PEMF 6

Chapter 6

***

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***

The maid fidgeted with her clasped hands.

It was undeniable that she was not good enough for her master, and that she was a great deal to her mistress.

She swallowed nervously, knowing it wouldn't change anything, but Elise spoke up.

"Yes. That's what happened."

"..."

The maid's mouth opened and closed as if she had forgotten how to speak.

When Elise looked away from her, who was unable to come up with any words, as if she were worthless, the maid bowed her head and disappeared.

Click.

"...."

The door slammed shut, leaving Elise alone. Silence washed over her like a wave, swallowing her whole.

Ha, ha.

Feeling her breath catch in her throat, Elise gripped the table and forced herself to take a deep breath.

She didn't know what to feel, how to feel, or where to start.

Everything was so unreal.

The sudden return of her sight. Her husband's obituary.

Dead? He's dead?

Like her grandfather?

Like the bodies on the battlefield?

Her blue eyes darted around like a wild goose.

Her time with him replayed in reverse order in her mind.

"Have you been waiting?"

"I don't think it would be a bad deal for Lady Elise."

"You walk as if you know where you are, my lady, without fear."

"Get a grip. Do you want to die!"

The last voice slammed into her head with clarity.

Elise steadied her breathing and tried to clear her mind.

Do what needs to be done now.

Her father had taught her by example that there was nothing more foolish than failing to face reality.

And now that the mansion had been returned to the state treasury, she would soon be kicked out with nothing.

"......Ha, ha."

As her breathing stabilized, the sights around her came into view one by one.

Even though she'd been in the room for a long time, it felt unfamiliar now.

Elise tried to calm herself as she stared at the different figures, each one like the one she had pictured in the darkness.

She clenched her hands on the table, feeling as if something inside her would leap out, when there was a knock on the door.

"Excuse me, Your Grace."

The maid opened the door, her demeanor suddenly polite as if she'd gotten the hang of the situation.

"Is there anything else you wish to speak to me about?"

"The chapel has just informed me that there is... no body... to bury, and they have requested that you should gather up the items that His Highness usually keeps close to him."

The maid, who was as loyal to Claude as she was to Elise, didn't hesitate to relay the request, perhaps thinking that her master's funeral took precedence over a flimsy apology.

"I'll go now."

The best thing to do now.

Elise repeated the words to herself and made her way toward the main building.

***

The main building was like a place she hadn't visited in a long time. Which was somewhat true, since it was the first time she'd seen it with her own eyes.

Elise was escorted by her maid to the third floor, where the master and his wife’s bedrooms were located.

Apparently, the news of her eyes' opening had already spread, and every passerby was eager to stare at her.

"I can take care of myself from here."

"Yes. Understood, Your Grace."

Reaching the third floor, Elise dismissed the maid and opened Claude’s door.

His room was neat.

No, neat was not the right word, more like lifeless.

For a man who would spend more time at the frontline than in a mansion, it was understandable.

As Elise slowly made her way through the room, her eyes caught sight of a large wedding photo on one of the walls.

"...!"

The image of the stiff, stoic groom and the frightened bride, who had just lost her glow, looked like a cheap theater poster from a back alley.

...............Why did he hang this up here?

Wasn't it evidence of something worthless and disgraceful to him?

After a moment's thought, Elise stepped in front of it.

Even though the photo was black and white, she could almost see the green in his piercing eyes.

She hadn't had time to reflect on the fact that her husband's sudden death had restored her sight.

But when she came face to face with Claude, who looked exactly as she remembered, she realized that her eyes had indeed been reopened. She realized she wasn't delusional.

He was a beautiful man.

The last time she had seen him in real life, he'd been immortalized in a photograph.

The dark eyes, the long lashes, the aquamarine pupils that traced the lines of his strong nose and full lips.

The face of her husband, after three years, was both resentful and empty.

Elise didn't know what to call the complexity of her heart that she would never be able to pin down and define.

Suddenly, she realized that their relationship resembled this unnamable heart.

It was a strange relationship.

Born of a contract, they could never be a perfect couple.

Nor could they be perfect strangers.

An ambiguous gray that was neither this nor that.

Suddenly, the question that had been lingering in her mind for three years rose to the surface.

What did he think of her when she was blind?

Why was he staring at her, why did he make that face?

"..."

Elise turned her head away from him, her thoughts growing deeper and deeper.

Time to find her husband's favorite things.

She looked around, pondering the maid's words, but there was no way she could tell.

She began to slowly search the room.

Her hand landed on the bedside table, where a safe sat beside the bed.

There was no way to open the safe, so she opened the top compartment of the nightstand first.

Unlike the rest of the nightstand, which was empty and unremarkable, there were two thick wads of paper inside.

What could they be?

Upon closer inspection, she realized they were letters.

Elise picked up the letters, which looked like they hadn't been there for more than a day or two.

Curiously, one of the letters was wrinkle-free, while the other was crumpled and had some dirt on it. It looked like something from the battlefield.

She was about to put the letter back in the drawer when her gaze fell on the writing on the envelope.

<Yours, Major Claude von Killiatzman.>

The handwriting was unmistakably that of a woman, writing her husband's name.

"...."

The thought of examining the box under the nightstand was quickly dismissed.

Impulsively, Elise tore open the top letter.

<Dear Major Killiatzman,

I am writing in response to your kind words about wanting to know all about my day. I wake up early in the morning and drink the coffee that the maid brings me, and I make sure to put an orange and brown sugar in it....>

Before she knew it, her behavior got out of control.

She picked up one of the letters in bad condition and unfolded it.

The handwriting, which must have been her husband's, was strong and clear. The content inside was short.

<How is my snowflake?>

The other letters were the same. Unlike the woman who wrote as if she were going to confess all of her troubles, Claude’s were short.

It was always just asking how the girl he affectionately called Snowflake was doing. So short, in fact, that the signature below the text was longer.

"...."

Elise closed the letter, squeezing her eyes shut.

So there was a woman.

She thought to herself with a sad smile.

It wasn't like they'd promised not to betray each other anyway.

What difference would it make if there was a woman?

As she turned to leave the room, her eyes locked with Claude’s in the photo again.

As if his gaze had stopped her in her tracks, Elise paused.

"..."

Was the woman named Snowflake was what he thought of in the last moments of his life?

****

Back in the annex, Elise had just finished changing into her full regalia when a visitor arrived at the mansion.

The soldier at the door revealed that he had come to deliver a letter of comfort from one of Claude’s men.

The letter was written by an officer below him, as Claude’s immediate lieutenant was presumed to have died with him.

"You took the trouble to come all the way here, thank you."

"It is my duty."

After thanking him, Elise tore open the letter.

Her eyes scanned the letter from the top, stopping at one point.

<I know how much you two have loved each other.

The Major traveled to the capital to see his wife whenever he could, even if it was only for a short time, and the thick letters they exchanged every day were a testament to their love...................>

Elise looked away, feeling something stirring inside her.

"Will you thank whoever wrote the letter for me?"

"Of course. Your Grace."

Elise tucked the paper into the envelope, feeling her fingertips tremble.

The phrase that he headed to the capital whenever he had time would not leave her mind.

It seemed that the cold and distant man could be so passionate about someone.

He couldn't stand to be away from that woman for even a moment.

***

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