My Husband Never Dies - Chapter 41

“My lady!”

From deeper within the library, Laura’s loud, ringing voice echoed. Evelyn flinched and turned her head.

Laura, who hadn’t yet noticed Evelyn standing in a corner, stamped her feet in frustration.

“My lady, you’re not in here…?”

“I am.”

Evelyn stepped forward, revealing herself. Laura turned toward the voice and let out a relieved sigh.

“What are you doing over there?”

“Just looking around.”

For some reason, Evelyn didn’t want to be seen holding the little book and lowered her arm. The damnably uncomfortable dress didn’t even have pockets to hide anything in, but Laura didn’t seem to notice or care.

“I brought some sandwiches too. I figured you might be a little hungry.”

Laura casually added the comment as she floated ice into a teacup. Evelyn said nothing, answering instead with a slight nod before turning her back to her.

As she opened the small book, Evelyn’s brow furrowed deeply. Some of the writing was smudged here and there. Not so much that the content was unreadable, but it had clearly been scribbled in haste, as if the writer were being chased by something.

What was this? It didn’t feel like a book. More like… a memo. Or a deeply personal record.

For someone already unfamiliar with the written word, reading messy handwriting was nearly on par with deciphering a secret code for Evelyn. Worse yet, she had to skip smudged letters or make wild guesses to piece together the meaning, which only made it more exhausting.

With a frustrated scrunch of her eyes, Evelyn flipped the page with a touch of irritation. This seemed useless, like nonsense—

Fog

At that moment, Evelyn’s hand froze.

There was no ■■■…

It wasn’t just smudging anymore. There were clear signs that some words had been deliberately erased with ink — as if someone were deliberately trying to hide them.

Something about the stark, inky blotches sent a chill down her spine. There was no presence, no sign of anyone near, yet Evelyn suddenly felt like the Duke was watching her.

She slowly turned around. But aside from Laura, who was busy arranging the tea set, there was no one else in the library. Wiping her clammy palm on her skirt, Evelyn quietly turned the next page.

Several pages were filled with… meaningless ramblings about the fog. The summary of it all seems to be that the fog that pursued its target appeared even indoors without fail, and was said to obscure even sunlight like a thick cloud.

To anyone else, it would’ve sounded absurd. If the Evelia Locke who had been imprisoned in Zelakent were reading this, she would’ve scoffed. She wouldn’t fear it, but instead mock it and say something like:

That fog? Sounds useful. I’d make it an ally.

Evelyn’s trembling finger drew a line diagonally across the page. So how the hell do you get rid of this goddamned fog? Can you even get rid of it?

She hadn’t realized she was biting down hard on her lower lip until she tasted the metallic hint of blood at the edge of her tongue. And then her jaw clenched the moment she read what came next.

~~…does not die~~

Unlike the earlier portions that were blotted out in thick ink, this phrase was crossed out with a line, as if someone had tried to cancel the very idea of it not dying.

A jolt ran down Evelyn’s spine, like a splash of cold water had been thrown on her. Yet her heart began to pound with something like hope. Afraid it might be taken from her, Evelyn gripped the book tighter, her knuckles turning white.

…do not leave it whole — cut it into pieces so it can’t ever come back together…

When the fog was formless, there was nothing to be done, but if it took shape, it meant that this entity could be killed.

Thump! Evelyn closed the book right there. On the spine and cover, there was no title, but a small inscription was engraved on the back cover.

To the Daughter of Dalebury

It felt as though a large needle was being driven down from the crown of her head. Evelyn shoved the notebook-like book deep into a remote shelf.

Normally, she wouldn’t trust such a crude record. But so many things had seemed too uncannily relevant. The fog… the fog that had been chasing her, the fog that had filled the room, the immortal entity.

And then, the Daughter of Dalebury.