1. I will definitely have my way with you

Once, there was a woman who was called a witch. No one knew the woman’s true identity, but when her three husbands died in quick succession, people began to call her the ‘husband-eating witch.’

The woman was beautiful and had a massive inheritance left by her deceased husbands. She lived an extraordinarily wealthy and debauched life, paying no heed to her infamous reputation.

However, no one can escape time, and her end was miserable. The aging, sick woman was sent to a temple to spend her remaining days.

Due to rumors of her bad temper and curses, none of the temple’s nuns wanted to take care of her.

In the end, the role of caring for that ‘witch,’ Madam Rosalie, naturally fell to Rarien Claude, the ‘biggest pushover in the temple.’

***

Crash-!

The sound of dishes clattering echoed in the room.

Madam Rosalie, who had been taking a few spoonfuls of soup, threw the dishes aside.

“It seems you don’t like my soup again today. I’m sorry, Madam Rosalie.”

Such happenings were familiar. Rarien began to clean up the scattered dishes without being flustered.

“I thought it’d pass today since you had three spoonfuls.”

“…….”

“Do you dislike the dishes? They are silverware specially requested from the head nun. I changed them because I was worried you might get hurt if the bowls broke. Do you not like them?”

Even without a response, Rarien continued to chatter without losing heart.

She even widened her eyes, as if checking if she had done something wrong.

“Or did I cool the soup too much? I thought you couldn’t handle hot things. Or maybe… Ah! Is it not seasoned to your taste?”

“All wrong.”

With a sigh of annoyance at the persistent questioning, Madam Rosalie finally spoke.

“The smell of rotting flesh is so nauseating I can’t eat.”

“Rotting? When I applied the ointment earlier, it looked like it was healing nicely. You need to eat well for it to heal cleanly.”

Madam Rosalie had been bedridden for a long time. When her niece could no longer care for her, she was sent to the temple. Because she was neglected in her sickbed, she had severe bedsores. The source of the foul smell of rotting flesh was precisely that.

As soon as she took charge of Madam Rosalie, Rarien recognized the severity of the situation and was cleaning her body with herbal-infused water, applying ointment to treat the bedsores.

“The discharge will make you itchy. It’s because new skin is forming, so please don’t scratch.”

“Leave it.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s a dying body anyway. Stop wasting your efforts and get lost.”

The room fell silent after she spoke those thorny words. Rarien, who had been sullen and silent, cautiously opened her mouth.

“…Just for today.”

“What?”

“I’ll try just for today and then leave. I’ve come this far, and it would be a waste of what I’ve prepared.”

It was always like this.

Rarien would get trampled but would stand up again as if nothing had happened. Like a wildflower growing by the roadside, she had a needless toughness.

“How many times has ‘today’ been already?”

Even as she clicked her tongue in disapproval, Rarien opened the window wide to ventilate the room. A cool breeze blew in through the open window. Rarien, seemingly pleased with the scent of the wind, took a deep breath and returned to Madam Rosalie with a brighter face.

“Are you cold?”

When she tried to check the blanket, Madam Rosalie irritably slapped Rarien’s hand away.

“The sun is nice. It’s already early summer outside. Breathing fresh air will make you feel better.”

Despite her cold demeanor, Rarien wasn’t discouraged. It was the early summer when the greenery was at its most beautiful.

She felt more pity for the patient who had to stay in bed on such a day than the embarrassment of being rejected.

Somehow, Rarien had found a pot of white zinnias and placed it on the bedside table.

The gentle scent of flowers filled the room, carried by the breeze.

“Aren’t they pretty? I brought them because the fragrance is so nice. Seeing flowers makes you feel better, doesn’t it?”

“…….”

“They say zinnias bloom for a very long time. They bloom for 100 days, which is why they’re called zinnias.”

Rarien whispered as if sharing a secret.

“When you feel a bit better, let’s go for a walk together. I know a very beautiful garden….”

“Why do you live like such a pushover?”

“Sorry?”

Madam Rosalie asked rather bluntly.

“Other nuns couldn’t last even a day. Even my own blood relatives couldn’t handle it and abandoned me at the temple. People call me an unlucky witch, worried I might curse them. Why do you keep enduring?”

It was true that everyone refused, and Rarien ended up taking responsibility. Still, since she had taken on the task, she wanted to do her best.

Rarien hesitated briefly, then lifted the corners of her mouth and replied.

“Well… someone has to do it.”

“What about your life? Have you ever had s*x with a man?”

Rarien froze at the unexpected question.

Chastity was an unwritten rule for nuns. Knowing this, the question was likely meant to mock her situation.

“You can’t even enjoy the most basic things, so who are you to take care of anyone.”

Since it wasn’t incorrect, she had no retort. Rarien’s gaze dropped heavily.

“Everyone thinks they have all the time in the world. I did too. If you only had 100 days to live, would you still live like this?”

“I….”

Madam Rosalie drove the final nail into Rarien, who stood there unable to continue.

“I’ll die tomorrow. So don’t act all virtuous and noble in front of me.”

***

The next day, Madam Rosalie died as she had predicted. They said she passed peacefully in her sleep. It seemed like a lie.

‘If I had known, I would have done better for her.’

Hearing of Madam Rosalie’s passing, Rarien felt a heavy heart. She secretly shed tears, feeling melancholic for no reason.

Though she had been harshly scolded daily, she had grown fond of the person she visited every morning and evening as part of her routine.

To Rarien Claude

On the bedside table where the pot of zinnias had been, there was a letter left for Rarien.

Everyone thought it would be a note of gratitude from Madam Rosalie to Rarien, who had cared for her daily.

‘I didn’t do much to deserve this….’

Though embarrassed, Rarien was grateful that Madam Rosalie, who seemed as if she wouldn’t shed a drop of blood if pricked with a needle, had thought of her.

Rarien.
You were the biggest pushover among all the people I’ve met in my life.

…Yes, she was a bit prickly like this. But she wasn’t a bad person, was she?

Rarien recalled Madam Rosalie’s rather sharp nature as she read the next line.

I am indeed a witch, as the rumors say,
and this is the curse I cast upon you.

This was an entirely unexpected turn of events.

Rarien Claude.
You will die in 100 days.

…What? Me?

Rarien’s eyes trembled as she read the last phrase.

***

She couldn’t focus throughout the service. Sitting blankly while pretending to pray, Rarien pushed up the thick glasses that had slipped down to her nose.

“I’m going to die in 100 days?”

No, four days have passed, so there are now 96 days left.

She was suddenly given a terminal sentence. To be told she’d die just like that. At first, it felt like she had been hit hard on the head, leaving her dazed.

“…It could be fake.”

She entertained the possibility that it was an unfounded curse. But there was something unsettling that made it hard to dismiss.

The rumors about the three wealthy husbands who died young were too much. Madam Rosalie even predicted the date of her own death.

“She was muttering words that no one could understand. It was creepy.”

“They say she sings strange songs without sleeping at night.”

Madam Rosalie was definitely a witch.

Recalling the whispers of the other nuns, each claiming to have seen evidence, drove her crazy.

And above all, the pot of zinnias.

It was a gift meant to offer hope that she could live as long as the zinnias, which bloom for a hundred days.

Now, Madam Rosalie was gone, and only the pot of zinnias remained.

Rarien took back the pot she had given to Madam Rosalie.

Faintly, the number 96 was written on the pot.

Yesterday it was 97, the day before it was 98, and when she first brought it, it was 100.

It appeared suddenly after Madam Rosalie’s curse.

Because of this, Rarien could no longer deny Madam Rosalie’s curse.

The pot, once a symbol of ‘hope for a hundred days of blooming,’ became a pot of despair, signifying ‘only a hundred days to live.’

“Why did she curse me? What did I do wrong?”

She felt wronged. All she did was work herself to the bone.

She even prayed earnestly for Madam Rosalie’s recovery. It seemed her sincerity did not reach her.