To the One Who's Only Cold to Me - Chapter 125

The woman on the bed didn’t move. Her hand was paler than the white dress she wore. Her arm hung off the side of the bed, her hand limp, completely defeated by gravity. Below it lay a small bottle and a pillow with its center deeply crumpled.

Leaving his wife’s cold, fading body behind, Cliff knelt by the bedside table. His eyes were wild, unfocused. With the warmth of his wife still lingering on his hand, he was writing something — the contents were shocking.

“Graham, you bastard. You deserve to rot in hell and suffer forever. I was a fool to ever think of you as a friend.

Filthy scum. I swear I’ll…”

His trembling hand scribbled curses and threats, shaking with fury. Toward the end, the pen began to press hard and the ink bled into the paper. The spreading black blot resembled a drop of blood, or perhaps guilt. Cliff stared at it, then folded the paper with a shaking hand and sealed it. He tucked it into his chest and, legs trembling, barely managed to stand.

Thud.

“Ah!”

Daphne’s hand brushed against his swaying body. Even that small touch made Cliff jump in terror and turn around. There he saw Daphne lying in disarray, the empty bottle, and the pillow. Cliff’s eyes widened in panic as he rushed into motion.

He barely managed to pick up the bottle with his trembling hands and shoved it into his pants pocket. Then, he picked up the pillow and placed it back in its original spot, next to Daphne’s spread-out hair.

Only one thing remained out of place. After hesitating for a long time, Cliff reached out toward his wife, trembling all over. Just before his fingers touched her, voices from a few minutes earlier rang in his ears—his and his wife’s.

“So what? No matter what, you met him. Right?”

“I’m sorry. I really am. But Cliff, that was the only way to save you.”

“Oh, so to save me, you joined hands with that bastard Graham and turned me in?”

“Cliff!”

“What did you bring me back to the estate for? To lock me up while you and he flirt around?”

“No, no. Please…! Ah!”

“Out of pity, I’ll make it easy for you. Just one sip. Drink it.”

“Cl-Cliff…”

The horrifying scene repeated in his mind. A life slowly fading… Watching the light die in her eyes was unbearable. Driven mad by that pain, he had poured poison into her mouth — and as if that wasn’t enough, he’d even picked up the pillow.

Thump.

“Ah… ahh…”

Guilt hit him all at once. Cliff grabbed his head with both hands and collapsed to the floor. On the bed, Daphne’s limp hand still hung into his view.

Desperate to get away, he dragged himself backward, scraping the floor with his feet, until he bumped into the bedside table. With nowhere else to go, Cliff began to blame someone else — the one person left to blame.

“This… this is all because of you, Graham…”

As soon as he said the name out loud, it felt like the hand hanging off the bed really was Graham’s doing. Cliff kept mumbling, “It’s not my fault…”, over and over, then pulled the letter from his coat.

“I won’t forgive you. You’ll suffer forever too.”

He dragged himself out of the room and stood up only when he reached the door. He opened it and, worried someone might see him, called for a servant. One of the closer ones quickly rushed over at his master’s call. Cliff didn’t even look at the servant’s face as he shoved the letter into his hand.

“Deliver this to the Count of Parden. Immediately.”

The servant was confused by the sudden order but too afraid of Cliff’s mood to ask questions. He turned and ran off.

As soon as the servant was gone, Cliff quietly opened the door and went back in. But for some reason, he couldn’t look toward the inside of the room. As if trying to block out the scene, he shut his eyes tightly and leaned his forehead against the door for a while before slowly — very slowly — turning around.

After doing something he could never take back, Cliff’s regret coiled around his neck like a long silk ribbon. As his vision blurred, he clutched his throat, silently begging for it all to end quickly.

“If I die like this, what about Ian? What about Sophia?”

Just before it was all over, the faces of his children who looked like him and his wife — appeared in his mind.

“Ah… ha…”

Cliff, slumped beneath the bed, slowly raised his body. The movement loosened the silk ribbon caught on the bedpost, and air rushed into his lungs. Gasping, he grabbed at his throat. The soft feel of the silk felt strangely out of place in the moment.

“Right. I can’t leave them behind in this world.”

Still holding the ribbon, Cliff sank into thought. And then, as both a parent and a human being, he imagined something he should never have — something no one could forgive.

“If it’s come to this, maybe… we should all go together…”

A sickeningly selfish and disgusting thought disguised itself as something sweet. Cliff’s eyes went dull, just like when he had poured the poison into Daphne’s mouth. His dead-fish eyes now turned to the floor. Downstairs were Ian and Sophia’s rooms.

“No.”

Cliff let go of the ribbon and stood up, then took a step forward  but stopped cold. He shook his head, cursing himself.

“No, never. I can’t. My poor children…”

Thankfully, the sanity that returned didn’t slip away again. But in its place came helplessness and avoidance. Cliff, still holding the silk ribbon, murmured to himself.

“I can’t do this anymore.”

He had avoided the worst, but just barely. Cliff didn’t let go of the ribbon. He reached toward the bedpost again then stopped. He remembered how suicide was treated in this empire.

Suicide — it was one of the three absolute taboos in the Caesar Empire. It was strictly forbidden by law, and religiously, even the word was unspeakable.

“He has no right to the goddess’s final mercy. To take his life over gambling debts? Sinful!”

Except in service to the empire or under the emperor’s orders, suicide was a disgrace. The temple didn’t allow final prayers or burials for those who took their own lives. That stigma extended to the family too.

A mother killed by her husband over gambling and illegal liquor debts. A father who killed his wife, then took his own life. The future awaiting Ian and Sophia was clear.

Cliff’s grip loosened. The silk ribbon fell to the floor like a snake. But then he bent down and picked it up again.

“This is all I have left…”

Cliff had no intention of taking responsibility for what he’d done. He just wanted to escape — to not bear the weight. That was all. But he couldn’t shake the thought of his children.

Shaking, struggling, Cliff finally decided to shift the responsibility onto someone else. The person he chose was obvious.

He took out a fresh sheet of paper and began writing a new letter this time, a plea to the very man he had cursed. He confessed everything: the situation he was in, the crimes he had committed, and even the unthinkable act he had nearly done. He said he and Daphne would disappear into Lake Farne, and begged Graham to protect Ian and Sophia from the truth, to help them live on.

But it still didn’t feel like enough. Cliff read over the long letter several times, then pulled out one more sheet of paper. He wrote a short letter to Graham, this time as a friend, asking him to look after Ian and Sophia.

“Dear Graham. My one and only friend. Please take care of Ian and Sophia.”

He folded the two letters together and sealed them. This time, he called for James.

“Do you know someone’s already been sent to the Count of Parden?”

“Yes, sir. I heard you sent a letter.”

James had served the household since the time of the previous marquis, Iron. He was more loyal to Cliff than any other servant. Cliff knew this and had appointed James as steward at a young age, keeping him closer than most.

“There’s one more letter. You must deliver this yourself.”

“Sir?”

“It’s very important. You must give it to the Count of Parden personally.”

“Understood.”

James hesitated, then bowed deeply. Cliff, holding the letter, watched him silently before going back into the room.

Creak.

Hearing the door open, James turned as if to say something, but stopped. Through the narrow gap in the doorway, he felt a chilling draft. It made him shiver.

“Ugh! Farne in this weather? What nonsense! Ptuh!”

It hadn’t started raining, but the thickening clouds promised a storm. Wilkins, the coachman for the Marquis of Lloyd, complained loudly as he hitched the horses to the carriage.

“With all the chaos lately, going to the villa now? These nobles, I swear… At least in the past they’d pay extra. Now? Nothing. And yet they still boss us around.”

Thunk.

While attaching the harness, he kicked the carriage wheel hard, making a loose nail rattle. But Wilkins didn’t notice. He turned and leaned against the carriage, waiting lazily for his master to come out.

“All ready?”

Cliff appeared quickly. He was carrying Daphne in his arms.

“Huh? Something’s… off.”

Wilkins, leaning against the carriage, suddenly straightened up. The marquis and his wife never came out like this. And the marchioness… looked strange.

“What are you staring at? Open the door. Don’t wake her.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Cliff’s gaze was too sharp. Wilkins didn’t dare look at the marchioness again. He opened the carriage door. Cliff climbed in immediately and, in a cold, flat voice, ordered:

“Drive.”

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