Please Don’t Die, My Lady

Chapter 15

Days passed, yet Ariana’s group made no moves.

From what I occasionally overheard, it seemed Ariana had forbidden anyone from approaching me.

And yet, whenever I encountered her during class or elsewhere, she cast lingering, sticky gazes full of emotion in my direction.

If she was going to act like that, why keep them away in the first place?

Was there someone else pulling the strings behind her?

Either way, this gave me something precious: time.

For the first time since enrolling at the academy, I could live without interacting with anyone.

Sena hadn’t visited me since that day, and the maid simply exchanged brief greetings before leaving whenever we crossed paths.

Neither hostility nor goodwill reached me.

Even when I felt someone’s gaze, it remained confined to a distant, limited range.

So, naturally, I should have been enjoying a peaceful daily life.

“…But I’m miserable.”

I lay sprawled on my bed, drowning in a deep melancholy.

There wasn’t any particular reason for it.

The fear of Ariana, which had been suppressing my depression and helplessness, had subsided with her absence, allowing those feelings to flood back in.

Though the physical pain had disappeared, my circumstances hadn’t improved in the slightest.

And strangely—oddly enough—I felt an emptiness inside.

Unbelievable as it seemed, Ariana’s absence might actually be the reason.

After enduring Ariana’s tortures, I’d often felt an odd surge of vitality.

Perhaps it was the torrent of unfamiliar emotions—fear, despair, relief at having survived—that invigorated me.

Or maybe it was because, amidst the ongoing fusion of the noble daughter and myself, her torment allowed me to feel distinctly present.

Either way, it might have triggered some kind of adrenaline or dopamine rush in my brain.

That peculiar energy had kept me going despite her torment.

Looking back now, I relied on it far more than I’d realized, even in my daily life.

Not that I know if it’s fair to call something like that “energy.”

Growl—

Maybe it’s just that my body is weak from hunger.

My stomach is empty.

It’s been over a week since I last ate, and even getting out of bed feels like a monumental effort.

The first few days, my stomach had growled loudly enough to sound like it was twisting itself into knots. Now, it barely makes a faint, pitiful sound—too exhausted to protest.

Why had I stopped eating in the first place?

No one was stopping me from going to the dining hall anymore.

I tried to recall a reason but came up with nothing.

If I had to sum it up in one word: just because.

There hadn’t been a real reason.

I simply didn’t want to eat.

It felt like a hassle.

I wasn’t hungry.

And honestly, what was the point?

Ironically, now that I had the time and space I’d supposedly wanted, I had no will to do anything at all.

Even if a year passed without any further incidents, the only thing waiting at the end would still be death.

I still suffered from a fierce longing for home, but I’d long since abandoned the hopeful fantasy that death might serve as a trigger for my return.

Death, no matter how it’s dressed up, is still just death.

A final rest. Oblivion. Nothingness.

I’d known that from the beginning.

The only reason I hadn’t acknowledged such a simple truth was that the constant hostility surrounding me had left me too overwhelmed to accept it.

As the weight of my depression grew, my thoughts naturally settled into a calm state.

And as my mind cleared, the tangled confusion of my thoughts began to unravel.

But as I sorted out even the beliefs that had sustained me until now, my depression only deepened.

A vicious cycle, really.

It seems I’d clung to the idea of death as an escape because I didn’t want to hurt anymore.

But even death turned out to be just another means of prolonging life.

I’d told myself I could escape anytime if things got worse, if the pain became unbearable.

I’d reassured myself with the illusion of control, thinking I had a way back to reality.

It was only now that I realized this self-satisfaction for what it was.

Whether that realization was good or bad, I wasn’t sure.

I wondered, now that I wasn’t hurting anymore, what was left for me to do.

Maybe dying would be better after all.

“…No, that’s not it.”

I muttered to myself and shook my head.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to; it was that I couldn’t.

Even now, the noble daughter was terrified of death.

Having lost everything that made life meaningful, she had also experienced the sensation of losing life itself at my hands.

She hated life but clung to it with everything she had.

Even as I stewed in my depression, that truth remained unchanged.

I understood that death promised peace, but the fear of my existence dissolving into dust was overwhelming.

Every time I tried to take that final step, my hand froze before I could go through with it.

So, what should I do?

If I can’t even die now…

Rip.

“Ugh…”

The familiar pain of torn skin returned countless times in recent days.

Without realizing it, I scratched at the wound on my forehead again.

The injury, which should have healed by now, was repeatedly being reopened, barely scabbing over before tearing anew.

Dark red blood trickled down my temple and stained the sheets.

My fingernails were embedded with flecks of raw flesh, a grotesque sight.

Why was I doing this?

I knew it would fester if I didn’t stop.

Of course, I knew that stopping was the rational thing to do.

Yet since the maid’s visit that day, picking at the wound had become my way of sorting out my emotions.

It was effective—alarmingly so.

The sharp, stinging pain would clear my head immediately.

Though it wasn’t as intense as Ariana’s torture, perhaps the perverse sense of self-inflicted control made it bearable.

Hmm.

Maybe I should get a knife.

I’d thought I wouldn’t go through with it before, but now it seemed like it wouldn’t matter.

A dull blade would hurt more—stop.

“Stop… Just stop already!”

Please. Please stop.

Stop tormenting me. Stop tormenting the noble daughter.

I don’t want to hurt anymore.

That’s the one thing about me that’s never changed and never should.

If I start allowing even a little, I’ll slide all the way down before I know it.

I pressed firmly on my bleeding forehead.

That’s enough. Stop thinking about it.

But lying still only caused my thoughts to spiral into dangerous places.

Lost in depressive fantasies, I’d scare myself awake and clutch my head in alarm.

That was my new daily routine without Ariana.

I sat up on the bed.

Just standing on both legs made them tremble violently, and a dizzy spell washed over me.

Even so, I had to move if I wanted to break free of my thoughts.

Let’s go to the store.

I can’t allow another situation where I have nothing to offer, like last time.

I’ll stock up on something—snacks, tea, anything.

With dignity comes everything else.

That simple truth had never once betrayed either the noble daughter or myself.

My forehead still bled, and I hadn’t wiped the blood from my hands or hair.

Yet, I forced myself to take a step forward.

On shaky legs, I staggered to the door and turned the knob.

The light from the hallway spilled into the dark room.

Aside from going to class, this was my first time leaving the dorm.

Since it was the weekend, I hoped no one would be around.

***

My foolish hope was quickly shattered.

If anything, there were more people out than during the week.

Most students, who usually stayed in their classrooms, were now loitering in the halls.

As their eyes turned toward me, I immediately regretted leaving.

But if I turned back now, it would only feel like an extension of my earlier spiral.

Keeping my head down, I continued to walk.

Should I call it fortunate? Soon enough, I had bigger problems than their stares.

It was my stamina—or rather, the complete lack of it.

I had never been in great shape, but now, with everything that had happened recently, it felt like my body was collapsing.

I hadn’t even run, yet my breathing was labored.

My hollow stomach twisted and churned nauseatingly.

A few days ago, I could still manage to move around somewhat, but now, even a few minutes of walking left me trembling as if I’d collapse at any moment.

I think I’m starting to understand what starvation feels like.

By the time I reached the store, I was on the verge of fainting.

I didn’t even want to imagine what I looked like.

Whatever it was, it had to be bad enough to make anyone who saw me grimace in disgust.

I forced myself to suppress the thought and directed my gaze inside the shop.

The academy’s “store” was too lavish to be called that—a sprawling shopping district adorned with polished marble and an air of grandeur.

Thankfully, the teas and snacks I needed were available in the outer section, so I didn’t have to venture too far.

I fumbled inside my uniform pocket and pulled out a pouch containing silver coins.

It was the allowance the organization had provided for my living expenses.

It wasn’t much, but since I’d only been eating the bare minimum, it had hardly been touched.

In truth, this money was my lifeline.

And yet, here I was, dragging my half-dead body all this way just to buy tea and snacks.

The absurdity of it made me chuckle faintly as I retrieved three or four coins from the pouch and held them tightly in my hand.

I shifted my gaze toward the display shelves, only to freeze as a familiar voice called out.

“Lady Adelian? What are you… is that blood?”

“…Sena.”

The voice belonged to a dark-haired girl, her eyes widening in shock as she saw me.

Her expression quickly hardened as she registered my condition.

Of course, it had to be Sena.

How is it that we always run into each other at the worst possible times?

Is someone out there orchestrating my misery?