Isabelle had a dream.

In that place, both Imanoria and Philip were alive.

Philip died and came back to life many times.

She alone saw him fall a thousand times and rise a thousand times.

The final cause of death was a blade, but even then Philip raised his blood-soaked body once more.

He had come back to life.

Witnessing his death again was no different, and so Isabelle closed her eyes tightly for the first and last time.

It was about the time her long sleep came to an end.

Her eyes opened like bursting petals.

“Haa-!”

Isabelle gasped sharply.

At the same moment, her body shook like a bomb that had gone off.

Unlike before, when she could only see Philip, her vision was now filled with vivid sights.

She had always been the type to linger in dreams longer than most.

Without even putting on her slippers, she climbed out of bed.

The way she looked around gave the impression that she was searching for something.

“A pen… even a quill would do…”

She wanted to write a letter.

Although she had received a telegram once, such things were of no importance to Isabelle.

She wasn’t in any condition to remember such things anyway.

She rifled through a drawer and finally turned it over, spilling out all sorts of bits and pieces.

Kneeling down, she dug through the pile, but found neither ink nor pen.

“I have to send it… to Imanoria… Philip is…”

“Madam!”

How long had she been in this frenzy? Someone rushed to Isabelle’s side.

“Madam, please calm down -“

“I-I must send a letter. Philip is in danger. It was a terrible dream. It can’t be just a dream. I must warn him, tell him to be careful.”

Unaware that Marie had come to stop her, Isabelle repeated the same plea over and over.

Even when she saw Marie’s face distorted with despair, on the verge of tears, she couldn’t stop.

Even though it was a look she had never seen before.

“…The telegram has already arrived. Didn’t I give it to you?”

“Marie, get me a pen. You hid it, didn’t you?”

“The young duke has died. The news came a few days ago. You fainted the moment you heard it.”

Isabelle sat up abruptly.

Her fingertips came to rest on an envelope.

There was a signature on the edge – it happened to be Ilyana’s.

Even being stripped n*ked and tied to a horse would have felt less humiliating than this.

Her body collapsed without a struggle.

“Madam.”

“Philip…”

He was dead.

She would never see him again.

The truth crushed her heart. Isabelle put a hand to her throat, as if to force breath back into her suffocating lungs.

“No – please!”

At the same time, Marie lunged forward.

The side of her hand slammed into Isabelle’s neck and she fell to her knees.

It wasn’t even a hard blow, but her neck throbbed with pain – pain that seemed to come from nowhere.

Isabelle stared at the maid, her eyes wide open.

Marie looked just as shocked.

Her hands were frozen in the air, her eyes darting between Isabelle and the empty room – evidence of her surprise.

“You’re awake. I hadn’t noticed, madam.”

But only for a moment.

Marie quickly lowered her hands to her stomach, once again the picture of propriety.

There was not even a twinkle in her eyes.

It was then that Isabelle came fully awake from her sleep.

As if to prove that she was in her right mind, Isabelle pushed Marie roughly away when she tried to help her up.

Marie did not flinch or look as frightened as before.

As she returned to the bed, Isabelle instinctively reached for a spot – her forehead, which ached every morning.

She had been suffering from headaches ever since she arrived in Antmaren.

“Haa…”

Only then did it all come back to her.

Collapsing after reading Philip’s death notice.

Banging on the door and then shaking it like a madwoman.

Screaming that she would die if they didn’t open the door immediately.

And when there was still no answer, she tied a rope to the ceiling.

They said it was a sin to take one’s own life.

It was something she couldn’t even accept.

It wasn’t that she didn’t know what she was doing when she hanged herself.

But to say “be thankful you survived” was something only people with a place to return to could say.

Isabelle had nowhere to go, even if she lived.

Whether her eyes were open or closed, it was still hell.

“Marie.”

“Yes, Madam.”

Slowly running her hand down from her chin, Isabelle gestured with her jaw to the maid who had remained at her side all this time.

Marie, as usual, approached without hesitation.

“Who saved me?”

She was close enough that Isabelle could easily see her expression if she lifted her head, but instead she kept her eyes on her toes.

Because she remembered too much.

It was Camille who had thrown her in front of Arnaud, but it was Marie who had locked her in that room and left her in despair.

She felt that if their eyes met, she might be the one to pounce first.

Such was the intensity of Isabelle’s anger.

“Tell me who interfered. If they’d left me alone, I would have died alone. Who was it – who?”

“I’ll clean your feet. The carpet is dirty.”

Marie replied, avoiding the question.

It was clear that she had no intention of answering directly.

She simply placed a silver basin at Isabelle’s feet and lowered herself into position.

In that case, there was no need to offer her foot.

Isabelle lifted the one Marie had almost grabbed and spoke.

“So the last order is to keep your mouth shut – something like that, is it?”

“You’ve been bedridden for days. Please, give me your foot.”

“Even if I kicked you with this foot, you’d have nothing to say. I hope you understand that.”

Again there was no reply.

Whether it was because she knew it was her fault or because she was simply following orders, Isabelle couldn’t tell.

When Marie reached for her foot again, Isabelle didn’t hesitate to speak.

“Take it away.”

“That is the greatest courtesy I can offer.”

“I said take it away, Marie.”

Only then did Marie raise her head.

It was then that Isabelle finally met her gaze – but the bowl did not tip or roll away.

It was a face she had never seen before.

Her lips were split and bloodied, as if she had bitten it over and over again.

She looked both frightened and as if she had just finished crying her heart out.

She couldn’t even bring herself to ask what had happened – before she could, Marie was already on her feet.

Carrying the silver basin, she walked steadily to the door.

It was Marie who opened the door and it was Marie who closed it, only to return and kneel before her.

“I was the one who found you.”

“What are you…”

“I was the one who found you first, Lady Isabelle. I was the one who pulled you down. The one who kept you from dying – it was me.”

Marie had never knelt before her before.

When she had bowed in the past, it hadn’t been to Isabelle, or even to Elisabeth.

It had always been to the name she had last bore – Jalbert.

But this time… it felt different.

It felt real.

And somehow that made it harder to bear.

Isabelle didn’t react with anger.

Instead, a strange calm came over her.

She could only look at Marie – quietly, without words – and try to understand.

It was the other who broke the silence.

“You may kick me if you wish. Put a blade to my throat – I won’t resist. Accuse me all you want.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Even if I did, you wouldn’t give me the answer I want. So what would be the point?”

Marie fell silent again.

Was it guilt?

Her lips moved slightly for a long time without a sound, and then she began to wet her hands instead of taking Isabelle’s foot.

This time Isabelle didn’t fight back.

She wanted to watch her expression a little longer.

It wasn’t just Marie’s touch that was different.

Even as she poured water and scrubbed with her nails, she kept looking up at Isabelle, making it impossible to read her expression clearly.

With no choice, Isabelle simply held out her arm.

As Marie gently patted it dry, she muttered something to herself.

Isabelle didn’t like that it made her want to ask what it was.

“I can’t even hear you.

“The herb that was in your clothes – that was because of me.”

This time Isabelle reacted in a way Marie hadn’t expected.

Isabelle remained indifferent, maintaining her detached demeanour, while Marie fidgeted, looking between the floor and the back of her own hand.

“Why aren’t you surprised?”

“Haven’t you lied enough? What’s more surprising is that you thought I wouldn’t know.”

“I delivered the letter at that time on purpose too.”

“Just get to the point. Are you asking me to kill you?”

When she asked if she wanted to die, there was no answer.

So it clearly wasn’t guilt, Isabelle thought with a sigh.

“It’s not that you feel sorry for me.”

“Th-That’s…”

“When you act like that, it just makes me uncomfortable. If that was your aim, then congratulations – you’ve succeeded. So stop kneeling already.”

With that, Isabelle pulled her hand away.

Marie had wiped so thoroughly that there was hardly a trace of moisture left.

Isabelle stroked her now dry wrist, then, seeing that Marie was still silent, squeezed it again.

“Either say something or leave.”

“Ah, it’s just that…”

It was a side of her Isabell had never seen.

The fidgeting hands, the constant glances over her shoulder – she looked like a starving lamb.

After a long, nervous fidgeting, Marie finally spoke.

“I have committed… a sin worthy of death.”

She bowed so low that it seemed even Louise hadn’t received such a gesture, and asked for forgiveness.

Perhaps because the turn of events was so unexpected, Isabelle found herself lowering her posture as well and slowly approaching Marie.

She couldn’t understand why she was behaving like this.

What wind had blown to make her do this?

Was this another staged performance? The thought unsettled her.

“I knew… I knew you were innocent. And yet I did what I did. The sin is mine.”

“You – what on earth are you talking about now …”

“You asked me if I wanted to die, didn’t you? If that’s the price I have to pay, then I accept it. Because I… I have done something truly unforgivable…”

She was on the verge of tears.

Drops fell on the back of her flushed hand.

But what surprised Isabelle wasn’t the confession itself – it was the fact that Marie was confessing at all.

“But… I didn’t know it would come to this. I-I never thought you’d really want to die. It’s my fault, madam. It’s my fault, and…”

But this was Marie Idor, the woman who, since her days as a lowly window cleaner, had been said to do anything if you paid her enough.

And now this same woman was collapsing under the weight of her conscience?

It was truly unbelievable.

Isn’t it all a ridiculous story?

Isabelle, only momentarily surprised, brushed her hair back with one hand and asked.

“Is this by order of Her Majesty the Queen?”

“No, it isn’t.”

“If it isn’t, then you have no reason to do this for me.”

With that cold reply she stood up.

Even if Marie’s kindness was genuine, Isabelle couldn’t bring herself to accept it so easily.

Louise could threaten Marie’s entire family if she wanted to—while Isabelle couldn’t even afford a few châtets of spare change.

“As you know, this place is a prison. Staying with me won’t do you any good, Marie.”

“I’m still tired. My head is foggy. I want to rest. Please leave me.”

Was I really such an inspiration to her?

A woman who would kill several people without hesitation if she was paid enough – she couldn’t possibly feel sorry for someone like Isabelle who wasn’t even dead.

Feigning obvious fatigue, Isabelle pressed a hand to her temple.

Marie still said nothing.

She just stood there in silence, and the moment Isabelle turned away, she slipped the basin onto her hip and quietly opened the door.

She didn’t say goodbye.

“Haa…”

Only when the door had closed did Isabelle release the breath she had been holding and sit down on the edge of the bed.

Sunlight streamed in vividly through the window.

She must have been asleep all morning.

The light cut across the room at a sharp angle before changing course at a certain point.

Staring motionless, Isabelle finally reached for a letter lying on the floor nearby.

To Madame de Latvien,
From Ilyana of Imanoria

Author’s note:

1 châter (샤테) is equivalent to approximately 1,000 Korean won (KRW)