5. A Dog That Clings Persistently

Rosaline ended up going to Arsha, an old monastery in the north where all seasons were like winter.

Arsha meant bones and snow—named because the monastery was literally located on a mountainside with nothing left but tree bones and cold snow.

The road to Arsha was full of solidly frozen snow, and getting isolated on the mountain due to the treacherous path was no different from death. Of course, even Arsha’s surroundings weren’t entirely desolate. Beyond the mountain where Arsha stood lay a territory where appropriate cold, solitude, courage, and majesty dwelt.

That place was one of the country’s most important fortresses, owned by a margrave close to William.

The territory had a tower as high as the mountain peak. The towering structure connected to Arsha’s outer wall by a long bridge. From high priests to commoners, everyone used the bridge when going to Arsha, and provisions and supplies were also delivered to the monastery through the bridge.

Only one couldn’t use the tower and bridge—Umbra.

Called the temple’s shadows, umbras were mostly in positions no different from criminals, so they couldn’t use the sacred bridge. So they had to pierce through the bitter cold and climb the mountain path directly to reach the monastery.

Rosaline, who’d become an umbra, was the same.

All she had was a blanket that could only maintain minimal body temperature, a low-quality tunic, and a few odds and ends she’d brought leaving the Capulets. She couldn’t even sleep properly in the bone-cutting cold, and her fingertips and toes couldn’t feel sensation properly. She only looked upward where Arsha would be and advanced aimlessly.

During the hardship, there was an umbra she’d briefly exchanged greetings with. Old and ill even before coming north, he died before even reaching Arsha. Just before dying, he handed Rosaline his blanket and clothes and said,

“Looking at you reminds me of my daughter.”

His circumstances were these.

Because the priest wouldn’t hold his young daughter’s funeral for lack of donations, he’d spewed insulting words in anger, and the priest reported him without letting it pass. An unlucky case.

“It could’ve been overlooked, but it’s a sensitive time. Kata’s incarnation has arrived. Divine law became strict, or something. D*mn it……”

He spoke breathing as if about to expire. From what he heard, the temple had intervened in the war of succession after the King’s death, making it a time when heads could roll for a single word. He rolled a faint smile in his mouth and exhaled his last breath.

“Now I’m going to my daughter……”

Rosaline stayed until he died, then kissed his forehead. She didn’t pray separately or grieve. She only thought he looked peaceful going to his daughter’s side.

Having survived with supplies gained from another’s death, Rosaline safely arrived at Arsha. Arsha, residence of monks who chose asceticism, was entirely made of gray-blue bricks, and with no luxury items to be found, it evoked a giant prison.

Rosaline received education from the supervising monastic priests along with other Umbra without even time to recover from travel fatigue.

“Do not speak like one whose tongue is cut. Speech is what those with souls do. Since your souls belong to god, they’ve left your bodies.”

Meaning they could speak with someone’s permission. Rosaline thought Juliet would have sneered, “what a long-winded way of saying mute slaves.”

They were officially in positions more worthless than the temple’s bricks, and handled all sorts of menial tasks at the monastery, so it wasn’t entirely wrong.

The priest added a warning not to move their mouths rashly.

“The sun watches over everything on earth. Remember that.”

Mocking them, umbras chattered quite well when gathered together. With the war requiring even temple personnel to be drafted, stationing soldiers to monitor the umbras was a luxury.

Either way, Rosaline took silence as companion and had no complaints about the repetitive routine. She had no impressions even seeing the piercingly white landscape or hearing the hymns that rang daily.

She knew that if she tried to feel joy and sadness from small things, her burst heart would summon resentment, anger, and regret. So she stopped thinking, reasoning, feeling. She repeatedly let flow like water the memories that rose irresistibly like nails through walls.

Her heart became as barren as dry lips, and expression gradually disappeared from her face.

When four months of life at Arsha had passed, Father Laurence visited.

“Miss Juliet has recovered. Right now it’s such a time she’s busy without rest, but she always misses you and worries about your well-being… and feels guilty.”

Laurence seemed to believe his words could give Rosaline small joy. But despite gaining the opportunity to speak, her mouth wouldn’t open. Thinking Rosaline resented the Capulets, Laurence made excuses.

“Lord Capulet told me he’d bring you back once everything stabilized. Miss agreed actively too. They say it’s hard to bring you right away because of the war, so endure a little longer.”

Rosaline didn’t believe his words. She’d painfully learned while at the Capulets that money could make even the lame walk. Money didn’t depend on timing. Just look at how Juliet had pressured the central diocese with donations and lobbying for Rosaline.

They were holding back, afraid Juliet would fall ill again if Rosaline left the temple.

So was she disappointed? No.

She hadn’t expected anything to begin with, so there was nothing to be disappointed about. But strangely, the thought that she was missing something flashed by. Growing puzzled, the bell rang announcing the bridge entrance would be sealed.

Laurence hurriedly spoke, ostensibly to comfort her along with his farewell.

“Rosaline. Fortunately the Arsha monastery head is my seminary classmate, so life will be easier. Of course, her personality is a bit foul, but she’s kind.”

When she’d just arrived at Arsha, Rosaline had exchanged a few words with the woman called monastery head. Middle-aged Monastery Head Gabriella had said, “Endure for now. I’ll put your name on the pardon list so you can escape from being an umbra around next year.” She’d added not to expect too much, but Rosaline didn’t care either way.

Except for not being able to speak freely, it wasn’t much different from what she’d done at the Capulets anyway.

Cleaning with lye water, doing laundry in the frozen river, standing like a shadow behind high priests ready to serve as attendant anytime. Getting slapped by the supervising priest for mistakes or disobedience was the same as being beaten by her mother.

Except, here…

Here, Romeo isn’t here.

The moment she recalled his name, it felt like she’d regrasped reins she’d let go. Longing she hadn’t known existed rushed in like a downpour. Her palms turned cold and her head spun.

She missed him.

She did so presumptuously. What noble life was she planning to lead? That she’d left him like that, that she hadn’t embraced him more actively, that she’d acted arrogantly calling it brief love, that she hadn’t told Romeo she loved him.

She regretted it all.

“Father…!”

Rosaline grabbed the sleeve of departing Laurence. The heart she’d forgotten existed for a while pounded fiercely.

Father Laurence maintained deep relationships with both Montagues and Capulets. The Montague family in particular was devout, so Father Laurence often knew even trivial matters within the family.

He would know what became of Romeo.

Had Romeo stayed in Valher? Surely Mother’s loose talk hadn’t put him in a difficult position. Though she didn’t think anything terrible had happened to him, her anxious heart wouldn’t settle.

She opened her mouth as calmly as possible.

“How is Mr. Montague doing?”

Laurence seemed momentarily confused. Whoever the Montague Rosaline referred to, as far as he knew, no one in the Montagues was acquainted with Rosaline.

Rosaline belatedly noticed his confusion.

“Romeo Montague.”

“……Ah! The Montague heir. But why him……”

Laurence’s puzzled expression couldn’t be more clear. It seemed strange that Rosaline, who normally had no interest in anyone but the Capulets, was asking after Romeo Montague.

“Remember the day I was badly cut on my back and suffered for half a day? The person who saved me then was Romeo Montague. If not for him, I would have been hurt much worse.”

Rosaline unconsciously tightened her grip on Laurence’s hand.

“The day I left… I saw you and the high priests going to the Montague family. I wondered if something had happened……”

“At the time, the priests had come to find Prince William. I only guided them.”

Laurence was impressed. Even in such circumstances, she didn’t forget to ask after someone who’d helped her. He pressed down hard on his heating eyes.

“I don’t know the details myself, but I heard the eldest son of Montague returned to the royal palace with Prince William.”

Rosaline released her grip on Laurence. Relief washed over her, vague and hollow at once. Hollow—did she want his life to fall apart while he pined for her?

“It’s good news, but Sir Montague seemed quite worried.”

Her hollowness didn’t last long after Laurence’s next words.

“The capital was nearly razed to the ground in the fight between Prince William and the Crown Prince.”

She’d been so disconnected from her surroundings lately that she’d forgotten about the war. Arsha was far removed from the capital and politics. Worry flooded in before she could process it, and the bell rang again, announcing the bridge’s closure.

“I really must go now.”

He stroked her cheek with regret.

“Rosaline, I understand how you feel, but this isn’t the time to worry about him. Worry about yourself.”

Even after he left, Rosaline couldn’t move for a long while. Helplessness and worry crashed over her all at once, making her heart pound painfully.

She drifted to the prayer rooms in the temple annex as if possessed. Small prayer chambers lined up in rows, each fitting one person. Praying was all she could do for him right now.

It saddened her that praying was all she could manage, but she couldn’t bear not to do it.

A man’s firm chest pressed against her br*asts. Their bodies overlapped—his skin slick with sweat from their coupling, their breaths tangling messily, their pelvises colliding with each violent thr*st.

Rosaline moaned mindlessly, trying to see his face. He refused her hands, threading his fingers between hers and pinning them down as he concentrated on driving himself into her.