Chapter 1.2

The day of his wedding was in October, the month when the autumn leaves that Lady Amelie loved ripened, the month she was born. Despite her family’s dissuasion, she practiced the piece that Amelie liked.

A wedding march composed by the romantic composer Larosdel, inspired by the famous comedy of love, “The Prelude to the Light of Autumn Fields,” written by the world-renowned playwright Delphiro.

This piece, with its lyrical atmosphere that evoked the image of lovers dancing under the moonlight, was the one she played at her third recital when she was fifteen.

‘It suits you well.’

The clear voice still vivid. The summer when she was seven, when she first pressed the piano keys, she learned the scales from him. He was so beautiful playing the piano that her heart pounded.

She started learning from a teacher because she wanted to hear his praise. Eventually, she became skilled enough to be asked to perform at important gatherings, but all of it became futile.

Bang. The keyboard made a breaking sound. She wanted to sincerely congratulate their wedding. She tried hard to sort out her feelings and practiced diligently, but even though the nights of wetting her pillow decreased, her love for him did not change.

In the end, she ran away from the estate to a townhouse. Since there were no memories of him there, she could barely endure.

However, as the wedding approached, the moonlight became brighter, and when she missed the time to sleep in that light, she turned to alcohol. She repeatedly used the excuse of being drunk to say things she shouldn’t have.

“I hope they fight and the wedding gets canceled.”

“…Miss.”

Because it was a wish that would never come true, without guilt. Freely.

Then one day, just past midnight, when she was about to fall asleep, someone knocked urgently on the townhouse door as if a storm had arrived.

Startled, the servants got up to greet the visitor. Recognizing the familiar face, she wrapped a shawl around herself and met Orlang, a knight of the Duke’s household.

“What brings you here at this hour….”

With a somber face, he delivered urgent news.

“Lady Amelie passed away last night.”

The news of the sudden death of the prospective Duchess reached her hands. It was two days before the wedding.

* * *

His wedding became a funeral.

The pink roses, probably chosen and prepared by her for the wedding day, decorated the entrance and interior of the cathedral, and even the coffin on the altar. The flowers covering the lower half of the open coffin for the final farewell to the deceased were so vivid that they seemed alive despite her death.

“God, your lamb has left our embrace and returned to you. Please have mercy on this lamb….”

The solemn voice of the cardinal in his black priestly robe made the cold air ripple like waves.

Standing like winter trees with bowed heads in sorrow, behind the people, she silently brushed off the raindrops on her skirt. It was an unconscious gesture.

The clothes, hastily acquired through a tailor because she had no black dress, were loose and ill-fitting. The black shoes, half a size too small, pinched her feet, and perhaps because they weren’t hers, her heels were already red and raw. Her pain was insignificant compared to the other sorrows seeping out from all around.

“Amelie…!”

The woman’s wail, holding a flower for the tribute, squeezed her heart. Just twenty-two years old. What was so urgent that God called her so soon?

The woman’s lament became a wave, sweeping over those who had been suppressing their sorrow. Even those supporting the woman burst into tears.

Despite seeing and hearing it directly, the news didn’t feel real, and she unconsciously bit her lip and clasped her hands, pressing her blunt nails into the back of her hands. The clumsy pain told her this wasn’t a dream.

‘His Grace is currently on his way back from the Skavisa Duchy, so he will be late. The River family was reached first, and Marquis River, Lady Amelie’s legal guardian, identified and handled the body.’

He hasn’t arrived yet, has he? 

Suddenly struck by the thought, she glanced around.

“Excuse me, have you offered flowers yet?”

“What? Oh, no. Not yet.”

A woman holding a flower basket approached and spoke. Startled, she answered while gripping a rose. The thorn brushed against her fingertip, causing a slight sting, but it wasn’t the time to show pain. The woman’s gaze, hidden behind a veil, lingered, prompting her to take an unplanned step forward.

Her steps were slow, weighed down by guilt that her wicked heart might have caused the woman’s death, coupled with the fear of facing a deceased person for the first time. Her heart pounded as if she were approaching a beast with its mouth wide open.

Finally reaching the altar, she placed the flower amidst the mound of blossoms created by countless others and bowed her head. Even though her face was hidden by a veil, she closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see the woman lying in the coffin.

The suffocating guilt that wrapped around her hunched shoulders made it hard to breathe, but she inhaled steadily. The cause of death was a carriage accident—a fate she had brought upon herself with her poor judgment.

‘Lady Amelie. Why did you do it?’

She had wished for the couple’s marriage to be canceled after their fight, but she had never desired such an outcome. She had even practiced celebratory songs to sincerely support their love.

But it was all for nothing. Despite her tight schedule, Amelie had insisted on visiting her grandmother, who had raised her since childhood. She had rushed through the rain, knowing the carriage might overturn, and ultimately met with disaster.

Her body remained intact only because the maid riding with her had held her tightly to protect her until the end. The coachman driving the carriage had died, and the escort knight, who was the sole survivor, could never hold a sword again.

Who was the perpetrator, and who was the victim?

‘I desperately wished for your happiness, so why did you leave so abruptly? I’m selfish and cruel, and I worry more about him than about you.’

She felt disgusted with herself for thinking only of Idris in such a moment.

‘I’m sorry for resenting you. I’ll pray for your peace. Please, in that place, embrace him… kindly.’

Perhaps it was because of her malicious thoughts. She had tried her best to avoid it, but as she stood up, she ended up seeing the woman lying in the coffin. A sharp pain stung the back of her neck, as if cut by a blade.

The woman’s face, nestled among the flowers, looked peaceful, as if she were merely asleep. The sight of her darkened lips and bloodless cheeks etched into her mind, sending chills down her arms.

Biting her lip to suppress her agitation, she turned her body calmly but quickened her steps, eager to leave the place.

I should go back. This isn’t where I belong.

“Ah…”

As she headed toward the exit where Sir Orlang might be, a sigh escaped her lips. She wasn’t the only one reacting this way.

Through the paralyzed crowd, frozen as if struck by a thunderstorm, a tall man walked in. His staggering steps, as if caught in a muddy swamp, seemed precarious.

Idris’s steps, heading toward her, bore the traces of having passed through an autumn downpour.

“Lord Skavisa…”

Someone’s sorrowful call did not reach him. She blankly watched his back, her hand trembling with the urge to support him, but she clenched it tightly.

He looked like a daffodil battered by the wind. The droplets falling, whether rain or tears, were indistinguishable.

A man with chestnut-brown hair approached Idris, and soon, others gathered around him one by one.

She didn’t even dare to think of comforting him. His side was not hers, and many people remained by his side.

“He must have rushed here the moment he heard the news of the accident.”

“Oh my, look at him, soaked like that. What a tragedy this is.”

“What crime has Lord Skavisa committed to deserve such a punishment? God is too cruel. Why did he choose such a woman…?”

“Shh! Do you want to be struck by divine punishment? Watch your words!”

Just as she was about to turn and leave for good, vulgar words dirtied her ears. A group of women, gathered near a secluded window, chattered behind fans covering their mouths.

“It’s unfortunate, but in some ways, isn’t this for the best?”

“I think it’s rather fortunate. Imagine if this had happened after the wedding. At least now, things won’t be so complicated. Isn’t it a blessing in disguise?”

She didn’t want to hear it, but she couldn’t openly cover her ears, so she glared at them. A round-faced woman, her hair tied in a single knot, noticed her gaze and signaled the others to hush. Whether out of conscience or fear, they quietly turned and left, along with others who began to depart.

It was time for the mourners to leave. She should follow them, but her feet wouldn’t move.

“Lady Hillienti, I will escort you back to the mansion now. If you’ll allow me…”

“I’ll stay longer, Sir Orlang. Please.”

She decided to remain until the end, even though she knew this wasn’t her place. Even though she knew she had no place here. Even though she had no right.

She was worried about him to the point of madness.

* * *

But he never looked back. As the stormy rain and wind subsided and rays of light poured through the dark clouds at dawn, she looked up at the clear sky and recalled the words of a certain poet.

He had said that tragedy is like a shooting star.

Those struck by the star suffer, but there are also those who rejoice, exult, and find hope while watching the shooting star. 

‘What happened to Lady Amelie is tragic, but for Lord Skavisa’s future, he needs to marry quickly. It’s a condition for inheriting the title, after all.’

‘This is our opportunity.’

Those who coveted the star reached out toward the unfallen sun, but the sun would shine on no one. It would only forever face the single sunflower it loved, now eternally wilted.

She had sincerely wished for his happiness, even striving to bless his love. She had struggled against her own betrayal of her true feelings, but why had he ended up unhappy? Was her selfish heart the cause of this tragedy? Surely, she wasn’t the only one who loved him.

The sound of his clear laughter, as he had handed her a wedding invitation, echoed in her ears like a hallucination. She quietly watched as his figure, perhaps one she would never see again, shattered like mist in the rain.

Then, she reached her hand into the radiant sunlight. The light, like glass, coursed through her veins and into her heart, causing it to ache, but this pain was hers alone.

‘This has to end here.’

Having made up her mind, she took a step forward, summoning the courage for what might be her last chance to see him.

“Mel…”

For the first time, his voice, which had neither cried nor spoken a word, trembled weakly. The fragile voice, calling out the nickname no one else used, scattered without reaching her.

The rain falling in his world showed no sign of stopping.

Just leave. 

She realized again that she was not the one to stand by him in the rain and turned her body in the opposite direction. Even though he wasn’t looking, the thought of showing him her back for the first time made her ribs ache.

So, she tried to walk away silently.

“Hill… lienti?”

Suddenly, his voice called from behind. 

Why?

Her head turned toward the place she shouldn’t look. The sun in his dry, parched eyes flickered faintly. Though the change was so subtle that no one else noticed, she could tell.

“Hillienti.”

With a deeply cracked voice, he repeatedly called out to her. Then, as if a spell had been broken on an ancient statue, he moved and approached her.

Responding to Idris’s call had always been a long-standing habit for her, as someone who had harbored unrequited love for him. As if bewitched, she walked toward him.

“Idris, I’m sorry….”

She couldn’t even begin to imagine what it meant for a man who had tried to endure sorrow alone to allow only her into his proximity.