Chapter 13 – D―7

Peaceful days passed. The sky was high and blue, the sea calm.

Amber’s outings became more frequent. With George now publicly introduced as her cousin, there was nothing to hide, so he joined her. The excuse was always “just a walk,” but the time changed—sometimes midday, sometimes at sunset. Sometimes they strolled the beach at midnight with shawls draped over their shoulders, or enjoyed the dawn air.

George liked any time, but Amber preferred when fewer people were around, to avoid attention.

Still, encounters were inevitable, and reactions were mixed.

“Oh, Merin’s grandson? He’s as handsome as they said.”

Some recognized him after hearing from the Joren couple.

“Who’s that? I’ve seen the granddaughter a few times, but never this guy.”

Others asked with curious eyes.

It seemed unusual for young people from the capital to stay in such a village. The reaction was even stronger than when Amber first arrived, probably thanks to George’s striking looks.

As time passed, the interest faded.

The problem came when the weather suddenly turned. In one day, dark clouds gathered and the village was soaked in rain. Amber woke up in the morning and rushed to close the open windows.

“How much longer will it rain?”

Startled by the sudden downpour, Amber muttered as she closed the last kitchen window.

The windowsills were soaked, and outside, heavy rain pounded the glass. Fog hid everything from view. It rained in the capital too, but she’d never seen such bad weather.

“Can’t see anything because of the fog.”

“At least no one can come by. Isn’t that nice?”

“Not really…”

“How about before it stops?”

George came up behind her, pressing his cheek to her neck as he hugged her. His interest had already shifted elsewhere.

“You don’t have to worry about anyone walking in while we do this.”

“…No. Only at night.”

Amber shook her head, unmoved by the mood. But George was stubborn. He rubbed his lower body against her from behind like a dog in heat.

“If you’d just spread your legs a little more.”

“If you do it one more time, there won’t be any tonight.”

“I’ll just use my mouth.”

“That’s not allowed either.”

“What about rubbing?”

This time, instead of saying no, Amber gave him a sharp look. But his heavy body trapped her in his arms, and as he kept teasing her, her breath grew a little rough.

“I said no, hm.”

When his hand slipped and pinched her n*pple, Amber flinched.

“No?”

“No…”

“Really? When you’re already this wet.”

His hand found her underwear under her skirt. Amber bit her lip, feeling both frustrated and tempted.

“You told me to use you, right?”

“I’m not the one being used?”

“Of course not.”

George licked her bitten lips and kissed her gently.

“Mmm.”

“See? You want me.”

Amber, usually immune to the mood, gave in and turned to face him.

Their lips met again, and her body pressed against the damp windowsill. George’s doing, as if to say, “You’re already wet, so what’s a little more?” In the end, Amber could only respond in a breathless voice.

“This is the last time today.”

That day, they hid in the sound of rain and stayed together for a long time.

* * *

Her prediction was wrong. The rain kept falling, and soon thunder rumbled. They were trapped at home.

Amber grew restless, but for George, it was just like before. Until recently, he’d stayed inside all the time, with the garden as his only “outside.” For him, having more time alone with Amber was a good thing.

Especially, he liked sitting side by side on the narrow sofa. When Amber read, she’d lean against the sofa armrest, legs together, book on her lap. George would squeeze in next to her and just watch. He’d tried reading a few times, but found it boring. Watching Amber was more fun.

Another favorite moment was helping Amber prepare meals. They couldn’t go out, so ingredients were limited, and since he wasn’t trusted, he only got to chop vegetables or beat eggs. Still, when he helped, Amber paid more attention to him than usual, so he liked those moments.

Yes, he was satisfied. With one exception.

It was an unexpected change.

George had always felt hunger, but never slept. Only recently had he started sleeping. At first, he didn’t even realize he’d dreamed. But after it happened a few times and he started remembering bits of dreams, he realized: this was dreaming.

Of course, the concept of dreams was still unfamiliar. It was hard to recognize them right away, even now.

“Ugh, was it drinking or medicine this time? You must’ve come in at dawn…”

He realized he was dreaming not because of the unfamiliar man’s voice, or the sunlight on his face, or the luxurious clothes he wore as he raised his arm to shield his eyes, but because he saw a tall, ornate ceiling. Even that spun in his vision, the ceiling’s structure reassembling itself.

Alcohol? Maybe drugs.

All he knew was that he felt like he’d been soaked in strong liquor and was about to die from it.

Long story short, he was not in his right mind.

“You’re going to shorten your life at this rate.”

“That’s fine. Better to die young and strong than old and frail.”

Even as he rambled, he couldn’t control his body. He just lay there, as the man who’d opened the curtains approached and began to nag him.

The man dressed in equally luxurious clothing had a younger face than expected. Yet his nagging skills surpassed those of any elder. Did he think he could live a short, wild life as he pleased? Did he not know that even a feeble body could be sold off? Get a grip…

“Petricks, shut up. My head feels like it’s splitting.”

“So why—”

“Why the sudden sermon, you brat? Are you a priest or something?”

Despite the harsh words, the man didn’t flinch.

“Take a look at this before you say anything.”

“Don’t bother.”

The man let out a heavy sigh as if holding back what he wanted to say. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed where the other man lay motionless. When he saw what the man was holding, his expression soured.

“Why’d you bring trash?”

“…It’s a newspaper.”

“A scrap of paper from a pathological liar, nonsense.”

“Pathological liar? This place deals only in facts, you know.”

Nonsense. He closed his eyes, making it clear he didn’t want to see any of it. But the man was persistent.

“Doesn’t seem to be just lies today. Ah, here it is. It’s in the ‘Whether or Not Politics’ section. The foreign ministry announced plans for talks with the Empire.”

He didn’t understand immediately. Only after his sharp headache faded did he ask, “So what about the foreign ministry?” The man repeated what he’d said.

“…Do you get it? So, as I was saying…”

“George?”

A voice suddenly interrupted, and he slowly closed and opened his eyes. Amber’s image flickered—gone, then back again.

“Ah…”

He couldn’t quite pull himself together. He felt hazy, as if drugged. His body felt heavy, like someone who’d just been pulled out of water.

‘Who am I? Where am I?’

The first thing to return was sensation. Familiar warmth, damp and cozy air, the sound of rain tapping the window. And a familiar voice.

“George.”

“…What?”

He turned his head in a daze. The woman sitting beside him came into view—round face, round forehead, round nose. Freckles dotted her nose charmingly, and her curly brown hair was loosely tied, like a traditional doll from the Kingdom.

Amber. His master.

And he was here as her d*ldo, George.

“Just wanted to call you.”

Amber, who had been looking at him with sleepy eyes, turned away. Maybe she felt she hadn’t explained enough, because after a moment she added,

“…Don’t mind me, keep going. I’ll just keep reading.”

“I wasn’t doing anything.”

His voice was hoarse, so he cleared his throat belatedly.

Amber already had a book balanced on her neatly folded knees. Last time it was a cookbook, a few days ago a novel, yesterday poetry, today a book about herbs, maybe. When Amber sat like that, it meant she wouldn’t be paying him any more attention.

Nothing to do but relax. George leaned back, feeling lethargic. Then he paused.

‘Did I… again…?’

He’d gotten into the habit of checking his memory.

‘D*mn.’

…He’d dozed off. He couldn’t forget nodding off like a sick chicken while looking at Amber’s reflection in the window.

He remembered the dream clearly. As always, he saw through the eyes of a rough-speaking man, always drunk. Maybe he was tired of life, just an empty shell.

Of course, he didn’t pity the man—he didn’t deserve it. After several dreams, George had defined him as trash. Why did a stranger keep appearing in his dreams? It wasn’t that George was dissatisfied with his own life, nor did he live like the man in his dreams. The difference was like heaven and earth.

If someone asked him now if he was satisfied, he could answer without hesitation, ‘Yes.’

He had a name. George. He had a purpose. Sleep aid d*ldo.

And his master had had plenty of chances to abandon him, but never let go. At least, in every moment he could remember, she hadn’t.