Chapter 23

“Oh, ma’am? Where’s Anne?”

“…Go back. The young lady is sick today and can’t play with you.”

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023

No Choice (Part 1)

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“Let’s stop here for today.”

That simple, unremarkable sentence somehow made the gates of heaven swing wide open in my mind.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I slammed the book shut. Anne gently detached herself from me, and where we had been touching was left sticky with something—whether sweat or candle wax, I couldn’t tell.

Finally free to move, I collapsed onto the desk. Anne, who had come closer, took the book away and reached out to tidy my disheveled hair.

“You worked hard.”

Her unexpectedly tender voice almost brought tears to my eyes. But then I remembered who was the cause of all this “hard work,” and the tears dried up instantly.

At least for now, Anne was the “kind” Anne. What she held in her hand was no longer a candlestick but a towel, and without a word of complaint, she wiped down my limp body.

Ah, it’s candle wax. I wondered why there was residue left—apparently, it’s a sacred mark that couldn’t be purified.

“Can you get up? Should I move you?”

Without waiting for an answer, Anne reached out her arm, but I replied as firmly as I could.

“…I’ll get up.”

My voice, drained of energy, wasn’t as resolute as I’d hoped, but the message got across. A shared refusal to both questions.

I wasn’t in good enough shape to get up right away, but I also didn’t want your help to do so.

“…Alright, I’ll wait.”

Anne pulled her hand back, her eyes drooping like a sad puppy. It was hard to believe this was the same person who had urged me to read, indifferent to my screams.

Suddenly, a spiteful thought bubbled up. I wanted to hurl sharp words at Anne. It was the only petty revenge I could take on you.

…Let’s stop. It’s too petty, and I’m afraid of the backlash later.

Though I tried to console myself, the thought was contradictory. How could it be petty for a victim of brutal torture to lash out at their tormentor?

But I deliberately stopped thinking there.

Because I didn’t want to admit there was another reason I didn’t want to say harsh things to you.

Even after all this.

“Ugh.”

I staggered to my feet. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with my body, but my mind felt like it was weighed down by a hangover, making it hard to keep myself steady.

Anne seemed worried I might fall, fidgeting nervously. But since I had rejected her, she couldn’t reach out to support me.

And then it happened. As I tried to stand, my foot caught, and I stumbled.

“Ah.”

My dazed mind couldn’t process what was happening. I just stared at the world tilting around me, not even attempting to break my fall.

Suddenly, hands caught me. I was held at an angle, and I looked up to see Anne’s worried face.

“Are you okay?”

Am I okay? I’m not sure. I felt so exhausted, as if everything inside me had drained away, leaving only an empty shell.

I was barely moving, fueled by the dregs of my energy, but it felt like I could stop at any moment. I just wanted to close my eyes.

And surrender to the sweet darkness.

“Louis.”

I didn’t answer. Not out of defiance, but because I didn’t know why I should.

What are you saying? Anne called you. If you call, I should answer. That’s how it’s always been. We couldn’t always be together, and sometimes we had to be apart.

But if you needed me, I always tried to be by your side. If you called, I would run to you. Why? Why do you ask why?

Because Anne needs me. What other reason could there be…?

“Louis!”

I blinked, and suddenly I was lying on the bed.

It felt like I had teleported—the scenes didn’t connect. Wait, wasn’t I just sitting in a chair a moment ago?

Why am I like this? As I tried to sit up, Anne gently pushed me back down.

“Shh, stay still. You need to rest.”

“Anne…?”

It wasn’t the oppressive grip of a living shackle, but a gentle touch filled with restraint and concern. I couldn’t push it away, not because of the force, but because of the weight of her care.

Come to think of it, I think I have a fever. I remember an old herbalist saying that when bad things enter your body, it heats up to expel them.

That’s exactly how I feel now. Or maybe my body and mind have been overworked to the point of going on strike.

“It’s about time I should be heading back, but I guess there’s no choice.”

Despite her words, Anne was already pulling out various nursing tools from thin air. Without thinking, I grabbed her sleeve.

“Don’t… go…”

“Okay. I won’t. Where would I go without you?”

Anne pushed the towel, now caked with candle wax, back into the air and pulled out a clean one. She then fetched a bowl of water to dampen the towel.

The sensation of holy water came to mind, and I instinctively flinched, but Anne just tapped my shoulder reassuringly.

“Don’t worry. It’s just plain water.”

She placed one damp towel on my forehead and used others to carefully wipe my limbs. Though her hands were a bit clumsy, as if she wasn’t used to caring for others, the tools she prepared were as detailed and varied as those in the red-haired Inquisition Judge’s iron chest.

She poked a transparent stick into my ear and even pressed her ear to my chest to listen to my heartbeat.

Her actions were unskilled, but her preparations were thorough, as if she had a manual for this exact situation.

“Are you okay, Louis? Are you seeing any hallucinations, like black beasts or swarms of insects?”

The first part might have made sense, but the latter was definitely not something Anne would say. Even in my feverish state, I shook my head.

I had no idea what she was talking about, but Anne seemed relieved by my answer.

“That’s good… Then you’ll be fine soon.”

Despite her words, Anne was still restless, as if worried I might take a turn for the worse. So much so that I, the patient, had to lightly pat her arm to calm her down.

Thinking about it, our roles have reversed. You were always the sickly one, and I was known for my robust health in the village. So while I often visited you when you were ill, it was rare for me to fall sick.

As an adult, I carried loads all day, so it was no wonder I built up stamina. For me to fall ill now…

“Ugh…”

It’s because of the grueling journey I’ve been through lately, both physically and mentally.

In such circumstances, it’s no surprise that my body or mind would break down. Even if the Reformatory’s unrealistic functions could cleanse and heal everything.

The sharp light only scratches the surface, unable to reach the deeper parts. The shadowed corners of my heart have naturally grown moldy.

Even you, who were once my light, can now only graze the outermost parts of me.

“It’s okay, Louis. The pain is only temporary…”

Her tender whispers now ring hollow.

As Anne had said, the sudden fever gradually subsided over time. It wasn’t a serious illness, more like a physical strain, and with such meticulous care, it was only natural I’d recover.

Anne stayed by my side almost constantly, except when she went out to fetch supplies. She cooled my burning body with damp towels and fed me a mixture of milk porridge and holy water.

I didn’t have the strength to resist, but for some reason, it didn’t feel as painful as before. Maybe because my body was just as hot now. A ridiculous thought crossed my mind.

But it wasn’t the only ridiculous thing. In the face of such devoted care, my heart couldn’t help but soften.

“Ha… ugh.”

No matter how harshly you treat me, if you’re gentle and kind again, I melt. Even though I know the carrot is followed by the whip.

How many times have I been betrayed, yet I still hope. Even if that hope is betrayed again, I can’t stop hoping.

Because the you in my memories, in my nostalgia, was so dazzling and radiant.

Even now, lost in darkness, I search for a glimmer of light from you.

“That’s good. Your fever’s gone down a lot.”

The faded brilliance, the fleeting spark—I chase it endlessly through the darkness and hardship.

And yet, Anne isn’t even deceiving me. She’s keeping her word.

Another day passed while I slept, plagued by fever. One meal a day, followed by Scripture study. Though I still had a slight fever, my condition had improved significantly.

Amid the scattered nursing tools, Anne pulled out the candlestick again. It had returned to its original length, despite having been much shorter before.

“Do we… have to do this today too?”

“Of course.”

“I’m really… too sick and tired… Can’t we skip it just for today…?”

I had abandoned even the last shred of my pride and was begging like a child. Hearing my plea, Anne gently leaned forward, pressing her forehead against mine.

Perhaps because I still had a fever, her pale skin felt cool against mine. Her hazy blue eyes stared into mine without blinking, and then she pulled away.

“It’s okay. You’re stable now.”

“Anne…”

“Haha, Louis. Are you being a crybaby? Of course, I’d love to grant your every wish, but…”

Naturally, none of it mattered.

“No. This isn’t for me—it’s for you.”