Dylan de Beaumon, the adopted daughter of a Duke, recalls the memories of her past-life after hitting her head. Upon realizing she was a villainess character in a novel, she decides to use her intellectual giftedness to get a good career and run awa...
Tick. Tick. She thought to herself that the sound of the clock ticking was unusually loud. It was foreboding, as if it were counting down the seconds until disaster struck. Tick. Tick. Dylan shook her head, quickly dismissing her dark thoughts. Now was not the time. There were bigger things at stake right now.
Edwin appeared to be in better shape, as if he had put on some weight, and had no discolouration under his eyes from exhaustion. He was beginning to resemble himself once more. The last few days had been as trying as they could be, and she wasn't sure he'd make it. However, by some miracle, Arthur had nursed him back to health.
"You look better, old man," said Dylan, a pensive smile pulling at the corners of her lips. Sinking into a chair by his bedside, she watched him sleep and considered what to tell him. "Time moves differently around here," she remarked, laughing. "It's been so long that I can't recall the academy or my friends."
She couldn't even remember the last time she had seen Laikin. She wondered if he was doing okay, but quickly scolded herself at the thought. She shouldn't be bothered. Especially since she had been working so hard to clean her hands of the sin he had left on them. It would be preferable if she never saw him again.
She stared at Edwin for a few moments, a million thoughts racing through her mind. Normally, she was good at disappearing with no trace; it was her holy grail, but for some reason, she couldn't say goodbye to Edwin. She couldn't say goodbye to the one person who had taught her how to love.
'I can't be near him any longer. It will only harm him.'
"My lady, the carriage is ready," called one of the servants from the door.
She paused before leaning over and kissing his forehead. "Goodbye, papa."
"Are you leaving so soon, kid?" Arthur stood against the door behind her, arms crossed across his chest, staring at Dylan. "When I walked in, you didn't even greet me, let alone say hello."
"That's because I didn't hear you," she whispered. Dylan put her finger to her lips, signalling him to lower his voice. "Be quiet, please. Edwin's sleeping."
"You're going home? Without saying goodbye?"
She cringed as the word left his mouth. Home. That place was no home for her at all. The Duke, however, had been unusually quiet recently. It made her feel uneasy, almost as if she were in the calm before a raging storm. She decided to go for a few days to cover her tracks and make sure everything was fine.
"I'll send you the details about your new shop's location," she said as he moved to make way for her. She paused to look at him and placed her hand on the doorknob: "You know, I hope you do something with this that you couldn't before. Find something you enjoy and are grateful for."
He frowned. "Being grateful is difficult for people like me, kid. Sometimes, it's difficult to be thankful that we're still alive where I come from."
"I can't thank you enough, Art," she whispered. Dylan was so quiet he could hardly hear her. "I've never been a grateful person," she continued, "but like you, I don't—I'm not—I've never really been thankful for anything. Until now." Then she quietly closed the door behind her.
Arthur began to cry silently, tears rolling down his cheeks, his hand pressed over his mouth. He tried to forget the faith she had put in him. He tried to forget the words she had just said to him. But in his mind, the sound of her gratitude, the words she had whispered, replayed. They sunk in. Indefinitely. Deeply. Painfully.
"I am deeply sorry," he mumbled between sobs; but he knew he had no right to cry out for repentance. "I had no choice," he mumbled. "I had no choice. I had no choice."
Arthur reached into his pocket and shakily pulled out a small object. He held an ivory chess piece in his trembling hand, which he had squeezed so hard that it had cracked in his grasp. He felt the blood trickle from his palm, making its way down his long, sinful fingers. It didn't hurt. The guilt eating away at his chest had already consumed all of his senses.
"You are fortunate to have been loved during your lifetime." The broken chess piece slipped from his grasp and landed on the floor, the off-white ivory now stained with crimson red. "I hope you can forgive a man like me. I've never experienced love like you have."
He imagined that things might have turned out differently if he had been loved, if he had something to be grateful for. He would not have fallen and been forced to work in a crime-ridden, impoverished community. He would have been a loving father with a brilliant daughter like Dylan. He could have been a grandfather, like the man in front of him. He wasn't, however. He was not loved.
"Go peacefully," he said quietly as the clock ticked away slowly. The sound pounded against his skull like a drum. "It's time, my lord, for you to die."
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Author's Note:
I know this chapter isn't as long as my usual chapters, but I promise to write longer ones in the future. Thank you for your ongoing encouragement and patience. Life has recently been crazy. I read all of your comments and decided to release a shorter chapter now rather than wait for a longer one. I adore all of you.
I made an email account so that I can better respond to and talk to everyone! Feel free to send me an email at authorchiloren[a]mail.com !!
