A transparent gem like a winter’s tear — one that caught the light from every angle without losing a single drop of its brilliance. It was a diamond — the very stone that had been used in their wedding rings.

“A diamond.”

“……Yes.”

Without thinking, Delia looked down at her left hand. The ring that had once sat on her fourth finger had vanished without a trace, leaving nothing behind.

She had made a vow before Kallius once.

That if she could restore his lost memories, he would return the wedding ring to her. But if, in the end, she failed — she had agreed to dispose of the ring and accept the divorce.

Assessed plainly, the odds of Delia succeeding were very small. And yet she wanted to give everything she had to that small possibility. And so she gazed at the luminous, glimmering diamond with an expression full of longing.

“I’m glad I came down to the estate today.”

“……And why is that?”

“Until just a moment ago, being with you felt like something out of a dream. But looking at that diamond now — it brought me back to myself. The reality that, at this rate, you will never remember me — and I will be removed from my place as mistress of the Hildebrant household.”

She had not said as much to Evelyn — but if Kallius ultimately could not remember Delia, a divorce would come for her someday. And so Delia asked, in a voice more mournful than any she had used before:

“What do you think? Does it seem to you that we will part ways someday, if things go on like this?”

“……”

Kallius said nothing. Delia knew all too well what that silence meant. She let out a bitter breath and gave a quiet nod.

“The truth is, I already know. That you have no particular desire to recover your memories.”

“Then why do you still try to restore them?”

“……Because.”

Delia had been turning her fingers over in her hands. She slowly lifted her head — and then, her eyes curving into the softest of expressions, she confessed to him with everything she had.

“Because I love you. And so I want you to find your memories again — I truly do.”

Someone watching from the outside might have called her foolish. Might have said that devoting herself to a man simply because he had fallen from a terrace for her sake was more than enough — that she had given all she needed to give and more.

But no one who had not lived it could understand.

For Delia, life was Kallius — and the end of life was Kallius as well.

When everyone had turned their backs on her, there had been one warmth that reached out its hand to her. And that, Delia could never forget.

If — truly, if — Delia failed to restore Kallius’s memories and was removed from her place as mistress of the Hildebrant household, there would be nothing left ahead of her. Nothing at all.

And so she had to restore his memories. It was the only way she could survive — and the only way the child inside her could live and breathe alongside her.

“Then……shall we get moving?”

“Get moving? Where to?”

“You’ll find out if you follow me. It’s somewhere I have always wanted to go with you.”

Delia turned her back to the jeweler’s and carefully took Kallius’s hand. Then, doing her best to appear as though it were nothing at all, she set off toward somewhere.

When Kallius looked away, she stole a glance at their joined hands. His were firm and capable — a man’s hands — while hers were small and thin, looking as though they might snap with the slightest pressure.

She could not even begin to imagine how insignificant they must appear to Kallius, who had until recently been on the battlefield. In the end, Delia’s face went red and she let his hand slip quietly from her grasp——

“Even so — I will have no regrets.”

Not about the place they were headed, nor about her feelings for Kallius. All of it. Delia smiled as though nothing were the matter and quickened her pace.

They walked past the street lined with salons for several minutes. Before long, faint music drifted toward them, and a grand building came into view. It was the largest opera house in the Hildebrant estate.

“Is this what you had in mind?”

“I have always wanted to watch an opera here with you — just the two of us. It was a small wish I carried even before we married, but we never found the time to come.”

The production currently drawing full houses night after night at the opera house was The Countess of Roses.

It was a work that had been a success even before the two of them married — one of those pieces that the opera house revived faithfully, once a year, without fail.

The thought of watching an opera she had long wanted to see, and watching it with the person she held most dear, brought a look of quiet wonder to Delia’s face.

“Please wait just a moment.”

She asked Kallius to wait and hurried to the ticket window. She smiled at the visibly startled attendant and asked for the private box.

The attendant said they would see to it right away and disappeared inside, returning shortly with two box seat tickets in hand.

Under ordinary circumstances she would have shaken her head and said general seating was more than enough — but having come with Kallius, general seating was simply not an option. She gave a satisfied nod and took the tickets.

Delia approached Kallius with a flush of color in both cheeks. She explained that they could go in now, then set off reading through the pamphlet she had picked up at the ticket window as they walked.

The very first page showed a beautiful countess, her hands full of red roses, laughing with unguarded warmth.

The story followed a heroine who had grown up an orphan from childhood — and the love that blossomed from a chance encounter between her and the eldest son of an earldom, brought about through a perfume she had crafted herself.

Unlike other more sensational productions, this one centered on a heroine who had been abandoned by everyone — and who, through her own efforts alone, took love into her own hands.

Delia felt a deep gratitude at the thought of seeing this beloved work with her own eyes. She handed their two tickets to the attendant at the entrance and followed the usher inside.

A space partitioned off from the rest of the seating, fitted with its own door — enclosed like a private room. The box was the kind of place frequented almost exclusively by people of the highest standing.

They had been assigned to the third floor — neither too high nor too low — and with the attendant’s parting wish for a pleasant evening, Delia and Kallius were left entirely alone.

Delia settled into the plush sofa and let out a quiet sigh. Between the carriage ride and all the walking since arriving at the estate, her legs felt swollen and heavy.

She was rubbing at them with a troubled expression when Kallius leaned against the railing of the box, crossed his arms, and looked at her with a mildly incredulous air.

“If your legs hurt, you could simply go back. You are quite the stubborn one.”

“St — stubborn……”

She had lived a life that could be called short or long depending on how one looked at it, but no one had ever called her stubborn before. Delia was still opening and closing her mouth in flustered silence when Kallius reached over and took the pamphlet from her hands, skimming through its contents.

“That aside — this is rather unexpected. I would never have thought you enjoyed this sort of performance.”

“It is not as though I keep culture at arm’s length. Taking in a performance and losing myself in thought has been one of my pastimes.”

“Is that so? That is difficult to believe.”

……And did he suppose she spent all three hundred and sixty-five days of the year shut inside the manor? Just as people sought out new things to break the rhythm of their routines, Delia too had always been someone who enjoyed what was interesting and lively.

Delia was still wearing a disgruntled expression when, as though all the audience had been seated, the bulbs in the ceiling began to dim one by one.

A moment later the stage lit up, and the heroine of The Countess of Roses — Rosette — made her entrance. Delia hurriedly brought the opera glass she had received from the attendant to her eyes.

The story of the opera, in brief, was this.

Abandoned by her parents in childhood, the heroine Rosette reaches the age of twenty and is abruptly made to leave the orphanage on her own. With little money to her name, she sets out searching for work — and one day comes across a notice that a certain earldom is looking to hire maids.

She succeeds in securing a position at the estate — but despite its splendid exterior, the household within is nothing short of walking on thin ice. The reason is the male lead, Edgar, who has shut himself inside his room for years on end and refuses to show his face. Having lost his family in an accident some time ago, Edgar is plagued each night by the ghosts of those he has lost — and tormented by a mysterious and inexplicable odor.

Having witnessed his suffering firsthand, Rosette finds herself wondering whether there is anything she can do for him. It is then that she thinks of the perfume she has always made as a pastime.

Knowing well that Edgar’s condition stems from the shock and grief of losing his family, Rosette asks the other maids about the flowers his family had loved in life — and using that knowledge, she crafts a fragrance from white lilies.

One day, Edgar notices the fresh scent of lilies drifting through his room. He thinks of the family he once had, and weeps. Before long, he begins asking around to find out who left the perfume in his room — and at last comes to realize that it was Rosette.

The two of them finally meet face to face, and under the pretext of her crafting a fragrance made exclusively for him, they continue to see each other in secret. As they do, they come to know each other more deeply — tending to each other’s wounds — and fall in love across the divide of their stations. That, in essence, is the heart of the story.