The Sand Bride - Side Story 2.29

* * *

She had met the man at sunset, but he died at dawn.

Hemor stared blankly at the dead man. The area under his eyes was stained dark, and his lips were parched, giving him the face of a defeated soldier.

“It is not because of Lord Hemor. Please do not be too heartbroken.”

Everyone in the palace said it was not her fault the man died. They comforted her, saying she had done everything she could. But Hemor herself kept wandering, searching for the reason for the man’s death within herself.

Though it was a parting that had beautiful moments, even if it wasn’t a beautiful conclusion. An excessively developed intuition, much like Karzhen’s, breathed a hideous presentiment into her.

That to him, Hemor had been a crow calling for death, or merely a hawk that brought death. That she was the very symbol of ash from burnt greenery and trampled flowers.

So, occasionally, Hemor tried to quietly recall the man’s wife and child whom she had cut down and killed, but she couldn’t remember anything. No sentiment came to her. The sensation of flesh and entrails being severed and bones being crushed by the swung blade was the only death she knew.

She had never seen a quiet death like the man’s.

Thus, Hemor had to wander for a while within the man’s death. she couldn’t remember him dying. The man’s throat hadn’t been cut, nor had his limbs fallen off. He looked as if one could believe he were alive if he just opened his eyes. But after three days, the corpse began to rot, and only after smelling that old scent of death could Hemor finally admit it. That the man was dead, that he had ended up dying.

“Actually, I liked those flowers that were the same color as your hair.”

Before it was determined that the man had fallen seriously ill, the man flinched and stiffened at Hemor’s words. Hemor, however, hurriedly added the following.

“But I like Lepiran flowers more now.”

Because they are the flowers you like more. Hemor swallowed the latter part of the sentence and gave an awkward smile. It was true. She liked the flowers the man liked more than the flowers that resembled him. She was joyful. She was happy.

Since only flowers remained from an already irreversible past, Hemor could not leave the garden after that day. The place where the man’s traces remained most strongly was the garden, and thus, that was now her nest. It was the place to stay.

However, when those Lepiran flowers began to wither, Hemor recalled the man’s past and thought she should leave for his nest. When the Lepiran petals fell, she would go to the man’s homeland.

She felt she wouldn’t be able to endure it if she didn’t go. She felt as if her place to stay had vanished. She felt as if her place to live had disappeared. So she had to go. Whether it was Sayar or her status as royalty, nothing was important.

“He didn’t die of an illness.”

However, when she realized that she had already destroyed that place to stay with her own hands, Hemor didn’t know what to do after that.

“He killed himself, that bastard.”

The Crow, who used to boast that she could gather shining pure gold, various jewels, and beautiful stones into her nest and keep them forever, finally realized a beauty that could not be kept.

She shouldn’t have plucked those flowers and brought them. Since the moment a flower is plucked, it has no path left but to wither—even if she tried to keep it, what remained was something that could not be kept—that was a flower. It was something living.

Hemor sat in a chair with her legs crossed, mulling over her younger brother’s words again and again, and finally, night came. It was a night just like the time she had confessed her feelings to him. As the clouds moved away from the moon, the flower petals sparkled. But Hemor already knew that the petals and stems had lost their vitality and were on the verge of withering.

It was the last full bloom. Perhaps by tomorrow, the petals would fall one by one, and they would wait for the next year.

But Hemor didn’t need that next year. She didn’t have the confidence to watch. She was afraid of the full bloom of the following year.

Rising quietly from her seat, she drew her sword without a word. The sword, which her loyal servants always kept polished so it was clear and sharp without a single speck of dust, shone like the surrounding flower petals.

Hemor gripped the sword with familiarity, but the posture of pointing it toward her own stomach was unfamiliar. It was a blade that had always pointed outward. It was a sword she had been proud would never be pointed at herself…….

‘Now I know where that smell was coming from.’

Hemor, who thrust the sword into herself, felt it faintly amidst the pain. Because as she applied strength and moved her hand downward, she felt a familiar sensation along with the feeling of falling into an abyss. The sensation of bones crushing and entrails tearing, the scent of burning as something was destroyed.

“Please, save the child……!”

And with a flutter, the sound of a bird departing was heard once more. It was a bird called a Crow by some and an Eagle by others.

But now, that bird would never return to the nest or anywhere else. Since what that bird loves is no longer in this world, that bird has no need to return to this world either.

Only her empty nest would remain for someone, each with their own meaning…….

[The Sand Bride Side Story 2 – IF] END