To You, Who Are Not My Enemy

Without warning, the man removed his mask.

His appearance was like a tree that had been burned white.

His pale skin carried a dull, ashen hue, and his hair and brows were as silver as those of an old man.

But what held Clodine’s gaze most firmly were his eyes.

Save for a small point at their center, they had faded into an unhealthy, lifeless color, as though all brightness had been drained from them.

“I hear… you are Her Majesty the Empress. Please forgive my rudeness.”

The man lowered his head humbly, a faint, gentle smile lingering on his lips, as though he might vanish at any moment.

Clodine, without realizing it, clasped her stiffened hands together in front of her.

“Raise your head. It was only an accidental collision…”

At her command, the man straightened.

His smile deepened slightly in gratitude as he looked down at her.

Ordinarily, Clodine would have returned his smile and moved on with ease.

But for some reason she stood frozen in place, staring at him, unaware that her expression had already begun to twist.

At that moment, Merian hurriedly stepped in, as if trying to pull her away.

“Y-Your Majesty… we should move along now.”

Her voice trembled, heavy with unease.

Anyone could tell Merian was deeply anxious.

And more than that it seemed she knew exactly why Clodine had turned to stone the moment she saw the man.

“…Is it vitiligo?”

“Your Majesty—!”

The moment Clodine asked, Merian grew even more frantic, grabbing her arm and pulling at it.

But Clodine did not move.

Her eyes remained fixed solely on the man.

For a brief moment, the man flushed in embarrassment yet even that color showed through his pale skin as an unpleasant purplish tone.

And that only confirmed Clodine’s suspicion.

Reluctantly, the man answered.

“Yes… that’s correct. It isn’t contagious, so there’s no need for concern.”

Clodine knew she was being rude touching upon something deeply personal.

And yet, like someone who had lost control of herself, she couldn’t look away.

Because at that moment it felt as though something she had long buried had suddenly wrapped itself around her limbs, binding her in place.

She couldn’t run.

She couldn’t even speak.

There had been another man one who suffered from the same condition.

A man with pale, faded features like the one standing before her.

With sickly gray skin and nails.

A man whose gaze, like that of a cruel beast, had always seemed ready to tear her apart.

Her former husband O’Neil Penelope.

“…Your Majesty?”

Sensing the unsettling nature of her gaze, the man frowned slightly, unable to understand the situation as he called out to her.

Clodine forced herself to shut her eyes tight before opening them again.

Her trembling hands curled into fists, hidden from view.

“Ah… I—I apologize. I was just… lost in thought for a moment…”

“Your Majesty, let me escort you back to your room.”

Noticing the cold sweat forming on Clodine’s forehead, Merian stepped in at once, supporting her arm.

Then she raised her hand, intending to summon Valoran Lord, who must be watching from somewhere nearby.

But at that exact moment—

“What are you doing here?”

At the sudden, familiar voice, both Clodine and Merian startled and turned around.

A towering man stood behind them surrounded by a group of masked men, yet commanding the space with his mere presence.

It was, of course Ahazan.

“You didn’t mistake that pale fellow for me, did you?”

Even with his mask on, he made no attempt to conceal who he was.

He stepped closer, wrapping a firm arm around Clodine’s shoulders.

As if staking his claim.

***

Merian Bennett sat alone, idly tracing the white mask resting on her lap as she let out a silent sigh.

By the emperor’s command not to disturb his time alone with the Empress everyone had vacated the upper floor where the bedchambers were, remaining below to attend to their duties.

Dressed in a fine gown unlike anything she usually wore, Merian had drawn curious glances from the other servants.

And so, she had quietly slipped into a small room with a balcony, seeking a moment to herself.

‘Of all days… why did this have to happen today…’

If not for some cruel twist of fate as though the heavens had been waiting for the exact moment Clodine spoke the word happy how else could something so merciless occur at a time like this?

The frustration was suffocating.

‘I swore I would protect Her Majesty’s happiness with my life…’

Yet at the sight of that man with vitiligo, she had faltered unable to respond properly.

‘I should have shielded her eyes… helped her leave immediately…’

Or at the very least she should have stepped forward and told the man to leave.

To disappear from sight at once.

Merian buried her face in her hands, overcome with worry for Clodine.

A low, strained breath escaped her.

When Merian first came face-to-face with a man who was unmistakably afflicted with vitiligo, even she was deeply startled and at a loss for what to do.

The color drained from her hands and feet, and it felt as though every strand of her hair stood on end.

Vitiligo, a rare condition in which, over time, the skin, hair, eyes, and even nails gradually lost all pigment, turning pale and lifeless, was a disease whose cause and cure remained unknown.

It brought no pain, nor did it alter one’s constitution, and it did not shorten a person’s lifespan.

And yet the faded, distorted appearance it left behind was so unsettling that it was often treated as though it were a vile curse.

In truth, the first time Merian had ever seen someone with vitiligo in person had been in Rotermann.

And that person had been the man she was to marry.

Until then, she had not even known such a condition existed.

In O’Neil Penelope’s case, the disease had not progressed rapidly in its early stages.

So when Merian first met him, the signs had been faint almost uncertain.

His hair, though dulled, still retained a trace of color.

And his eyes were far from the lifeless white they would later become.

But within less than a year the condition worsened rapidly.

O’Neil lost every remaining trace of color in his body, becoming gaunt and diminished in a shockingly short time.

Just like the man she had seen moments ago.

“Ha…”

Merian let out a faint breath.

She had taken comfort in seeing how well Clodine had adjusted no longer the woman who had once been O’Neil’s wife, but now Ahazan’s, the Empress of the Empire.

She had believed that the past had finally been left behind.

And yet with a single, unexpected encounter all of that effort had been undone.

Merian understood all too well why Clodine had frozen at the sight of that man.

Because he bore the same affliction as O’Neil.

The flood of memories must have swept her away in an instant.

And with it perhaps even the terrifying sensation of facing the dead once more.

“Are you alright?”

Lost in her thoughts, Merian startled at the sudden voice that broke the silence.

She let out a small cry and quickly rose to her feet.

Her emotions, already fragile, gave way and tears spilled from her eyes.

Through her blurred vision, she glared at the man approaching her through the darkness.

“…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”