Chapter 151 |
The deep greenhouse of a manor where not a single shaft of sunlight was permitted.
The scarlet poppies, which grew by feeding on darkness rather than sun, often stole the girl's gaze.
In the space cut off from the outside by large, thick blackout curtains, the sweet, acrid poison of simmering blood-red poppies pooled thickly. A scent she'd grown accustomed to by now.
"......"
In that air, where reason seemed to melt away with every breath.
Scritch, scritch.
"......"
"......"
With a sound like scraping snow. A cool, heavy silver comb slowly dragged through the snow-white hair that cascaded like a waterfall.
The girl truly loved this hair that resembled moonlight.
Her rough, calloused hands hesitated cautiously in the air.
The girl thought her lady, seated before her, was a far more fragile, precarious work of art than the cold silver comb in her hand, or any of the delicate ornaments and jewels she'd seen since arriving here.
"I can't seem to get used to it...."
At times like these, the girl's gaze always settled on the same places. The bloodless, translucent nape of a neck that had never seen sunlight, and silver-white hair without a single trace of color.
Then the woman spoke.
"How could it hurt, when you're the one combing?"
Red eyes curved in the mirror.
It was as gentle as a mother bird's plumage, and as chill as winter's biting wind. A tender smile that only someone who perfectly controlled her own face and the expression upon it could show.
The lady's gaze lingered, through the mirror, on the girl's hand holding the silver comb.
"When you tend to me with such devotion."
"You flatter me too much."
"You've gotten used to that comb by now, haven't you?"
The woman was rather fond of this girl.
Thick-jointed, sturdy hands through which hot blood surged vigorously. Every time those hands grazed her gaunt shoulders, a vicious jealousy coiled deep in the white woman's belly stirred.
"The child who once fumbled so...."
This girl could walk freely beneath the sun.
A commoner's body so absurdly robust it neither gasped for labored breath nor suffered from illness. To the woman, it was a vessel and an offering--loathsome and yet achingly coveted.
She lowered her eyes and asked.
"Isn't the poppy carved into this comb lovely?"
"I... thought so too."
"Did you?"
The woman raised an ice-cold hand and laid it gently atop the girl's rough hand gripping the silver comb.
"I had it wrought solely for you. My one and only child, who stays at my side and serves as my hands and feet."
The girl flinched, but did not pull away.
"You alone don't see me as a monster."
"...You are no monster, my lady."
"People call me a witch."
"They don't know you."
The girl was no fool. She vaguely understood. She knew that what lay behind that tender voice was never whole affection directed at her.
That what her lady truly loved was only the healthy body she herself could never possess, and the dogged loyalty of one who would gladly bury even the offerings of dreadful black sorcery at a single command.
Even so, the girl said again.
"They just don't know."
Last night, too, the girl had strangled a person with these two hands and disposed of the corpse that had become material for her lady's mystical arts. Beneath her fingernails, traces of dirt and blood still lingered, not fully scrubbed away.
"You're so... beautiful... why...."
"What would you do if you'd been bewitched by a witch?"
"They say that's how bonds are formed."
Every time she obeyed her lady's commands, a faint conscience screamed from deep within the girl. That this was wrong, that this beautiful devil was merely gnawing away at her body and soul.
And yet.
"You are the only one who truly loves me."
"...You flatter...."
"You'll stay by my side, won't you? Always?"
"......"
When the red eyes in the mirror held the girl wholly and whispered.
When the poppy's poison filling the room stabbed into her lungs, and that perfect smile feigning love paralyzed the girl's reason without a single gap.
The girl gladly trampled her shallow conscience.
"...Yes."
Even if her lady deceived and used her, it didn't matter.
Even if she regarded her as nothing more than a serviceable lump of flesh. As long as this terrible, beautiful being relied on her alone, and granted that perfect smile to her alone.
If she could remain forever in that cool control that felt like the embrace of a strong, noble mother she could never have had.
"Of course, my lady."
The girl clutched the silver comb with a face rapt as though drunk on poppy extract, and swore.
"I will be your hands and feet forever."
"I am fearful, so you must prove your love forever."
"I will give you anything."
Hands, feet, eyes, heart.
"The blood you mentioned before... I'll give you as much as you need,"
Truly anything at all.
"Please give me the chance to prove my heart."
At that desperate, blind devotion, the woman silently curled her lips beneath their clasped hands, gaze lowered. A beautiful, chill, endlessly perfect smile.
"You prove it to me always."
"I'll clean away everything dirty that you despise, my lady."
"You'd do that for me?"
The woman curved her eyes into a smile, as she always did.
"Thank you."
"No...."
Unaware that a few strands of snow-white hair had caught between the comb's teeth and snapped.
"I'm the one who should be grateful."
In their respective deprivations, the two shared the most perfect and peaceful moment.
***
Seung-jae rolled his eyes.
"Let's see...."
The vanity table was heaped with thick dust and dried petals. The mirror was cracked like a spider's web, and before it sat conspicuously alien objects.
> [Item acquired!]
> [An old silver comb with an intricately embossed poppy motif]
> Despite its age, it gleams brilliantly as though someone polished it with care every day. Several strands of snow-white silver hair are unpleasantly tangled between the teeth.
> [SYSTEM] [Memento] acquired (1/4)
The handle of the cold, weighty silver comb bore the same poppy as the red flowers they'd just seen, precisely engraved. Seung-jae blinked when he saw it in Do-heon's hand.
"So this must be one of the things the General Manager asked us to find."
He unconsciously scratched his ear. A low, eerie woman's laugh had seeped from the silver comb and grazed his ears. Knowing it was an auditory hallucination didn't stop the chill climbing his spine, and Seung-jae wore his signature smile.
"Holding that thing will probably contaminate you~ Might want to stash it in the bag, nephew? Doesn't look like something you should be touching barehanded."
"......"
"Why's this one gone blank again?"
Do-heon's lips moved.
"Just now."
"Mmhm, sure. Uncle's used to this sort of thing. Si-gyeong does it sometimes too. What'd you see?"
"Did... did only I see that?"
"I don't know what 'that' is, but detection-type Artists really are something~ I didn't see a thing. Now you've got me curious."
Seung-jae asked with his genial smile.
"Not going to tell your uncle?"
"Two women... building a relationship...?"
"Points for effort, but I have no idea what you're saying."
"Ah, this is frustrating."
But Do-heon lacked the ability to articulate what he'd seen coherently.
"It was like... a memory? Tied to this comb. Probably."
"And the main characters were two women?"
"The dynamic looked really complicated...."
Do-heon blinked, then muttered with an uncertain expression.
"...They looked kind of similar...?"
"To whom?"
"The one called 'my lady' looked a bit like that 'dangerous guest' we met in the Back○○ms. Both being all-white women, their appearances roughly...."
He stopped there.
"......"
There was one more resemblance. The 'lady's' smile that evoked the General Manager. In that instant, a sharp pain pulsed from deep in his skull.
"Hoo--"
The white owl on Do-heon's shoulder puffed its feathers and called out. As if to snap his attention back, it tapped his cheek with its beak.
"...My head keeps hurting."
Brought back to his senses, Do-heon shook his head to dispel the unsettling feeling.
"Anyway, that's what happened."
"Yeah? Since I didn't see what you saw, I can't really comment. Anything else?"
"I should look."
As he moved to put the silver comb in his bag, two sheets of paper that had been lying beneath it caught his eye. Do-heon was momentarily thrown.
> Two sheets of paper stacked on the vanity table.
"Was this always here?"
"In a labyrinth, questioning stuff like that will drive you crazy fast. Just ignore it."
"I'm probably saner than you, Uncle."
> One is charred black and so old it might crumble at a touch. The other is relatively intact, but a dried bloodstain where a red droplet landed is clearly visible.
"The paper's texture is a bit... unusual?"
"Old-style paper."
"Both have writing, but this one...."
Do-heon carefully picked up the papers. The one that looked like it had been pulled from a fire bore roughly scrawled, urgent handwriting across its damaged surface.
Attempting to read it, Do-heon's face crumpled.
"Fuck, what is this."
He could barely read English, let alone whatever language this was.
"Can you tell what it is?"
"Well well? German?"
"This is German?"
"Older grammar, but basically?"
"Can you read it?"
"If I could, do you think I'd be making a living with a gun?"
"Ah, totally useless."
> Would you like to examine the papers? [Yes / No]
"I can't believe the only thing I can rely on is this infuriating guide window."
"Ooh, it's going to help again? Uncle's excited~ I'm jealous of you, Do-heon~"
"Would you be quiet for a second. I'm stressed enough as it is."
> [Yes]
"Does it work? Will it translate?"
"Seriously, just."
> [Document found!]
> [Torn Diary 1: Blind Devotion]
"Ah."
It worked.
"...So the contents are...."
"Uncle's all ears."
"...You want me to read it aloud?"
"Sharing information is basic teamwork~"
"True, but why does it feel so awkward."
Even so, Do-heon obliged with a nod. He had no confidence in thinking things through, so he wanted at least one adult to share the situation with.
"...My lady is beautiful enough to sting the eyes."
'Pale and sickly, unable to see the sunlight, yet when my lady crushes the red poppies and brews the mystical elixir of her sorcery, even that terrible poison tastes sweet.'
'My lady never reveals emotion. She merely uses me with a smile that is tender and merciless. Even knowing she envies my healthy body, I gladly became her hands and feet and committed terrible acts.'
'When my lady calls my name tenderly, I want to give her anything. Even the blood she takes and the pitch-black night sky she shows me are simply a joy.'
"--Conscience no longer mattered."
When Do-heon finished reading, Seung-jae grimaced.
"Ugh."
"Ugh?"
"Why would anyone do that?"
"Can't disagree with that."
"Uncle's been married, so I know--this isn't normal."
"Sometimes I genuinely can't believe you've been married, Uncle."
"Deny it all you want, I am one woman's husband."
He'd heard his aunt had died a few years back, but Do-heon didn't poke at that. He just watched his uncle's face, worried he'd touched on something painful.
"Anyway, it really does feel like... a cult fanatic's diary."
"Yeah, a diary, huh~?"
Seung-jae stroked his chin.
"Mystical sorcery... elixir... blood and night sky...."
"Think you know something?"
"......"
Seung-jae rolled his eyes and spoke.
"Seems a bit dangerous."
An alchemist who wielded both Black Magic and Blood Magic, that is.
"There's one more sheet. Want to look?"
"No, seriously, what is it."
Even as he said that, Do-heon shifted his gaze to the memo that had been beneath the torn diary.
> [Document found!]
> [Memo in Neat Handwriting 1: Observation Report]
> The paper's corner is crumpled with a dried blood droplet, but the handwriting is ruler-straight.
Subject: Lover of Dawn
Classification: An erosion-type Monster Guest that uses hallucination and amnesia as vectors to consume targets.
Notable trait: Obsessive compulsion to find the reincarnation of a past attachment figure referred to as 'my lady.'
Required criteria: Albino. Health deficiency. Germaphobia. A control freak disguised as tenderness. Alchemist temperament devoted to dangerous research. Blood Magic rooted in Black Magic.
And in the middle, in a handwriting that betrayed a touch of irritation:
"......"
"'You must be out of your mind'--now that's a mood."
"Uh... the writer seems to have a bit of a temper."
"No idea who left this, or when, or how, but yeah, seems like it."
"Who could it have been?"
Likely, the writer had gotten prickly around the 'Blood Magic rooted in Black Magic' part. The emotional state conveyed by 'You must be out of your mind' roughly matched the handwriting. Neat, but with an edge.
"Want to keep reading?"
"Well...."
Personal note: Unpleasant as it is, excluding the albino trait, my current physical and dispositional profile matches the subject's criteria at a statistically significant level.
Signs have been observed that the subject has targeted Seome. However, I cannot stand by and watch an innocent person's memories being devoured in plain sight.
Logically, the most rational approach for variable control would be for me to maintain and emphasize the matching criteria to redirect attention toward myself.
"Never in my life have I seen this much T-energy radiating off a page."
"What's T-energy?"
"Just reading the text and you can feel the capital T. This person's MBTI has got to be TTTT."
"What's that even mean? Where did capital letters come from?"
"Something you don't need to know, old man."
"I see."
And at the very end, one more line of aside:
'I'm tired.'
"......"
From this mechanical, flat report, somehow a deep fatigue and heavy sense of responsibility seeped through. Do-heon, brow furrowed, shoved the memo and silver comb roughly into his bag.
> [SYSTEM] Main Quest progress updated: (1/4)
"Let's take a break."
"Hmm, shall we?"
"At least monsters shouldn't be barging into the room."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that~"
"Don't make me anxious."
Do-heon followed the owl's wingbeats out of the Greenhouse.
'Who were they?'
Both the person called Seome, and the owner of this memo.
It felt as though the answer lay within the lost year of memories.