s daughter.”

“Yes, Your Majesty!” the mirror replied, and showed the king’s daughter. The queen was startled. The king’s daughter was walking in a beautiful garden with her prince, wearing a golden dress. Overcome with jealousy, the queen cursed the king’s daughter. But the curse was futile, as the king’s daughter was protected by the prince and some dwarves.

The queen’s crime was discovered, and she was forced to wear burning iron shoes and dance for two months until she died a gruesome death. Her magical mirror was confiscated and hung in the king’s study, while her wedding jewels were locked in his desk drawer. Her mother took care of the queen’s pitiful corpse, burying her in the wilderness.

What was the king doing during all this? He kept working hard, as usual, paying no mind to the dying queen and showing no sadness at her death.

Years passed like flowing water, and the king grew lonely. Like the queen before him, he began spending his time talking to the magical mirror. One day, the king asked, “Mirror, mirror, my daughter is the most beautiful in the world, isn’t she?”

“No!” the mirror replied.

The king was shocked. “Then show me someone more beautiful.”

The mirror did, and the king fell in love with the person he saw. “Who is this?” he asked.

“This is your wife!” the mirror replied.

The king was stunned. How could the woman he just fell in love with be the queen who had died years ago? He was filled with sorrow. From that day on, he spent every day looking at the queen through the mirror, imagining her personality, her likes, and fiddling with her wedding jewels. He had become obsessed with love.

However, one wedding ring was missing from the jewels. The king wondered if the queen had been buried wearing it. Consumed with curiosity, he secretly called for the queen’s mother and subtly asked if the ring had been on the queen’s body. The mother left without a word.

Undeterred, the king sent a servant to bribe the queen’s mother with a large purse of gold. “The king wishes to know the whereabouts of the queen’s grave and her ring. Only you know the answer, so please respond.”

The mother answered, “Shatter the mirror into pieces, and I will tell you.”

She despised the mirror. If it hadn’t been for the mirror, the queen would never have seen the happy king’s daughter or been consumed by jealousy. Most of all, she couldn’t stand the king staring at the queen through it.

But the king could not fulfill that request. Without the mirror, he wouldn’t be able to see the queen. So, he continued sending the servant with gold, trying to convince the queen’s mother. Each time, she refused. This went on for ten years.

Then, the mother fell ill. The king secretly visited her, weeping and begging for the location of the queen’s grave. After ten years, the king’s eyes had grown dead like a corpse. But the mother had no intention of forgiving him.

Seeing the king’s cold expression, the mother suddenly noticed a violet flower blooming outside the window. “Your Majesty, what do you know about the queen?” she asked.

After a long pause, the king replied, “Nothing.”

The mother, realizing the reaper had come for her with his sharp scythe, whispered, “She loved violets. She often said she wanted to be reborn as a violet.”

But it was a lie. The queen had never cared for violets. The mother was mocking the king.

Yet, the king didn’t know this. He was only happy to learn something about the queen. “Please, just tell me where the grave is,” he begged. But the mother no longer had the strength to speak—she had died.

The king lived for another forty years. But he was always alone. His daughter was preoccupied with her prince, and the servants and subjects only loved their own families.

The king built a palace of violets. He died alone, buried in the wilderness.

I closed the final page of the storybook. It felt as though I was suffering from heatstroke, my vision swirling. I couldn’t tell where the truth ended and where Sorel’s imagination began. Sonia tapped my shoulder with the menu.

“Darling, aren’t you hungry? You haven’t eaten all day.”

I snapped back to reality, took the menu, and ordered. Even after the meal, I remained silent for a long time. Finally, I opened the case that had come with the storybook. I gasped. Inside was a breathtakingly expensive diamond necklace.

Stunned, I handed the necklace to Sonia.

“Sonia, take this. It’s a reward for helping me.”

“What?” Sonia set down her coffee cup, mouth agape. Owin also held his breath.

“Um, darling, I’ll refuse it just once out of politeness, but this seems a bit excessive for two months of oral sex, don’t you think? You’re way too generous. Do you even see how many diamonds are on this necklace?”

“Haha, just accept it, Sonia. And it’s not free. It comes with a condition: don’t tell anyone about me and my boyfriend. And you need to leave for the provinces immediately. My boyfriend is a dangerous man.”

“Hehe, you think we’re fools? Of course, we’ll do that. But wow, with this necklace, I could open five clothing stores. Oh, darling, remember that crystal ball fortune-teller we saw? She said my husband would have a reserved nature but love me deeply. Turns out she was talking about you, not Owin.”

“Ah, right. She also said I’d become rich soon… and receive a necklace from my husband.”

I nodded. It seemed the fortune-teller’s prophecy had triggered Duke Vardi’s grave misunderstanding. The coincidence was uncanny.

Why is it that Nietzsche’s words suddenly come to mind? “All things must return to their path. Time forms a circle, and within that circle, the universe and life are repeated endlessly…”

It felt like I was wandering through a fog-covered cemetery. I sipped my black coffee, trying to steady my breath. I hated this…

I really hated this.

After finishing my meal, I left the restaurant. Snowflakes were softly falling, like feathers scattered from a torn pillowcase. I was going to head home but changed my mind and took the train toward 42nd Street.

It had been a long time since I visited 42nd Street. The cognac-colored street was as desolate as dawn without a soul. A corpse, covered in newspaper, lay sprawled at the edge of the alley. Only the swirling white snowflakes seemed to reign over the exhausted, pale darkness.

I pulled my hood down low and kept walking. In the distance, the red glow of a streetlamp beckoned. The secondhand bookstore, as always, stood there draped in ivy, reflecting the light, shining like a lonely monument.

I stood before it and looked up at the sign. 42nd Street. This was the place where I had lived from the age of seven, when Marata rescued me, until I was twenty-eight. It felt like my hometown.

“Yes, back then, th-this place wasn’t a r-red-light district. It was just a b-b-barren land. I c-came back, only remembering that, and w-was shocked…”

I used to dismiss Sorel’s words as a poor excuse. After all, 42nd Street had been a famous red-light district since the 19th century. And Sorel’s pen name, Margaret Demeter, was the name of Whitebirch’s mother.

42nd Street.

Had I really lived here, in this graveyard of Whitebirch, for 21 years?

Gray snow danced from the sky. I shook my head and turned. Twenty minutes later, a small Spanish-style café came into view. A white neon sign glittered at the entrance leading to the basement.

Snow White.

I stared quietly at the white, shimmering sign. A wave of melancholy enveloped me. Snow White… Messara had come here, seemingly addicted, to pick out men. Meanwhile, I had sat crouched at

, just twenty minutes away, hurtling toward revenge.

The two names stood side by side, like signposts on a street.

Oddly enough, I thought of T-field. Of course, that couldn’t be right. That was even more absurd than a delusion.

I wanted to believe it was all coincidence. I needed to believe that. If my parents hadn’t abandoned me, if the one who rescued me hadn’t been a fortune teller, if I hadn’t charged down the path of revenge, Messara would never have set foot on 42nd Street.

And if I recalled the memory of 17-year-old Ray Arisa, our beginning hadn’t been Snow White—it was that gray alley, with the white smoke rising, 11 years ago.

It was a coincidence. Just a coincidence.

A gust of wind tugged at my hair as it brushed against my shoulders. I quickly turned away from the café and headed toward the Drasil River, crossing through the pitch-black alley.

Endlessly, the snow fell. The breathtakingly beautiful snowflakes fluttered like wings. It was the same as that day, when I staggered here, longing for Messara.

I sat on the riverbank, staring at the frozen river for a long time. Just like that day, snow fell thickly over the frozen surface, suffocating it. The ice sheets, blanketed in snow, were as desolate as the stillness of an abandoned alley.

I muttered quietly to myself.

I retraced Sorel’s steps. What I had once dismissed as the actions of an eccentric were now shedding their layers, revealing new meanings. When I stripped away all of Sorel’s embellishments from the fairy tale, two truths emerged.

The ring and the violet flower.

For some reason, Daytanz had desperately sought the ring. For ten years, Margaret had refused the king’s request. Daytanz probably thought she was rejecting him out of anger.

But that wasn’t the case. Margaret couldn’t tell him where the ring was.

Because she didn’t know where it was either.

“The name of the shop struck me as unusual.

. It seemed to imply that Whitebirch never wore the ring from the start.”

Sorel had seen through the name of the secondhand bookstore with precision. There could be no ring in the wasteland. Whitebirch had never worn it from the beginning.

Whitebirch had a metal allergy. That’s why, in the portrait, she wore nothing but the ring. She had only worn it for the sake of the sketch.

And on the night she was captured, Whitebirch, terrified by the torches closing in on the tower, had frantically thrown anything she could grab out the window. One of those things had been the ring.

It was strange. I could understand Daytanz being curious about the grave. But the ring? Why? For what reason? Was it simply the most valuable item among the wedding gifts? Or was there some deeper meaning?

What a bizarre thing.

I laughed quietly, then furrowed my brow. I suddenly remembered Messara’s strange comment about the mud mask. Thinking back, that had been odd too. The way she talked about “seducing me with mackerel,” or how she randomly insisted on reading fairy tales, telling lies while engaging in her perverse actions—all of it. I couldn’t help but laugh, even in my daze.

Could it be that Daytanz was also an oddball?

I still didn’t know. According to the records, he had stared “intently” at the corpse’s left arm. But why? Why, for what reason, did he believe Whitebirch was wearing the ring? Was he just forgetful? Or perhaps he speculated that the ring might have been worn on her right hand?

It was a mystery. I had thought I knew him well, but now I felt as though that certainty had completely shattered.

Suddenly, a chill ran down my neck. Frozen like a corpse, I stared across the river.

“Your Majesty, what do you know of the queen?”

After a long silence, the king had answered. “Nothing.”

Yes… Nothing.

I, too, knew nothing about him. All I had done was memorize the records. Why hadn’t I realized it sooner? The Levitan described in the records and the real person I had witnessed were completely different.

Violet… Messara, who always called the Viola Cathedral a violet, flashed before my eyes. I covered my mouth. My heart pounded uneasily, and a part of my body throbbed.

Did he die knowing? The truth hidden in the depths of violets and the girl’s execution tool?

Even if he did, what would it change?

I clicked my tongue. Even if he knew, nothing would have changed. Whether a million cathedrals were built or not, it was all the same. At the root of Whitebirch’s death, no matter how you looked at it, he was to blame. And if my guess hit the bullseye of truth, he dug his own grave.

I pulled my knees up. Cold…

Duke Vardi grabbed me as I tried to escape, saying, “The story isn’t over yet.” He didn’t know. By then, the 17-year-old Ray Arisa had already seen through the entire truth.

Laetitia said that the king was “furious” when he saw the queen’s corpse that day. In other words, Daytanz had no idea about the torture inflicted on the queen until he saw the body himself. He believed that the torturers had left the queen alone as per his orders.

However, that day was three days after the royal family announced that the queen’s death was “an accident that occurred because she couldn’t endure the torture.” It was the second day since Daytanz had returned to the capital.

Laetitia simply explained the reason for torturing the queen and avoided punishment.

What do these contradictions imply? It was obvious. Daytanz ordered Whitebirch’s execution while returning to the capital.

Even without a forced confession through torture, finding any sorcery tools would have condemned Whitebirch to the stake. Daytanz probably thought Whitebirch would have already asked for a “peaceful death.” Thus, he ordered Laetitia not to torture the queen. He may have reveled in the sorcery case but had no intention of brutally crushing the insect that had served him for 15 years.

Near the end of the war, he would have displayed her decayed, skeletal corpse to his courtiers, pretending it was the result of terrible torture, playing the role of Bluebeard.

But Laetitia believed the sorcery case to be the king’s fabrication. Because of that, he interpreted the king’s order as “leave her alive, and after the war, we’ll reconsider her fate.” After examining Whitebirch’s appearance, he bribed the torturers, figuring the king would suspect it was a staged murder if she died too soon. So, they tortured her just enough to force a confession without killing her.

Bienno, who had once pitied Whitebirch, eventually changed his stance after being bribed. The widespread rumors of false accusations and the lack of sorcery tools helped Laetitia’s perfect crime.

While returning to the capital, Daytanz was informed that the queen still lived and had rejected a “peaceful death.” Whether he knew the tools hadn’t been found or not, he decided to eliminate Whitebirch. He ordered Laetitia to “kill the queen and announce her death as an accident during torture.” Elated, Laetitia used the girl’s execution tool to kill Whitebirch.

That day, Whitebirch’s corpse was covered with a rag. It was likely Daytanz’s intent, believing that a clean corpse wouldn’t have the same shock value. Leaving the body untouched for two days after returning and keeping his courtiers waiting for a long time before the unveiling also served this purpose. Believing she hadn’t been tortured, Daytanz worked hard to foster a sense of terror and was later horrified when he saw the corpse.

I snickered. Hardly. Those two lovers, after all, couldn’t escape their names and ended with a double suicide. Names are important.

This is reality. Without a name, there is no existence. Even I was indifferent to the nameless dead freezing in the alleys of 42nd Street. Daytanz’s fury? It was nothing more than irritation over the breaking of the flimsy excuse he’d attached to discarding a weed he had used for 15 years.

Perhaps he was a little embarrassed, too. Realizing that day, for the first time, the suffering of a nameless, meaningless weed he’d carelessly crushed under the weight of 15 years of sin.

Well, maybe he was enraged for a moment but soon forgot, like a swamp swallowing a small black dog.

A few months later, he never could have imagined that this weed would transform into a rose called love and emit a beautiful fragrance.

I scratched my chin. It was trivial either way. The question that plagued the 28-year-old Ray Arisa wasn’t who had placed the execution tool on her. It was whether Daytanz had truly loved Whitebirch that much. The secret of the execution tool had almost been solved when I saw Levitan with Whitebirch last year. Their marriage had been miserable, so I figured she got her punishment, and I didn’t bother to think much more about it.

The Mirror Queen…

It was the story of Snow White’s stepmother. A bitter taste lingered in my mouth. To others, Whitebirch was nothing but a witch. Even to her own mother. Perhaps Daytanz, a typical 16th-century man, had been tormented by Whitebirch’s death as a witch.

Suddenly, I chuckled. I thought of someone desperately trying to strip away the sorcery and political strife from me. Did Four Messara want to be Ray Arisa’s prince? Did he want to be not the barren wasteland of death, but the rich plains of Crete’s Mesara for me? Is that why he persistently knocked on my door, gave me gifts every day, and combed my hair?

Did he see Ray Arisa not as an evil sorcerer but as a poor orphan locked in the attic by the witch Marata?

I laughed again, this time at the thought of his habit of gripping my waist during sex. A prince, indeed. Messara was the real witch, feeding me the poisonous apple of love.

Messara…

Messara loved me. He was ready to stay with me until his dying day. He truly loved me with his entire body and soul. He couldn’t live without me.

If Daytanz had loved Whitebirch as much as Messara loved me?

What must that have felt like? To be surrounded by spectators full of vanity and pretense, unable to show any pain, having to laugh loudly, dance, and cheer?

If his love had been as deep as Messara’s, it would have felt like being trapped in hell. Like Messara, whose vitality faded the moment I yelled at him to leave, he would have endured 50 years as a corpse. Like Messara, whose overflowing energy broke as he turned his back and left me, Daytanz would have lived for 50 years as an empty shell.

How painful must it have been? How much? Yet, even if that were true…

Did he think I would pity him?

I glared into the empty space. Don’t be ridiculous.

No matter what he endured mentally, he lived well. He enjoyed luxuries thousands of times greater than Whitebirch ever did. He lived in warmth, draped in silk, eating delicious food. His word made everyone laugh or cry. The suffering he experienced was not revenge for Whitebirch, nor anything else. It was merely the price of the immense power he held. Just as I realized that my ten lonely years spent in pursuit of revenge had been futile after setting Messara in front of Nemesis on your behalf, you paid the price that came with your power.

A single tear rolled down my cheek. It was a moment later that I realized the sound of laughter scattering into the darkness like musical notes. I brushed the snow off my shoulders and stepped away from the riverbank. Laughter continued to bubble out. It flowed endlessly. I laughed all the way home on the subway. The people sitting around me glanced my way, but I laughed without a care. I laughed. I laughed and laughed again.

I was glad Messara wasn’t next to me. If he saw my face now, he would surely tease me, saying I looked like the Cheshire Cat.

That was the end of the last chapter of my adventures in Wonderland.

I folded the newspaper and tossed it into the trash can. It was already five o’clock. After tidying up the shop, I took Diana outside. Diana joyfully bounded ahead.

It was the early evening of a ripening spring. The sky was still blue. Children on bicycles whizzed past, whistling. The path from the used bookstore to home was a tree-lined promenade. The ground was covered with grass and small pebbles, and the quiet street had mansions with gardens lined up in neatly divided sections. Each house had windows filled with brightly colored flowers. However, I sighed deeply.

How am I going to endure tomorrow…?

This was the usual worry for Wednesdays. A month ago, Mrs. Castlemaine had suggested to me, “Why don’t you try volunteering?” She spoke of a seventy-year-old disabled man living alone, whom the neighbors took turns caring for. She said the job involved walking the dog, giving the grandfather a bath, and then cooking dinner, claiming it would only take four hours once a week. Thinking it was only natural to help those in need now that I was living comfortably, I gladly accepted.

However, if I had known that the dog I needed to walk was a shepherd mix the size of a calf, and that the grandfather I had to bathe was a former mercenary who had fought in various foreign wars for forty years and was a fierce homophobe, I would have never agreed. Each time I gave him a bath, his cries of “Damn homo is raping me!” made my ears ring. I almost got bitten a few times while walking the dog.

The problematic old man was notorious for having replaced thirty-four volunteers. Mrs. Castlemaine had tricked me into taking on this ordeal after enduring it for a year herself. Now, I was keeping a close eye on the neighborhood florist.

I entered the house. As soon as I released her leash, Diana spun around the living room. Her ears and tail waved around as if they were melting into butter. When she came inside, she would do that for five minutes without fail. It was Diana’s profound habit, something humans couldn’t comprehend.

While Diana played, I flipped through a cookbook to choose our dinner menu. I decided on seafood spaghetti filled with cocktail shrimp. Since I started learning to cook, I had grown to genuinely respect the Italians who invented spaghetti. It was easy to prepare, delicious, and beautiful. During the weekdays, I cooked while Messara took over on weekends, but I still hadn’t surpassed his cooking skills.

I put the cleaned seafood into the pan and began to sauté it. The mouthwatering aroma wafted through the air. I went to the greenhouse to cut white roses to decorate the table. This was all Messara’s taste. He liked to fill the table with candles and vibrant flowers.

He was indeed a peculiar person. He enjoyed indulging in strange illusions and liked following formalities. After revealing that a memory from the olive grove had come back to him, I asked Messara, “Why did you make me read fairy tales?” He paused for a moment and replied, “I heard that couples usually do that, so I wanted to give it a try.”

Is that so…? I tilted my head in confusion. Is reading fairy tales something couples generally do? I was quite skeptical, but I decided to believe him.

I didn’t bother asking about the bizarre lies he spun. Well, it was obvious. All those pent-up perverse desires had exploded onto the easily manipulated seventeen-year-old Ray Arisa. Then, without missing a beat, he attempted to mold me into a masochist.

Anyway, we agreed to have sex only three times a week, while keeping the rest to light petting. Messara’s vigorous libido could not be contained by mere garlic and walnut consumption. It would suck me dry until I was nothing but a skeleton. I decided to keep wearing the apron. It was childish, but every evening, as Messara fiddled with the apron in the bedroom and shot me pitiful looks, I had no choice.

But there was something good about it. Messara was very supportive of my used bookstore, unlike before. On Saturday afternoons, we happily manned the shop together, selling books. He even gifted me an antique phonograph to commemorate our move to the new bookstore. Along with it, I received twenty well-preserved records, and the sound of the needle scratching as it turned was exquisite. How strange. Nevertheless, it was a welcome change.

Sometimes, I thought back to when we moved the bookstore from 42nd Street. Just as six hundred years of old hatred ended in just eight minutes, clearing out the place where we had settled for twenty-one years took only six hours. Messara was very disappointed when I tried to toss away the sign of the bookstore. It had character, and it held our memories, so why would I throw it away? He insisted on taking it to his study, pleased to have “a nice piece.”

Now my used bookstore was called “Diana’s Forest.”

I wiped my hands on the apron and stared at the living room wall. I gazed back and forth at the photo frames of Messara’s parents in their youth and our wedding pictures. They really looked similar.

Eternal recurrence… I murmured.

Well, Nietzsche was a great philosopher. But he was a man of the 19th century, when determinism thrived. The 20th century was the age of quantum mechanics. Unlike 19th-century classical mechanics, quantum mechanics argues that not everything is predetermined, but only the probabilities of events are determined. Nietzsche’s theory of eternal recurrence had its flaws. Those photographs proved that.

Messara was an IVF baby. His mother, who had been infertile, succeeded in getting pregnant at thirty-nine and gave birth. As their only child, Messara was showered with love. Naturally, he loved and respected his parents in return. It was only natural that he would unconsciously emulate his father as a role model. Messara’s obsession with Ray Arisa’s long blonde hair was a result of that emulation.

Ironically, Messara still hadn’t realized the similarity in those photographs. Though perceptive, he was still oblivious in unexpected ways.

However, Ray Arisa, who was just as perceptive as Messara, had also failed to notice. Twenty-eight-year-old Ray Arisa didn’t know. The one who quickly realized that similarity was seventeen-year-old Ray Arisa. The boy who didn’t know the king’s spirit lay dormant within Messara. Boy Ray Arisa, who looked directly at Messara without the screen of prejudice, instantly saw through the essence behind Messara’s obsession with hair.

Was our meeting merely a product of chance?

I laughed.

Suddenly, Diana lifted her head. She perked her ears and began wagging her tail. It was a sign that Messara’s car was approaching the house. How fascinating… I murmured as I looked at Diana.

How does she know? Although animals have a remarkable sense of smell, how could she possibly detect Messara driving from two or three kilometers away?

That sixth sense of animals seemed to easily surpass the clumsy rationality humans adhered to. In fact, humans also had a sixth sense latent within them. The Orchitunica that had relentlessly tormented me was also a form of sixth sense.

I looked at the photo frame once more.

Coincidence.

Coincidence.

But it didn’t seem like that. Messara wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t understand the sensation surging through my entire body right now. This sensation whispered like a magic spell, insisting that our meeting was not merely a coincidence. Even so, I didn’t care. Those things no longer mattered.

Orchitunica… Of course, it had completely disappeared. But this dizzying feeling, as if something was approaching, was so similar to Orchitunica. My sense of pain became sharply heightened. A suffocating wind swept over my entire body. Along with the persistent knocking and footsteps that had once relentlessly tapped at my ears, the vivid vitality that had enveloped my entire being. I muttered quietly. He is coming…

Four Messara, whom Ray Arisa loves, is coming.

He is coming to our glass garden.

Diana, who had been staring at the door leading to the garage, bolted forward like a bullet. She scratched furiously at the door and kept glancing back at me. I purposely walked slowly toward the door, amused by Diana’s impatient reaction.

I heard the sound of a car engine shutting off outside. Heavy footsteps followed. Then, a knock. I opened the door. He hugged me. I hugged him back. And I said:

“Welcome home.”