TYWML 01

1. The Repeating Dream

May 1, 2024

The dream always began the same way. A man with black hair and blue eyes knelt on one knee before Riena and looked up at her.

It was a posture as if he were making a knight’s vow to his lady.

But unlike a knight’s solemn vow, the man’s eyes were red, as if he were about to cry.

There was no reverence or sanctity in his expression—only a sorrow so deep it bordered on desperation.

Since her father, Count Dyke, had died two months ago, the dream had repeated five times. Just like a playback of a magic recording orb, the dream was always exactly the same.

“I can’t leave you alone anymore.”

Once again, the man pleaded with Riena. Though Riena had never seen him before, he looked at her as if they had shared a lifetime, as if they were even closer than that.

She wanted to ask: Who are you? Why do you look at me with such pain in your eyes? Why do you plead with me like that?

But no sound would come. She tried to move her lips to speak, but as always, her mouth only moved soundlessly like the voiceless mermaid in the fairy tale—her vocal cords silent.

Why? Why can’t I control my own dream?

As she strained to force out the words, the man spoke again.

“Are you saying no again, this time too?”

His voice, struggling out one word at a time, sounded terribly pitiful. It was a simple question, and yet it looked as though uttering it was unbearably painful for him.

The man, who appeared to be a full head taller than Riena and easily twice her build, seemed unable to breathe properly—probably crushed by despair.

Riena didn’t know who he was, but strangely, she could feel his emotions with vivid clarity.

Despair, frustration, regret, sorrow, and pain—all kinds of grief churned inside his heart.

Her own heart trembled, and she felt tears threatening to fall.

“If you wish it, I am ready to give up everything.”

He was a stranger. Yet every time he said those words, Riena always wanted to respond the same way:

You don’t need to do that for me. Forget someone like me and go live your life.

But again, the words never came out. She couldn’t say anything.

As if he had heard her silent thoughts, the man continued.

“Without you, my life has no meaning. I’ll give up everything if only I can have you. That alone is enough for me.”

No, please don’t. Don’t throw away all your wealth and honor for someone like me. You’re far too good for me…

She murmured inwardly, even though she knew nothing about him.

“So please, Lady Riena.”

The man took Riena’s hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it. As his sleeve slid up, her forearm was revealed—covered in bruises and cuts. She instinctively tried to pull her sleeve back down, but he was quicker.

With his thumb, he gently caressed the half-healed wounds. Drip. Drip. Unable to hold back, his tears fell one by one onto her injuries.

It was strange. Though it was just a dream, everything felt vividly real. The heat of his breath brushing her hand, the sting of his tears on her wounds—she could feel it all as though it were reality.

“All I ask is that you say the words: that you’ll come with me.”

I can’t. I’ll only ruin your life.

“If you refuse again, then I’ll take you away—even if I have to kidnap you.”

Please don’t… please…

The words she couldn’t say vanished like bubbles.

I have to tell him. I can’t go with you, but please don’t cry because of me.

If she said that, what kind of expression would he make?

But she could never know. As soon as the thought occurred to her, everything went dark.

As always, the dream ended with unanswered questions.

When she opened her eyes, hot tears trickled down her temples. Realizing she had had the dream again, Riena stared up at the familiar ceiling and tried to calm her breath.

But even after deep breathing and biting her lip, her stirred emotions wouldn’t settle.

All because of a man she’d only seen in a dream. A man whose name, status—nothing—was known to her. A man who might not even exist.

Still, every time she dreamt of him, Riena cried as though she had lost something precious.

The emptiness that gripped her was as immense as when she had lost her father, Count Dyke, two months ago. It felt as if someone close had been taken from her.

She didn’t know why. But every time she woke from that dream, repeated five times since her father’s death, she felt that way.

If only she knew why the man wore such a sorrowful expression.

Or better yet, if only he were real. Why did he exist only in dreams?

If she couldn’t ever meet him, then why did he look at her with such burning eyes? Why did he plead so desperately?

Once again, Riena pulled her blanket over her head and cried silently.

Even she didn’t know where these emotions came from. All she knew was that the fact she couldn’t meet him made her unbearably sad.

“Lady Dyke is so obedient. My late wife was far too headstrong—couldn’t feel anything for her.”

The brown-haired man, Viscount Rotman, licked his lips as he looked Riena up and down. It was clear he had no idea that her silence was due to not wanting to acknowledge him at all.

Before her father’s death, Riena had been known for riding horses across the fields like a wild thing—according to her stepsister Bianca, she was a “tomboy.”

The word “obedient” had never suited her. And yet, the reason she was enduring this humiliation now was to protect the honor of her late father, Count Dyke.

Her father had been a knight who valued virtue above all. He always taught her to never tolerate injustice—but also never to harm others without cause.

No matter how rude and distasteful Viscount Rotman was, he was still a guest of House Dyke. As a member of the family, it would be improper to lose her temper at a guest.

But the longer she stayed quiet, the bolder Viscount Rotman became.

“Still, I wish you’d worn something different today.”

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly at her attire.

She was wearing a black mourning dress that covered her from neck to wrists to ankles—leaving no skin exposed. It was mourning attire for her father.

Riena glanced down at her outfit and calmly replied,

“It hasn’t been long since my father passed. As his daughter, I must fulfill my duty.”

Her tone was as matter-of-fact as saying the sun rose in the east and set in the west.

But considering that her stepmother, her stepsister Bianca, and her half-brother Aaron—seated across from her—were all dressed in colorful garments, the remark was strikingly hypocritical.

So her words served not only as a subtle rebuke to Viscount Rotman, but also as a criticism of her own family.

Perhaps feeling slighted, Viscount Rotman’s face flushed red and purple. With his freckled nose, he looked uncannily like a bruised strawberry.

“I, too, mourn Count Dyke’s passing. But hasn’t it been two months since the funeral? Everyone else has taken off their mourning attire—continuing to wear it only darkens the mood of the house.”

In the Empire, it was customary to wear mourning clothes for about a month. Though not mandated by law, that was the social norm.

Her other family members had seized the chance to return to colorful outfits the moment that month had passed. Unlike Riena, they didn’t seem particularly grieved by the Count’s death.

Still, exceeding a month of mourning wasn’t frowned upon. In fact, in the Empire, the longer one wore mourning clothes, the more they were seen as a filial child.

Even the former Emperor had worn mourning for a whole year when his beloved Empress passed away. Compared to that, two months was short.

So to be scolded for this? Riena inwardly scoffed and opened her mouth again.

“Well, I suppose it means Mother didn’t have much affection for Father.”

This time, Countess Dyke’s face turned bright red. Riena looked at her with a shrug, as if to say, What’s wrong with that?, then scooped a spoonful of lemon sherbet for dessert.

Though the sherbet was sour enough to make her eyes close, it tasted like nothing at all to her bitter tongue.