Chapter 62
He shook his head.
Still pressing his face to her hand, Theodore refused.
Daphne bent her knees and reached with her other hand to lift his chin. He could’ve easily brushed off her delicate fingers, yet he let her guide him — so willingly, so tenderly — that it made her heart ache.
His eyes were closed. A single tear slid down from the corner of his flushed eye, clinging to his silver lashes before falling. Daphne watched it silently, then whispered:
“Your Eminence.”
“N… No. Not anymore.”
“Theodore.”
The priest who was vowing to be disgraced alone was met with the gesture of shared responsibility, an unspoken invitation to face it together.
“Look at me, Theodore.”
“…”
“Hey? Teddy.”
Unable to resist the nickname, Theodore finally looked up, his eyelids fluttering as his golden eyes, filled with moisture, trembled with uncertainty.
“Tell me the truth.”
Daphne cupped his beautiful, tender face in both her hands and asked softly.
“Do you truly see a wicked, devilish curse in me?”
“No… no…”
“Then why did you say that I was cursed by the devil?”
Teeth biting into his lower lip, Theodore could not stop the tears. Far from stopping, his body shook with sobs as his shoulders trembled at her words.
“I… I wanted to reach you, to hold you… my words, all false…”
“Don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Daphne… I… I was wrong…”
“Do you want me to forgive you?”
“Yes… yes…”
Theodore, carefully cupping Daphne’s hands that held his face, nodded repeatedly. His silver lashes trembled, and Daphne couldn’t help but etch the image of the desperate man, pleading for her mercy, into her memory.
‘Would there ever be someone else who wanted me this desperately, who would risk turning their own weaknesses into a weapon against them, just to hold on to me?’
Daphne, who had been born a child of the streets, had always believed that men were not to be trusted. Her mother had died of illness before Daphne was even weaned, and her father was a man whose name and face she would never know. Naturally, she had grown up among the beggars and gutter rats of the city — surrounded by beasts who were always itching to mount someone, always prowling for something to sink their teeth into and toss aside.
Men who said they loved you, only to gorge themselves and discard you without a second thought.
Those beasts weren’t limited to the back alleys of the slums. They came in every class and color, wore silks or rags alike. And the women left behind by them — devoured in body and soul — either died giving birth to yet another unwanted street child, or ended up selling themselves just to stay alive.
Had it not been for the teacher who found her half-dead, nursed her back to health, and brought her to the Grand Temple after discovering she bore the mark of the Three Stars, Daphne had no doubt she would have followed the same road as the others.
She hadn’t wanted to die like that — torn to pieces, discarded like refuse. She hadn’t wanted to live a life that was precious to no one. But with no education, no money, no name, what kind of future did a girl from the streets have? It wasn’t hard to guess.
That was why she clung to the will of the gods. Why she fought to remain in their favor. Anything to avoid being cast back into the beasts’ world beyond the temple walls.
At least, that had been her resolve.
‘But this man… could I really trust him?’
A man who said he had wanted her so badly, he had preserved whatever fragments of her he could find—leftover traces, lingering scents—not out of possession, but desperation.
A man who had watched her for over ten years from afar. Who claimed he hadn’t dared approach, hadn’t even dared to hope.
‘He feels the same as I did.’
Daphne slowly raised her eyes and swept them across the room, which was now filled with traces of herself. Even if it was twisted, even if it was abnormal — was this not a kind of love, too?
“…”
At last, having made her decision, Daphne pressed her lips to Theodore’s.
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