Chapter 36
“…F…Father?”
Marsha’s pupils quivered uncontrollably.
The monster gripped her shoulders and bellowed.
“How could you live as if you’d forgotten your father!”
Her face had gone deathly pale.
She shook her head.
Forgotten? Not for a single moment had she forgotten him.
“Lies…! If you truly remembered me, you wouldn’t be able to smile. You wouldn’t waste your time idling about, enjoying yourself…!”
No… no, that’s not true…!
She wanted to protest, but her throat locked tight.
Not a sound came out.
“You were going to give up, weren’t you? Telling yourself it was too late, that the culprit could never be caught—comforting yourself with that excuse, and living on as if the unjust death I suffered meant nothing to you!”
No! I never—never once—thought of doing that!
Why else would I work every single day without rest, clawing for even the smallest handful of coins?
It was all so I could find the one who killed you…!
…Or was it?
There was a time when every night was soaked with tears, when she thought only of her father, vowing she would catch the murderer.
But somewhere along the way… she had stopped. She had simply lived.
How could I…?
Disgust welled up inside her.
Her father had raised her—sacrificed for her.
Even if he had merely passed away, she should have mourned him every single day.
But he hadn’t simply died.
He had been murdered—his life stolen in pain, in injustice…!
Then how… How could I…?!
She wanted to die.
Right here, right now, she wished her father would take her away.
That way, she could escape the suffocating shame crushing her chest.
I’m sorry… I’m sorry…
Her endless apologies tumbled through her mind as her body sank lower and lower, plummeting into the darkness.
I’m sorry…
Tears blurred her vision, and she let her eyes drift shut.
If she never woke again, it would be a mercy.
But then—
…sha.
…sha!
“Marsha!”
A voice like a crack of lightning shattered the darkness, and Masha’s eyes flew open before she realised it.
In the black void, Claudio was there—his brow furrowed in urgency, calling to her.
Why… Why is he here…?
She sat up slowly, still dazed, her expression muddled with confusion.
Only then did Claudio exhale a long breath of relief, brushing away the tangled strands of hair that had fallen into her face.
“…Hah…”
Two hours earlier—
When Claudio returned to his bedroom, he lay on the bed, replaying Marsha’s earlier words in his mind.
[Why are you asking so many questions?]
Right.
Why had he asked so much?
He could have just assumed it was for a gift and left it at that.
Why had it mattered so much who it was for?
The only people around her that I know are that woman, Berry, and the herbalist…
Could it be that she was giving it to that herbalist?
Claudio hadn’t liked the man from the moment he saw him.
A man at least ten years older than Marsha, speaking to her with such easy familiarity—it rubbed him the wrong way.
Even if it wasn’t him, it could still be someone else.
Claudio didn’t know every person in her life.
But for some reason, the face that kept coming to mind… was always a man’s.
And that, inexplicably, irritated him.
…Why did that bother me?
What was so wrong with her giving a gift to a man?
And why had his irritation vanished the instant she said the cream was for Berry and her parents?
He didn’t understand himself at all.
Did I injure my head when I got hurt?
Or maybe I lost my senses along with the blood I spilt.
As he narrowed his eyes and glared at the ceiling, the image of Marsha earlier—curled up on the sofa—flashed through his mind.
He still didn’t like her sleeping there.
When he lay on that sofa, his legs stuck out, and even his shoulders barely fit.
Yet, somehow, the same small, worn sofa looked spacious when she lay on it.
Cozy—like a little cat curled up in its den.
And maybe she feels more comfortable around me now?
Before, she never would have let her guard down enough to lie down in front of him.
And now she could show him such a defenceless sight without a second thought.
…No fear at all.
Marsha was a puzzle.
Sometimes she seemed at ease with him; other times guarded and distant.
One moment, she was as rough-spoken and unrestrained as any commoner woman; the next, she carried herself with the effortless grace of a highborn lady—every flick of her fingers steeped in elegance.
When would be the right time to ask?
Just who are you?
Who were your parents?
What kind of life did you live before you drifted here?
…And why do I even care?
Claudio closed his eyes slowly.
He was human, after all—there were times when curiosity gnawed at him.
Most questions could be answered through study or experience, but there were some mysteries he had carried unsolved all his life.
Like why his mother had spent her entire life yearning for the love of a man who would never give it.
Still, he wasn’t the type to cradle unanswered questions until the day he died.
Even if he never solved the riddle of Marsha, he figured that living alongside her might eventually dull his interest.
The day I grow tired of her…
When that day came, he’d leave.
He’d return to the world he belonged to, leaving behind this fleeting amusement he’d found in the middle of misfortune.
He had been sure that day wasn’t far off.
So why was it that each day, she intrigued him more?
What is it about you… That’s so different?
His thoughts were looping back on themselves when—
“…uh…”
A faint, pained moan drifted from beyond the door.
What?
Drawn as if by a string, Claudio rose to his feet, hand resting on the doorknob as he hesitated.
Should I even go out there?
He didn’t know what was going on.
She had her private life, after all—
“…nn—gh…”
Another sound, sharp with pain.
This time, he didn’t think twice.
He pushed the door open.
The living room was still dark, but his night-trained eyes caught her face clearly—damp with sweat, her features tight with distress.
Damn it… What’s happening to her all of a sudden?
He knelt beside the sofa, studying her closely.
That’s when he heard it—
“…not… no… it’s not…”
Her voice trembled, fragile and sorrowful, as though she might burst into tears at any moment.
Without thinking, Claudio reached for her—then snatched his hand back.
She’d probably hate it.
Even now, even like this, she might see his touch as something dangerous, like the jaws of a starving hound.
“…Hey.”
He called her name.
Still, her eyes didn’t open.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”
A tear finally broke free, sliding down her cheek.
Claudio frowned, baffled.
What kind of nightmare made her apologize like that?
“Come on, wake up.”
“I’m sorry…”
“…Marsha!”
He raised his voice sharply, just to cut her off.
Once wasn’t enough—he called again and again until he’d said her name close to ten times.
At last, her heavy lashes lifted, wet with tears.
“…hah…”
Claudio leaned his head back with a sigh.
Who knew waking someone could take this much effort?
And who knew he’d feel relief just because she was awake?
“What the hell were you dreaming about—”
But the words died in his throat.
She was awake now—he’d expected her to gather herself, to calm down.
Instead—
“Hhh—”
She wept, as though the whole world had just collapsed.
Startled, his mouth fell open.
“…Why are you crying?”
“Ugh… ahh…”
Marsha couldn’t even answer—she only clutched the blanket tight and wept.
Claudio was at a loss.
“Are you… hurt?”
No reply—only those deep, wrenching sobs.
Could a person’s eyes even hold that many tears?
If this went on, she looked like she might collapse right there.
“Why are you crying like this? Was it such a terrible dream? Even if it was—it was only a dream. Just an illusion.”
His voice, usually so even, carried an edge of agitation now.
Whether it was the tone or simply the words themselves, they brought her no comfort—her tears only flowed faster.
How the hell do I make her stop…?
The urgency clawed at him.
Then—out of nowhere—an idea came to him.
Not something he was used to, but painfully obvious all the same.
Would it even work?
She’d probably hate it.
He hesitated, his fingers twitching before curling into a fist.
If she doesn’t want it, she’ll push me away.
Slowly, he reached out, cupping her tear-damp face in his palm.
Maybe the touch would startle her into stopping—but no.
She kept crying, heartbreak spilling from her in waves, as if she wanted to drown in her sorrow.
This is driving me insane.
In the end, he drew her toward him, pulling her into his chest with the gentlest of pressure—so soft a child could have broken free.
