“Let go.”
The moment my body was half-raised, I slapped his hand away and forced myself up on my own. Looking back, Zachary still stood frozen in the awkward posture of supporting me. He stayed like that for a time, then, when I didn’t move, he stepped up right beside me.
Swish—Zachary extended his arm. His bandage-wrapped arm was held out, as if saying, If you can’t walk on your own, lean on this.
“I’ll manage myself.”
I had not the slightest intention of clinging to that frail arm for support.
I gave up, cleanly, on going to the Marquis. At this rate, collapsing in the corridor and dying pathetically would hardly be strange.
Damn it. Cursing over and over inside my head, I shoved myself back onto the bed.
The cough tearing through my throat was harsh enough to split my lungs. Fever seemed to rise again—after coughing like mad, my head spun.
“D-don’t.”
And again a handkerchief was thrust before me. Irritated without thinking, I slapped it away. The sweep of my hand sent the cloth fluttering, stirring the air so that the paper mask on his face fluttered too.
In that instant, everything moved in slow motion.
Beneath the fluttering paper, I caught half a glimpse of his profile: pale, boyish skin, a sharp nose, and—where his deep blue eyes should have gleamed like jewels…
They were dull. Lightless.
Unlike me, frozen stiff and drained pale, Zachary showed no reaction at all. Still holding out the handkerchief, he only bent to pick it back up.
Only I remained fixed on those blackened eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
I must have gone mad from the fever. What had I just done?
I hated myself—for failing to control my emotions, for acting like a fool. Even sick, it was no reason to lash out at Zachary. I was truly pathetic. How could I snap at him, of all people?
I had dragged a perfectly ordinary boy into this, forced him to serve as my attendant. If he were angry at me, it still wouldn’t be enough—yet it was I who flared at him.
If not for me, he might have been fine.
Zachary’s body resisted sorcery. Had he not been given the additional “education” to become my servant, surely he would not have lost himself so utterly.
If only I hadn’t been bedridden, if only I had visited him from time to time, he might have found a chance to break free of the chains.
“I wasn’t in my right mind. I’m sorry. Truly sorry.”
On the surface, it was only about a handkerchief. But my apology went far beyond that. I was sorry—sorry that because of me, he had ended up in this state. The words spilled out on their own.
Yet there was no reply. He simply pulled out another clean handkerchief and held it out again.
Zachary couldn’t even accept my apology.
Helpless, I leaned my head back and covered my twisted expression with a hand. What now?
Should I just run to the Marquis and beg? Or plead for Mother’s help somehow? Pathetic. That the best scheme I could produce was to go crying to adults—disgraceful.
I hated being in this body. If someone else had been placed here, would they have done better?
Most who knew the future worked tirelessly to change it. But everything I did seemed only to ruin things further.
Even while I drowned in despair, Zachary stayed as he was, hand outstretched with the handkerchief. Unless I accepted it, he would not lower his arm. At last, I reached out.
Even after he retrieved the handkerchief, his posture didn’t change. Awkwardly bent, hand extended, fingertips trembling still.
Come to think of it, they were shaking like that from the start.
I had assumed it was an aftereffect of sorcery. To inscribe spells deep enough to cover the entire body, the torture must have been severe—trembling hands seemed a natural consequence.
But why only the left hand?
Watching closely, I sensed a rhythm, as though the tremor had intention. Maybe it was my fever, but it felt strange. Slowly, I sat up, inching nearer to him. After a cautious glance, I gently set his hand upon my palm.
The trembling traced shapes. I watched in silence. Of course, I couldn’t read it at once.
I looked again, and again, over and over, until at last I made out the first character.
“…An.”
No matter how I saw it, the first letter was “An.”
Just as dizziness from fever made me wonder if I’d imagined it, the movement shifted.
A different shape. Eyes wide, I stared at my palm—then realization struck.
…No way.
It was impossible. I lifted my gaze. There was Zachary, with the talisman mask drawn with “Ghost Eyes.” I couldn’t know what face he wore beneath. Even if I tore the paper away, perhaps no expression would be there…
And yet, I understood the word he had tried to say.
“An… nyeong.”
Hello.
The trembling stopped.
The instant I understood, his shaking ceased. As if to signal, to assure me that I had received his message. For a while I was speechless, staring blankly at his hand.
“You…”
So much I wanted to say. So much to ask. But the words clogged in my throat. I could only stare at him.
Nothing about his posture had changed. His hand was still awkwardly outstretched. The paper mask still hid his face with its painted eyes.
And yet, he remembers me.
The echo resounded within me.
We had no shared memories. I had only seen him briefly. Yet, unable even to move freely, he remembered that fleeting meeting and struggled to declare his existence to me.
How could I possibly face him?
My nose stung; I rubbed my face with a bitter laugh. My fingers came away hot with fever. Sweat pricked out, but I hardly noticed the sickness.
What path had brought us to this?
Unable to believe what I had just witnessed, I dropped my gaze back to my hand. Zachary’s palm still rested there. My eyes, my skin remembered the traces his finger had written.
Ah. At last, I accepted the truth of it.
He had greeted me.
Even after losing himself, somehow, with what little will remained—he had remembered my words to greet me properly next time. Though he had been dragged here, surely brainwashed, he had kept that one greeting alive at his fingertips, and delivered it to me.
So this is the protagonist.
Not just printed words, but a living, breathing Zachary, moving in three dimensions before my eyes. Shivers ran through me as I stared at my palm, struck dumb for a long time.
Zachary remained quietly at my side all that while. Maintaining that uncomfortable posture, unmoving.
Even when at last I looked up at him again.
“Zachary.”
I wanted to meet his eyes, right then. Even if what I saw was only the hollow abyss of a soul emptied out, I wanted to see his eyes once more. I sprang up and stood directly before him.
It was the sorcery paper, reeking of monster blood, that I had always hated to touch. Though countless servants had stood before me, I had never once touched it. Now I seized it.
With a rustle, I slowly pulled it back, revealing Zachary’s bare face.
Fully revealed, his face was more striking than the glimpse I had caught before. Not the disheveled wreck of that day, but a well-kept, fair face; finely balanced features; and eyes of deep blue, like the night sky…
Of course, those eyes were deadened, blackened, nothing like the bright ones I had first seen.
“Zachary?”
Once more, I carefully called his name. As expected, there was no reply. His eyes were still lifeless, his lips sealed, expressionless as a doll. I reached out cautiously, tracing beneath his eye, then cupping his cheek.