Ophelia lifted her heavy eyelids and stirred awake when she felt the sunlight seeping through the blackout curtains.

“Morning already.”

She had felt as though she were dying, yet the next day had come, as always. That in itself felt strange.

—”Never again. I don’t want a day like this ever again.”

Chadwick’s voice reverberated in her mind.

She wished she could simply fall back asleep and never wake again. The air pressed down on her, heavy, suffocating.

‘Is this how everyone lives?’

“…No. It can’t be.”

There must be people who live modest and ordinary lives filled with warmth and companionship, and who have someone to sit with and talk to and whose gentle hands stroke their hair.

Just as she herself once did when she was a child, long ago.

“…That was what I wanted.”

Sitting opposite him and talking. We would occasionally quarrel over trivial matters. But in the end, they would always come back to each other with a smile.

This was the ordinary home she had always dreamed of. Perhaps one day they would live happily together with a child who bore both their features — she had once held that foolish hope.

“But now… that’s impossible.”

The faint thread of hope she had clung to finally unravelled, draining all color from the world. Everything looked washed in grey.

What was the point in reaching for or waiting for him if it all amounted to nothing?

Blankly, Ophelia lifted her head.

Amid the muted hues of her vision, her gaze fell upon a single red flower by the window.

It was the bloom the child had given her yesterday.

Having been trampled and fallen to the ground, the flower seemed so much like her that she could not leave it behind.

“It’s so beautiful.”

Memories of the town square the previous night rose in her mind. She remembered the lanterns that lit up the dark sky, the smiling people and the child who gave her a flower. She also remembered the red blossom that fell to the ground.

It had all been beautiful. Everyone there seemed happy — everyone except her.

“One last time… I want to see it again.”

The lingering vision compelled Ophelia to rise.

Though Chadwick would never have approved of her leaving, she promised herself this would truly be the last time.

She opened the wardrobe and pull out a gown—a deep, vivid red that unfurled like a flower. It was a dress she had never once worn before.

⚫ ⚫ ⚫

The Winthea Plaza was as beautiful as ever.

Although the lanterns that had illuminated the night sky the previous evening had not yet been lit, the scene possessed its own kind of splendour beneath the twilight glow.

Cheerful laughter echoed from every corner of the street.

“…I should have come out sooner.”

Why had she never even considered doing this before?

The question crossed her mind, tinged with regret.

At first, she hadn’t wanted to go without Chadwick.

She had wanted to share every new experience with him: the lake said to grant love to those who walked its shores together, the alley in the square where lovers’ wishes were said to come true, and even the smallest shops and narrowest streets.

But now…

“It’s nicer than I thought.”

Even alone.

Even without him, it did not hurt as much as she had feared. The emptiness was not so unbearable.

Ophelia smiled faintly.

As she strolled quietly through the square, her gaze was suddenly drawn to a vivid red.

“Ah.”

The shop was filled with the same flowers that had been given to her the previous day.

Looking at them, she remembered the child who had come up to her.

“So very beautiful.”

The boy had sparkling golden eyes.

Ophelia knelt before the flowers adorning the shopfront and gently brushed a petal.

Suddenly, the bell above the door jingled, and a child appeared.

“…Sister?”

It was the same boy who had given her the flower.

Ophelia froze in surprise, then her eyes softened into a gentle smile.

“We meet again.”

Her voice was tender.

Feeling flustered, the boy laughed shyly and nodded.

Ophelia watched him fondly before asking softly,

“Can I buy the flower you gave me yesterday?”

“The one I gave you?”

His eyes widened when she spoke, and he nodded vigorously before darting back into the shop.

He soon returned, clutching a large bouquet of flowers and walking bashfully towards her.

He held it out to her.

The bouquet was full of scarlet blossoms — it must have held a hundred blooms.

“Here. This is for you.”

“For me…?”

Ophelia whispered, her gaze lost in the vibrant bouquet.

“Yes.”

The boy spoke with feigned firmness, lifting the bouquet higher as though urging her to take it.

“But this must be for sale…”

Just as the boy staggered under the weight of the flowers, Ophelia stopped speaking.

Startled, she hurried over to steady the bouquet she was holding.

“Oh? Sister took it.”

The boy looked up at her, smiling brightly. Dressed in her red dress and holding a magnificent bouquet of red flowers, Ophelia resembled a flower fairy.

“It feels wrong to simply take it again. Wait I’ll pay for it?”

She smiled uncertainly as she spoke, but the boy shook his head and his golden eyes lit up.

“No. Because this isn’t something for sale. It’s a gift.”

Ophelia tilted her head in puzzlement. Before she could respond, however, the boy stepped forward and embraced her.

“Sister, next time… please don’t cry.”

His earnest, quiet voice silenced her for a moment. Then Ophelia smiled faintly and nodded.

Beyond the bouquet, she could catch the innocent, powdery scent of the child, which comforted her.

She patted his back gently before pulling away to look at him again.

“Will you tell me your name? Next time, I’ll bring a gift for you.”

“My name’s Lire.”

At her question, the boy laughed, his long lashes fluttering as he spoke.

“What a beautiful name. Thank you, Lire.”

‘Next time, we’ll meet again.’

Reluctantly, Ophelia stepped away from the shop, leaving those words behind.

By the time she had faded into the distance, a man emerged from the shop and called the boy’s name.

“Lire.”

“Lix!”

Lire turned around with a radiant smile at the gentle voice behind him. His golden eyes, so similar to those of the man, shone brightly in the sunset.

“Just like you said, I gave it to her. And told her not to cry anymore.”

“Mm. You did well, Lire.”

Lifting the boy into his arms, the man looked quietly toward Ophelia’s retreating figure, bathed in the light of dusk.

“Thanks to you, she smiled.”

The man’s golden eyes followed her for a long while, chasing after her silhouette as it faded into the sunset.

⚫ ⚫ ⚫

Even after leaving the flower shop, Ophelia stood in the plaza for a while before finally heading home at nightfall.

“Welcome back, My Lady.”

Philip, who had recently become much more courteous, bowed deeply.

Meeting his gaze, Ophelia nodded slightly before scanning the room out of habit.

For four long years, she had always subconsciously checked to see if Chadwick might be there.

Noticing her glance, Philip spoke.

“The master departed for the capital through the Gate today. He will likely remain at the city residence for some time.”

The capital. He returned at least a month later.

Ophelia’s violet eyes sank heavily.

“…I understand.”

She replied in a flat voice and stepped directly into her room.

Warm, fireplace-heated air enveloped her immediately.

“So warm.”

She whispered the words softly, a faint smile curving her lips, as she placed the bouquet on her dressing table.

As she looked at the flowers, the whole day flashed before her eyes:

The radiant red dress. The square filled with light. The bustling streets. The lives of the people she had once thought cold and distant — lives she had only ever caught fleeting glimpses of — were far warmer than she could ever have imagined.

“…I should have gone out sooner.”

Ophelia’s fingers traced lightly over the wrapping of the bouquet.

‘Next time, don’t cry anymore, Sister.’

The clear voice of Lire echoed in her mind. Did she really look like she was crying, even then?

She looked into the mirror on her dressing table. When she forced a smile, the muscles in her face only contorted into a strained, hollow curve.

“…Pathetic.”

Without him, she couldn’t manage even the simplest things, such as smiling.

Yet today, despite his absence, the hours had passed more peacefully than she could have expected. Unlike the days she had spent waiting and hoping for him, she had experienced no pain or heartache.

In fact, she thought that perhaps she could survive if she cast aside all expectation and love and went her own way.

That was how peaceful it had been.

“He must want that too…”

She murmured while gently straightening the flowers that had slipped loose.

“…Shall we, then?”

Her voice was soft, the question addressed to no one in particular.

Heavy silence filled the room.

The quiet, ordinary life she had glimpsed in the north, and Chadwick’s cold expression, rose and fell in her mind like overlapping shadows.

Would there ever be a day when warmth returned to that cold look?

And even if such a day came, would she be able to endure long enough to reach it?

Everything and everyone near him had always been mercilessly cold: the northern nobility, the halls of this house, and Chadwick himself.

She knew there was no one else to blame; it was all her fault. Yet she no longer had the strength to endure the bitter cold.

Selfish though it might be, she could not help it. After four long years of loneliness, she chose to believe that she had atoned for her actions.

Ophelia slowly closed her eyes, then opened them again. In the darkness, her violet eyes shone with quiet determination.

“Let’s do that, Chadwick…”

“I will cast aside all my hope and love for you, and you will bring an end to this marriage—one sustained only for the sake of alliance.”

“That will be best for everyone.”

Her whisper was low. As she rose from her seat at the vanity table, Ophelia knew she had to go to him. Before she lost her resolve. Before she allowed herself to hope in vain once more.

She stepped out of her chamber, the crimson train of her dress trailing behind her as she descended the stairs.

“Philip!”

“My Lady?”

Reaching the last step, Ophelia turned to the butler, her voice firm.

“Prepare the carriage. At once.”

Startled, Philip glanced up at the clock above the door. Its hands already pointed to half past eleven.

“At this hour, My Lady? Surely when morning comes, then—”

“No.”

She cut him off with a sharp shake of her head.

“I must go now.”

Her violet eyes glimmered with quiet fire.

“To my husband.”

The man who had saved her.

The man she had loved.

And the man she could not help but go on loving still.

Chadwick Dale Weibrick

It was time to bid him farewell.