Chapter 55
Even if never seeing you again would tear my heart apart. Even if it would be a suffering so vast that death would seem kinder.
If it meant setting right your twisted fate, then even this life of mine would not be too precious to give.
Her face, as if pleading—You alone must escape this cruel, perverse destiny bestowed by the gods and live a new one—was unbearably earnest, unbearably pitiful. So much so that her son’s heart ached dully at the sight.
Carlos leaned toward her once more. As though neither his brother nor the shadow behind him existed, he fixed his gaze solely on Brunhilde and spoke.
“Don’t go, Mother.”
His hand, that was now far larger than hers, came up to cup her tear-damp cheek.
“If it hurts this much just to not see me, then why would you try to leave my side? Just stay with me. Live with me. Please?”
“But…”
“If you weren’t here, I’d suffer enough to want to die. I might not even want to keep living at all. Do you want me to take my own life, Mother?”
“D-don’t say such frightening things, my child. I’m doing this for you. No matter how much you try to restrain your desires, this family’s curse—”
“Mother.”
Carlos cut her off firmly.
Then, gazing straight into the violet eyes that had always been the reason he kept living, he said quietly,
“You’re mistaken about something. I have no intention of restraining my desires.”
“Carl!”
Startled by the audacity of his words, Brunhilde cried out.
“If I meant to hide or suppress them, I wouldn’t have revealed my true feelings today. Brunhilde, I’ve already endured enough. I don’t want to keep holding back my desire for you any longer.”
“No, my child. Please…”
“Mother… my beloved Brunhilde.”
His own eyes had been glistening for some time now, and he spoke with aching sorrow.
“If I can’t desire you, I’ll die.”
“……”
“I will. I truly will. Like a plant denied water, I’ll wither little by little, until even my roots dry up and crumble.”
A single tear slipped from the young boy’s eye looking so fragile, so unbearably desperate that it could break the heart of anyone who saw it.
“Please… let me live, Mother…”
“Carl…”
“Even now… it feels like I’ll die because I’m not allowed this desire…”
More tears spilled from the boy’s eyes, like the first drops of rain tracing faint lines down a surface.
She couldn’t bear it. The sight of her son’s tears was too much. Weeping with him, Brunhilde pulled him into her arms.
“Carl… my poor child…”
Why had the gods bound this family in such a cruel shackle? Why had her son’s fate been shaped into something so agonizing?
If only that horrific, blasphemous destiny had been laid upon her instead. She was already broken, already beyond saving. She would have borne even more, if it meant sparing him.
“……”
Watching the mother and son weep in each other’s arms, Franz’s gaze sank into a heavy, dark stillness.
With a glance, he dismissed Heen behind him, then strode toward them. Placing a hand on Carlos’s shoulder—where he clung to his mother’s bare back—he spoke.
“For now, you should return to your room.”
For a brief instant, something sharp flickered in the boy’s tear-filled violet eyes. But it soon faded into quiet sorrow. Carlos nodded, still crying, and released his mother.
Unsteady on his feet, he rose, reminding her once more that she must never leave… before passing close by Franz.
“……”
The door closed behind him with a faint movement, swallowed by silence. With a grave expression, Franz pressed his lips together and exhaled deeply.
Then, looking down at Brunhilde—who was still sobbing as though she might lose consciousness at any moment—he spoke in a low voice.
“If you’re going to run… now is your only chance, Princess.”
Bending down, he gently cupped her face and lifted her chin to meet his gaze. Looking into the eyes of the woman who had somehow become precious to him, he repeated clearly,
“At this rate, Carl will become nothing more than another victim of the curse. Come with me, Brunhilde.”
She couldn’t answer right away. The sobs filling her whole body were too deep and overwhelming.
Her breath was ragged, over and over, before she finally blinked. No matter how many times she lowered her gaze, tears kept gathering again in her clouded eyes. Looking up at Franz, she spoke haltingly,
“B-but… if we do that… and Carl really… dies…”
Brunhilde, utterly incapable of staying rational where her son was concerned, trembled as she voiced her fear of his death.
Franz did not scold her foolishness. Instead, he answered calmly,
“He won’t kill himself.”
“H-how…?”
“If he dies, he won’t be able to desire you.”
“Ah…?”
Already overwhelmed with sobbing, Brunhilde looked as though she had been struck. Franz winced faintly, a sharp pain flaring from the wound where she had stabbed him earlier.
“Carl won’t die. As long as you’re alive, he’ll keep living, even if only to find you.”
“……”
“So you have to run, Brunhilde. Before something irreversible happens.”
As his words sank in, a new expression slowly emerged on her tear-streaked face—one of quiet resolve, much like the moment she had decided to stab his heart.
Pressing her lips tightly together, she lowered her gaze, then wiped her face roughly with her already soaked hands and arms. Her voice, still thick with the remnants of sobs, answered as she struggled to her feet.
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