Chapter 188
“Wow, how did you even survive before me?”
“Do you want to know?”
“Yeah. I’m really curious.”
“I just lived. Feeling empty.”
Jaha, who’d expected some glib, charming deflection, deflated instantly.
“What kind of answer is that?”
“People don’t die from feeling empty.”
His voice was laced with quiet laughter.
For a moment, she found it almost endearing—the way he answered her so dutifully, still half-lulled by sleep. But then his voice, soft and unhurried, continued:
“Living isn’t all that difficult, Jaha.”
His eyelids, heavy with drowsiness, fluttered slowly, like the weary wings of a butterfly. The dim lamplight traced each of his long lashes, one by one. His hazy blue eyes, half-revealed between blinks, seemed to pull her in.
“What matters is how you’re alive.”
The words slipped out like a sigh.
“I thought I lacked nothing. But the moment I noticed the hollow space inside me—the moment I faced that unfillable sense of loss—I realized something.”
His tone was gentle, yet there was a weight to it, like an old man reflecting on his life in its twilight.
“The me who believed I’d been living well… had only been surviving. Just a lump of flesh breathing in and out.”
Jaha couldn’t relate. She’d never felt anything like that. But she didn’t dismiss it, either. If that was how he saw himself, then that was his truth. She had no intention of being rude or mocking—
“Better a lump of flesh than a beast driven by lust.”
A sharp, mocking whisper sliced through her thoughts.
That voice—young, gloomy, tinged with childish spite—was the same one she’d heard that day she’d struggled with Rikanan over opening the window. The same voice from her nightmares, the girl who’d wept tears of blood.
Ever since that day, the voice would occasionally seize control of her mind, voicing opinions Jaha would never consider—thoughts entirely divorced from her own will. It terrified her, as if she were slowly descending into schizophrenia.
“Come here, Jaha.”
His quiet urging drew her gaze back to him, her expression conflicted.
She wanted her memories back. Now.
She wanted to uncover every last truth.
She wanted to wash away this unease, to be certain—without hesitation—that she could love this man freely, without reservation.
But reality refused to bend to her wishes.
In the study, Jaha stumbled upon yet another unsettling fact.
“The most recent one is from seven years ago.”
No matter which book she opened—whether a history text or a novel—the latest publication date was seven years prior. Not a single book published after that could be found. It was as if time had frozen.
A library of this scale, left untouched for seven years without a single new addition? It was beyond strange.
If the entire estate had been neglected, she might have dismissed it. But every other part of the mansion was meticulously maintained—only the study had been abandoned for seven years. That defied common sense. A year or two, she could understand—maybe the restocking cycle hadn’t come around yet. But seven?
Jaha rubbed her temples as she stared at the books she’d randomly pulled from the shelves.
Was it too much of a leap to assume this wasn’t coincidence, but deliberate—an intentional cutoff of current information?
Maybe it was just paranoia. For all she knew, they only restocked books once a decade, or there was some mundane explanation. But once the suspicion took root, it wouldn’t fade.
If it was deliberate… why? Why stop at seven years ago? Was there something from that time onward they didn’t want her to know?
“This is just narcissistic.”
A sigh escaped her lips. Did they really rearrange an entire library just to deceive me? This wasn’t some dollhouse built for her sake—it was pure self-absorption.
‘If they went so far as to craft a dollhouse for me… I may as well surrender now.’
How could she possibly win against that?
Shaking her head, Jaha began reorganizing the scattered books. She’d come here looking for mentions of the Ring of Abrixa, but all she’d found were more questions. So when, days later, she stumbled upon a book that wasn’t from the study, she was determined to read it—no matter what it was.
Even if it was just a romance novel.
“The Count and a Hundred Nights?”
“I—I can explain—!”
The flustered servant dropped to their knees, forehead pressed to the floor.
“P-Please, just forgive me this once!”
Jaha blinked in confusion. Why is she acting like this? Dropping a book wasn’t a crime—so what was the big deal?
“Ah, I’ll make sure this kind of accident never happens again!”
When Jaha stayed silent, the servant hastily added more, her voice frantic.
Ah. There’s something here.
Catching on, Jaha deliberately lowered her voice, sharpening her tone.
“What kind of ‘accident’ are we talking about?”
Her probing question—Do you even know what you did wrong?—made the servant’s shoulders hunch.
“I-I’ll never sneak in books from outside again without permission! This will be the last mistake, I swear—please, just show me mercy this once, miss!”
“Books… from outside?”
That’s the crime? Serious enough to beg for forgiveness?
It wasn’t a weapon—just a book. Why would that be such a—
Then, in a flash, it hit her. Jaha flipped open the book and checked the publication date.
Less than a year old. A recent release.
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