9. What are you?A blonde woman was smiling brightly among yellow flowers. Bathed in sunlight, she was so beautiful she seemed not of this world.
“Mom!”
Daphne rushed toward her, the words she longed for most in the world on her lips. With her mother Beatrice's appearance, the world was dyed gold.
Yellow daffodils blooming in profusion beneath a blue sky, the languid hours of spring. Daphne ran into her arms and clung to her.
“Welcome, my darling.”
Her mother, Beatrice, held Daphne tightly and kissed her round forehead. Daphne realized she had returned to her childhood self.
Her mother always carried that soft, fragrant scent. Daphne buried her face in her embrace. Slender fingers stroked Daphne's hair.
Daphne was no longer wearing her drab, old maid's uniform. She was dressed in that bright canary yellow she had so hated before.
“I missed you.”
Daphne kept nuzzling her cheek against that embrace, and her mother, in turn, tightened her arms around her.
“I missed you too, Daphne.”
“...
Mm. Mom.”
We won't be parted now, will we? We'll stay together always, won't we? You won't wither away from illness, will you? You won't leave me behind all alone, will you?
I can die now, can't I?
Daphne wept in her mother's arms. She cried because she knew peace had finally come.
“No.”
But as if she had read Daphne's heart, her mother's cold words made her lift her head.
“You must live. You must live and be happy.”
Tears fell drop by drop onto her forehead.
Daphne tried to look up at her mother, but her mother pressed down on her head so she could not move.
“Why? I don't have any confidence that I can be happy.”
“....”
“Don't tell me to live. Let's stay together. Mom, please.”
We miss and love each other so much like this, so why can't we be together?
“I'm sorry, Daphne.”
Strange to say, the tears falling on her forehead smelled of blood. The dripping drops soon became droplets of blood. Crimson blood soaked her mother's clothes. It stained Daphne's bright yellow dress.
“Ah! Aaah!”
Daphne raised her head and looked at her mother. Her mother was already dead.
Drops of blood were falling from her gaping mouth. The stench of blood and the smell of crushed, rotting flowers stung her nose.
Daphne stumbled backward.
“You must live.”
Her mother's voice, telling her she had to survive somehow, echoed in her ears.* * *“Hah!”
Daphne woke from sleep, drenched in cold sweat. The ceiling loomed close, like a coffin lid. The aching, sweet moments, even if only in a dream, had lasted but an instant.
Daphne remembered why she had not chosen death. It was because of her mother's final words.
Her mother, dying of illness, had looked with pity at her weeping daughter begging to be taken along too, and had said with a sorrowful face.
'Daphne, live and be happy. You must be happy.'
You threw me into this hell, and now you tell me to be happy? Why should I live and be happy? She clenched her teeth and sobbed. She hated her. Hated her, yet missed her. Missed her, and loved her.
Because the person who had loved her most in this world was already dead.
Her body seemed fully healed. Yet Daphne sobbed in her cramped little room. Life was unbearably lonely, and Daphne kept crying.
Then Daphne realized her empty room felt somehow even smaller. And that it carried a familiar scent—not the usual musty stench.
She turned her head and looked around, and someone was sitting in the chair Sarah had brought in.
In this filthy, gutter-like place, Asherad was sitting, watching Daphne.
“You're awake.”
His words were remarkably gentle. Almost like the old days. Daphne stared blankly at Asherad. Why was he here? Why, now that she was nearly fully recovered? Daphne's listless gaze drifted away from him.
Asherad's lips were cracked and dry, but Daphne did not see it. Not content with merely looking away, she turned toward the wall as if to shut him out entirely.
Even after their bodies had been joined again and again, Daphne felt a fundamental distance from Asherad. Then Asherad spoke.
“What a filthy room.”
It was the truth, so it did not particularly upset her. She stole a sidelong glance and saw Asherad frowning as he surveyed the room she had been staying in.
It was wretched, for supposedly being part of the same imperial palace. The ceiling was as low as a coffin lid, and the floor was a pit of dust.
She had tried to clean it as tidily as she could, but the place had never been kept in order to begin with, so cleaning was useless. The bed she had barely managed to procure was old, and the sheets had long since lost their original color, faded to gray.
“And it smells.”
She had at least kept the sheets clean, but there was nothing to be done about the odor. His face remained expressionless as ever, yet somehow that made it all the more humiliating.
“His Majesty the Emperor certainly did his utmost to put you in misery.”
That was what he had said when he'd seen her, sick. And that applies to you just as much, doesn't it? Daphne bit her lip. When she bit her parched lips, she tasted blood.
It was not that she was trying to assert her pride against Asherad. It was just that, for some reason, those words themselves grated on her.
Daphne decided to close her eyes without answering at all. He would simply figure it out for himself and feel bad.
“Shall I have your room changed?”
“....”
Asherad asked quietly. Daphne opened her eyes and lifted her gaze toward him. As she stared blankly at that face, she curled the corners of her mouth slightly and answered.
“No.”
If I asked him to change it, and he did?
Nothing could have been more ridiculous. It would be no different from the life of a whore who bought herself a better life with her body as payment.
It wasn't that he ought to change it of his own accord. The truth was, she simply didn't want it that badly.
Because it seemed he wanted her to bow down using it as leverage. As if she should pay yet another enormous price for the goodwill of the man who had ruined her life with all his strength.
That cruel monster who had killed Fabian, no less.
Daphne's feelings toward Asherad were stained with far too many emotions. Hatred of him, sorrow, resentment, a shivering loathing—yet also that fleeting gladness she had felt, seeing him come to her as she wept.
Daphne tried to define those emotions as anger. Then Asherad spoke.
“Then why don't you get up?”
Daphne looked at Asherad, puzzled. Instead of answering, Asherad lifted her into his arms and whispered.
“Because I can't hold you in this filthy place.”
Daphne gave a hollow laugh. Something in a corner of her heart crumbled yet again.* * *Water dripped drop by drop from Daphne's freshly bathed body. A fragrant scent clung to her hair—a scent that did not suit Daphne at all.
Whenever she was to be held by Asherad, she always bathed in the tub attached to his bedchamber. Then that fragrant scent would soak into her completely.
Asherad had a cigarette between his lips, and when Daphne approached, he rubbed it out. The dull, distinctive smell of cigarette smoke filled the room. Asherad's face was pale and looked exhausted.
Daphne knew it, but she too had only just recovered from her own suffering.
Daphne stared at Asherad with a numb expression. He didn't even invite Daphne, who stood stock-still, to sit. He didn't even offer a smile.
His face was as blank as one gazing at a piece of furniture. The face of someone looking at a being for whom even the slightest emotion held no meaning.
Daphne realized that Asherad wore that expression almost always.
Why had it taken her until now to notice?
“What are you?”
Asherad suddenly asked. Daphne did not answer. Nothing mattered anymore. Daphne slipped off the robe she wore. Drip, drip. Water fell.
“Come here.”
When he extended his hand, Daphne, as if used to it, walked over and sat before the chair where he sat. Asherad watched her, then took her by the chin and lifted her face.
“You're pretty.”
A woman with wet blonde hair. Her skin, doused in hot water until just moments ago, was like a blushing peach, and her lips were red as well.
Her eyes, clear as sapphire glass, were doing their best not to look at Asherad. Seeing that pitiful defiance, Asherad caressed Daphne's cheek.
“Daphne.”
“....”
“Tell me what you are.”
His voice was gentle. Daphne answered without hesitation.
“Your dog.”
“A dog?”
“A thing that comes when told to come and goes when told to go. Something to be petted only when you feel like it, and not worth treasuring in the slightest.”
“Ha.”
Asherad snickered.
“So you were aware you're a dog? I had no idea.”
Asherad looked quite satisfied with the answer. He rose, slipped his hands under her shoulders, and lifted Daphne up. She was raised to her feet without resistance.
Asherad looked down beneath Daphne, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pressed his body against hers. Against the bare skin exposed by the loosened sash of her robe, she could feel Asherad's rigid trousers through the fabric.
“Then what am I, sleeping with a bitch?”
“....”
“I suppose that would make me a beast.”
Asherad chuckled. Just as Daphne was about to say something, Asherad brought his lips to hers. Thinking he meant to kiss her again, she parted her mouth—and suddenly his thumb thrust roughly inside.
“Ugh!”
His thick thumb churned through the inside of Daphne's mouth. When she showed her distress, Asherad said:
“So, did you take the contraceptive?”