Chapter 34
The party celebrating the Platini family's rise to an empress was in full swing.
The nobles invited to the party fawned endlessly, desperate to catch the eye of Rosie, who had been chosen as empress, and Count Platini.
The nobles who hadn't been invited to today's party would likely come tomorrow to line up at the Platini family. To them, the young lady from Hexelov was of no concern. Since she hadn't wished for their attention, there was no reason to be sad.
Moreover, while on her way to the dining hall to fetch something to drink along with the bread she had prepared in advance, she saw it. Rosie, surrounded by people, looked perfectly at home.
A beloved young lady. Those words, more coveted than anything in the world, were too far out of reach.
Helen decided to distance herself from the glaring reality and the approaching future. And so, she turned her briefly halted steps toward the underground warehouse.
After stopping by the warehouse, the place she sought out was Liandor's room. His room was on the mansion's third floor, quite large enough to rival Helen's own bedroom.
Liandor seemed to have noticed Helen standing outside his door, for he told her to enter before she could even knock. It wasn't the first or second time this had happened, yet she still couldn't get used to it.
His room was filled with all manner of magical tools, as though he had transported his laboratory from Hexelov. It would be no exaggeration to call it incredibly chaotic.
Even so, he sat at his desk, spinning a fountain pen in his hand. The surface was covered with papers bearing what appeared to be magical formulas.
"You look busy."
"No. I'm incredibly bored right now."
"For someone so bored, your desk is awfully cluttered with papers."
Helen cleared the papers cluttering the desk into one pile and placed the basket she'd brought atop the newly cleared space.
With the party celebrating the Platini family's rise to an empress in full swing, who would be around to care for the white mage who had saved the Hexelov young lady's life?
She found solace in Liandor, who shared a similar plight. In truth, he hadn't saved her life. She despised herself for finding comfort in the very person who had taken everything from her.
Helen forced the emotions from her face as she pulled bread and wine from the basket.
"I brought some wine. The most expensive-looking bottle from the stores."
As she took glasses from the basket, Liandor's eyes widened into circles at the sight of the wine bottle.
"This is... the kind they say is impossible to obtain even at double the price!"
"Is that so? No wonder there was only one bottle."
Since she didn't normally drink, she hadn't known which wines in the warehouse were valuable. She had simply grabbed the lone bottle stored in the deepest corner, unlike the others arranged in rows.
The thought of the Count searching for this wine someday rather improved her mood. Though it saddened her that she wouldn't be there to witness it.
Liandor uncorked the bottle with magic and poured wine into a glass. The gesture was surprisingly elegant, quite unlike him, prompting Helen to watch with a pointed gaze.
"I'm grateful you saved me at the palace."
That was precisely why she had brought the wine. The events at the palace yesterday were not something she'd forget—at least not before forcibly erasing the memory.
She hated Liandor for driving her to want to erase her memories, yet she didn't want to neglect thanking him for the help he'd clearly given.
Liandor quietly mulled over her words and pushed a wine glass toward her. At his gesture, the red liquid swayed within the transparent glass.
"...I didn't go to save you. I went to eliminate the vermin who interfered with me."
Using the memory of her shattered peace as a drinking snack, she wetted her mouth with wine. Rather than sweet, a bitter taste stimulated her tongue. It was truly as rumored. Both flavor and aroma were exceptional.
Helen directed a deeply displeased expression at Liandor, who seemed enchanted by the surprisingly sweet aroma that belied the taste.
Was it truly so difficult to say one honest word, that he'd come to save her?
A man with so many secrets felt impossibly distant. Yet even as she thought this, whenever she caught a glimpse of longing in his gaze, she would take another step forward.
Even knowing he was the one who'd destroyed her.
"Then give the wine back if you're not grateful."
"It's not even yours, is it? It seems to be a wine the Count cherishes dearly. Should I go confess the truth?"
"Then drink it all yourself."
Helen huffed, crossing her arms, and turned her head away. Only when she made a sulky face, lips pursed, did Liandor set down his glass.
"You didn't come here just to have me taste the wine, did you?"
"I came for that too, among other things."
To escape, if only for a moment, from a reality she could neither intervene in now nor ever.
Helen's gaze drifted to the deep red liquid in the transparent glass. The wine, presumably one the Count treasured, was merely red, yet she couldn't help but think it beautiful.
"I intend to return to Hexelov as soon as the wedding is over."
For a long while, she couldn't tear her eyes from the red liquid. Then, the reflection of a familiar man appeared in the transparent glass. His slightly surprised expression was unexpected.
He must have been surprised by a plan accelerated beyond his expectations.
"I'm telling you because I thought it best you pack your things early."
"So you've ultimately chosen to cast everything aside?"
When she looked away from the wine glass to face the white-haired man, he had already wiped the surprise from his face.
Helen thought he was on the verge of tears. His furrowed brow and slightly drooping eyebrows made it seem so. But she couldn't fathom why.
"I told you I wanted to forget everything and start anew. Did you think I was lying?"
"I wished you were lying."
Now she understood. He wasn't on the verge of tears—he was pitying her. Pitying Helen Platini, who could never find happiness in this damned reality.
To wish she'd lied even so. Who was it that drove her to this point? If he truly pitied her, he'd just spoken words he shouldn't have.
"Now, of all times? Wasn't it you who wished most of all for my memories to be erased?"
A brief silence followed the words she bit out, weighing on her lower lip. Truth pierced his heart, and truth also made it known that the past and reality one wished to forget could never be erased—not unless every memory was carved out entirely.
Liandor broke the silence first, pouring wine into the empty glass.
"The people who couldn't forget you will find you someday. One way or another."
Among those who couldn't forget "her" were Lucas Drifon and Carlisle Everett. No one else readily came to mind.
"They must be the ones who couldn't forget Violet."
"The Violet they remember is you."
"I hate Violet."
She didn't want to sin against her any longer. Countless sins committed in her name came each night with shackles. Those shackles, which wouldn't loosen even in dreams, grew tighter with each passing day.
She hadn't intended to argue with Liandor, who had no way of knowing that. Helen downed the rest of the wine in her glass.
"And I'm not worried. As long as the great mage remains by my side, no one will ever find me."
"I was by your side from the very beginning."
"Then stay until the end. You've been by my side since the relationship with Violet began, so stay until it ends."
Until that unknowable day, you must keep away those who come seeking Violet. Until the shackles made in her name are completely broken.
Gazing at her perfectly empty glass, she felt hollow inside.
"I wanted you to be happy."
"You chose poorly. This is the outcome you wished for, isn't it?"
"We can be happy."
"We? No. I cannot be happy. I wouldn't dare even wish for it."
Helen Platini was born fated to a life of unhappiness. She knew it well enough without needing to hear it from a seer. The moment she grew numb to misfortune, she felt happiness; the instant she grew accustomed to happiness, misfortune ensnared her—yet even that became familiar.
"Stop saying that. It doesn't matter anymore now."
It wasn't okay. It couldn't be okay. However accustomed she'd grown to misfortune, misfortune was still misfortune. Comforting herself with that thought, she wiped the loneliness from her face.
Besides, wasn't there another of her kind living the same life? Her beloved, detested great mage, who had planted her feet in a cesspool brimming with every misery.
Be happy. You who plunged me into the mire.
Struggle to become happy while loving the days when I do not love you.
Because there will never come a day when I love you.
Helen met Liandor's gaze and filled his empty glass. The red wine streaming into the glass looked just like her long, flowing red hair.
"More importantly, I'm thinking about what to get Rosie for a wedding gift. Do you have any ideas?"
"Well. The nobles lining up to curry favor with her have surely given her more than enough, haven't they?"
His tone was sarcastic, as if he bore a grudge against Rosie Platini. Helen acknowledged that this was indeed the case.
The Platini family's prestige pierced the heavens solely by virtue of the Empire's new empress. The raucous noise from outside proved it.
She despised the Count, who had banished her to Hexelov only to summon her back for the family's gain, and the Countess, who saw her as a thorn in her side.
But she didn't resent Rosie. Apart from her looks, the girl resembled her parents not one bit. Helen had liked how readily Rosie called her "sister" and tried to forge a close bond despite their having just met.
"Because she's the only family member who's ever liked me."
Had it not been for Rosie, she wouldn't have done a thing for this damned family. Then again, if not for her, she would never have set foot in this mansion again.
"She's not the only one."
Despite the gaze fixed steadily on her green eyes, his tone was rather dry. Liandor raised his glass naturally. The wine within swayed gently with his hand.
"If you're going to say the Count liked me, don't."
He was a man who'd thought his only bloodline, his young daughter, worthless. Had the Count considered the child left by the woman he'd loved even slightly as his own, perhaps she, not Rosie, would be the star of the show outside.
"She might turn out just like the Count someday."
"I don't care."
In truth, the reason she wanted to give Rosie a gift wasn't because she was the only family member who liked Helen. It was to leave proof that her dealings with the Platini family were concluded.
Rosie had kept her promise to do just one thing for the family: become empress. Thus, she no longer needed to be a child born from feeding on another's life, a child who had to prove her worth, or someone's older sister.
Turning her head, she saw the sky outside the window awash in deep crimson. Darkness crept in slowly from the far distance. The sunset arrived at this hour every day, yet the moment one lost themselves in its breathtaking sight, it vanished. Night always filled the void where the sunset had disappeared, and darkness never knew to vacate its place for long.