Kenneth closed his eyes, and the final moment of Ariana’s life surfaced once more. The words she spoke just before raising the gun to her temple haunted him night after night.

“On the day you almost died… I was going to tell you that I loved you.”

‘That day.’

The one and only time they had gone out together—just the two of them—to the opera.

Even then, Kenneth had spent the evening sneaking glances at her profile, wondering when might be the right moment to speak his own heart. Waiting—hesitating—as time slipped by.

Ariana, too, had hoped it wasn’t a fleeting whim—but something real. And so, in truth, what Kenneth had wanted the saint to convey was something else entirely.

‘I loved you too. For a long time.’
‘I fell for you so deeply I couldn’t even measure the bottom of it.’
‘That’s why I resented you. And I hated myself for still wanting you while harboring that resentment.’
‘I’m sorry, Ariana. I should never have touched you that way.’
‘And our child, who died so meaninglessly… she wasn’t a mistake.’
‘Beatrice—just as you named her—was a blessing.’
‘Only, her father was never worthy of such a gift.’

But he couldn’t tell her any of that. He knew how those words would burden the kind woman and prevent her from leaving, and he couldn’t bear to see her in that much pain. If the child were returned, there would be so many things he would want to give her.

But if he ever used Beatrice to pressure Ariana…

She might reluctantly accept him for the child’s sake. If she found out that he had died alone in violent circumstances, perhaps she would pity him enough to choose to stay.

But he could not allow that.

Death might offer the chance to heal wounds and resolve misunderstandings, but it could not be used to rewrite or romanticise his sins.

Kenneth’s breath rattled as he coughed up blood one final time.

“Tell her… I met someone else… had a child… and…”

“…”

“I had a good life before I died.”

“…Is that truly your wish?. You may come to regret this decision.”

But he knew exactly what it would do to Ariana.

She was devastated to discover that the person she once loved was now living a full and happy life without her.

There is no pain quite like it. Kenneth knew this better than anyone. He was sure that hearing those words would give her the push she needed to move on.

Only when the saint finally nodded did Kenneth allow the tension to drain from his body. His vision had gone completely black, and his limbs were growing numb as though they were submerged in icy water.

Death stood at his door. Yet even in the end, his hearing lingered. Like the gentle rush of waves, he heard the saint’s final whisper:

“Kenneth. The promise holds until Beatrice’s third birthday… but when that day comes, you won’t have to suffer like this anymore. All you’ll need to do is give her whatever she asks for.”

That was the next bargain, the saint had said. Yet even on the brink of death, Kenneth was anxious.

‘What would the child ask for? And would a stubborn man like me really listen?’

“If I fail, then—”

“Kenneth, the sinner who drove his wife to take her own life.”

The voice that reached him in his final moments no longer sounded like a chastiser, but rather a calm prophecy of what was to come.

“You are obstinate and irreverent, but you will not commit the same crime twice.”

“…”

“Once your memories return, you will refrain from doing so.”

“Please let that be true.”

Kenneth trusted himself the least, yet there was nothing he could do now.

From somewhere beyond Saint Colette’s Cathedral came a sound reminiscent of the ebb and flow of the tide — the same sound that Ariana sometimes hummed to Bibi at night.

‘I never did put that little crown on her head.’

***

“Y’know, Bibi only wants Mama not to hurt anymore!”

When Kenneth forced his heavy eyelids open, he saw a tiny girl with shining eyes looking up at him.

With blonde hair and blue eyes, she looked exactly like Ariana, as if she had given birth to herself.

She was the spitting image of the baby he’d once allowed to leave without shedding a tear.

But unlike that child, who now rested beneath a grave blanketed with violets, this one breathed, laughed and lived.

‘What were we talking about?’

Dazed, Kenneth blinked at her.

There was no smell of blood, no salty breeze, and no sound of crashing waves. Instead, he stood in a small, cosy, two-storey house filled with the trinkets that Ariana had lovingly collected.

Not Port Ailesia, but Duvris.

He had been trying to win the child’s favour, plotting to take Ariana away while illness and exhaustion weakened her.

Moments ago, he had asked the little girl what she wanted for her third birthday.

“Mama is nice, but she’s sick. She needs medicine and a long nap. For my present, I want Mama to get better!”

“…”

Joseph had already given Bibi lots of dolls, and had even roared like a tiger for her, so he was sure that this request would be granted too.

Kenneth gazed at the bright-eyed child for a long time without speaking; his throat was too tight.

Then, abruptly, he knelt down and pulled her into his arms. The little girl who had once died overnight was alive — warm, breathing and moving against him.

Tiny fists drummed on his shoulder.

“Ugh! Joseph squished Bibi! Bibi’s gone all flat!”

“I’ll give you whatever you want, Bibi.”

“Really? Truly?”

Her eyes grew wide.

“Yes.”

That’s the way it is in this life. He let her go and forced a smile — he could only hope it looked genuine. He rose and glanced towards the hall.

“Now I need to check on your mother.”

“Bibi, come with you!

“No—stay here. That’s what will help her recover.”

“Eeeh…”

“Good girl.”

He ruffled the soft hair on the top of her head, then turned towards the room where Ariana was resting. Thankfully, his daughter just stuck out her lower lip and didn’t move.

Halfway down the corridor, he leaned against the wall and covered his face with one hand.

“Ah…”

He couldn’t catch his breath. Memories slammed into him like a black tide: Ariana, broken and bleeding; the grave covered in violets; the empty days when the presence of a ghost had been his only solace. It was in that abyss of regret that he made what he called a ‘wise’ decision.

“When the time comes, leave me. Even if we cross paths again, don’t stay. No matter how I try to hold on to you—just go.”

How could that ever have been considered wise? Everything is utterly and irrevocably different now.

He pushed open the door. The woman, who was curled up under the quilts, stirred and slowly sat up. The worst of her fever had passed, but she still looked desperately pale.

“Your Grace?”

Ariana was alive. There was no gun in her hand this time.

But what now?

She looked as though one rough touch might shatter her. Her face, which had always been small, was now pale, making her blue eyes seem disproportionately large. Throughout her life, Ariana had done little but suffer.

Kenneth understood why; she had been suffering ever since he had entered her life. She had even endured seizures because of him. And yet he had barged in today, asking for ‘a moment of her time’. The soft-hearted woman had, of course, granted it — just as he’d predicted.

“Your Grace? Are you all right?”

When he only stood there, speechless, Ariana rose from the bed and wobbled toward him. Pressing one hand to her own forehead, she lifted the other to test his.

“Do you have the same fever I did…? Did I pass it to you?”

“…”

“Your Grace?”

“Why—you…”

Kenneth caught her small hand before she could reach him. He couldn’t bring himself to keep holding it; he felt as though he was starving for air. He covered his face with one hand as a raw sigh tore free.

“Why have you never—not even once—looked at me with disgust?”

“Pardon?” What are you—?”

“I said horrible things to you. Horrible things.”

The words he’d hurled at her just before she died crashed over him like falling stone:

“Our child was a mistake. Anyone would think you loved it. A hypocrite like you… filthy… I wish you were dead…”

“If you really have a fever, we should call Dr Bialle.”

“I said those words before you died.”

Ariana’s gaze flickered from the door to his face. Confusion clouded her wide eyes, growing heavier by the second.

“Kenneth? What are you talking about?”

“You shot yourself, Ariana.”

“Ah…”

“After Bibi died.”

The moment the words left his mouth, every trace of colour drained from Ariana’s face.