Chapter Text
Time barely moved, and when it did, it inched along ever so very slowly.
Ever since Yvonne had returned, I felt that I only existed in two states: wallowing in misery or ruminating on my past decisions and present options. The lush grass, bright sunlight, and floral scent of the greenhouse were barely noticeable, like little pricks of awareness in the background of my addled mind.
My thoughts buzzed like the faint hum of the bees. Should I have chosen Eckles’ route? No. What went wrong? I don’t know. Where did our innocent flirtation turn into a violent obsession? I don’t know- Why hadn’t I questioned the color of his favorability bar? I’m so stupid- Should I have pursued Reynold or Vinter instead? There’s not enough time- How could he bring Yvonne here?! Signed my death warrant. What would happen if I drank poison? I don’t want to die- Would anyone try to stop me? Maybe for their reputations, not that they give a damn about me. Vinter already failed me. Reynold...? That dumbass? Derrick? He’d probably finish the job for shaming the family. …Callisto? Like that bastard cares about me-
And then, just like the bees flitting from flower to flower, I had cycled through the three primary thoughts that had churned through my mind since Yvonne’s return: Eckles… Callisto… and… poison.
I thought nothing could top the dismay I felt when I first realized I was trapped in this damned game, but now I was certain that nothing could compare to the agony of everything coming crashing down around me in the past few short days. My best shot at an escape, Eckles, built my coffin with his betrayal, and my only viable backup plan, Callisto, nailed it into the ground with his rebuke of love.
I faintly knew that if I didn't do something, I was surely going to die, but all I could think about was the throbbing of my skull, the cavern in my stomach, and the perverse temptation to give in and just collapse, perhaps for an eternity.
The longer I circled through the same useless thoughts, the more I drifted into a drowsy state of unconsciousness out of sheer exhaustion, my arms and head sprawled out on the table. I was aroused from this dreamless sleep by the sound of footsteps. I sighed. I had barred anyone from entering, but of course expecting the ducal staff to respect my wishes after the real princess had returned was too generous. Regretfully, when I mustered enough energy to pull up my head to rebuke the staffer who had dared interrupt my brief respite, emerald met gold.
I groaned and moved up into sitting position, facing the pompously shiny-haired prince. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?” I asked, expressing the barest formalities. My tone was taut with irritation.
The prince snorted. “I'm here to see you. What other reason would I have to come to the duchy?”
I was somehow stunned by what should’ve been an obvious answer, my obstinate heart skipping a beat. I tried to rationalize this response. It was not uncommon for target characters to seek me out to push the plot or the "romance" forward. Perhaps the game knew I planned on escaping and this was its way of reeling me in... or punishing me.
“Must I always say things so plainly to make you feel better?” he deadpanned.
“…Your Highness,” I murmured, my heart pounding in time with each breath. I bit my tongue and contended, “I suppose it’s good you came. I would be too busy to answer your proposal on my Coming-of-Age.” Despite the intimidating stare trained on me, I continued, “I can deliver a clear answer to your proposal now, I hope you can-”
He interrupted, “Wait a minute, Princess.” He raised his hand to stop me like a traffic cop. “I'd like to ask a question first.”
I raised my eyebrow and replied, “I'm all ears, Your Highness.”
“The duke—is his financial situation difficult these days?”
“Pardon?” I expected to once again be offered a contractual marriage, not field an inquiry into the duchy’s finances.
“Or does he not feed you because you're not his real daughter?”
“What do you mean…?” I spluttered.
He ignored my clear confusion and swiftly reached out to me. “All that's left of you is skin and bones.”
The Crown Prince clutched my left wrist, which was ungracefully sprawled on the table, and tenderly caressed my protruding bones.
“What– what are you doing?!”
“Why do you constantly try to hide everything from me?” The Crown Prince scowled fiercely, slamming his hand on the table. I blinked at his unexpected reaction.
“Get up,” he commanded.
“Your… Your Highness!” I clasped his hand unknowingly in dismay. His cheeks tinged.
“What the hell is wrong with you all of a sudden…!?” I spit out.
Despite my reaction, he continued, “At this rate, your epitaph will be inscribed with ‘the first noblewoman to starve to death in the Empire.’”
The Crown Prince swung my arm around clumsily. My wrists, swaying about as he shook them, were grotesque.
I thought it easier to starve than to attend meals with that harpy and Penelope's poor excuse for a family, but it was embarrassing that I hadn't noticed the effect on my appearance. My wrists left me speechless; they were shallower than a beggar’s.
“Go and pack right away,” Callisto growled. “I’m taking you to the Imperial Palace.”
“Your Highness-” I grabbed his arm, firmly attached to mine, but he overpowered me before I could regain control over the situation.
He glared at me fiercely. “What are you doing?”
I attempted to negotiate with him, “Your Highness, please calm down and sit. It's not a big deal-”
“Not a big deal?! Is it really not a big deal for you if you starve to death!?” he glared at me coldly.
Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with anger. “What does it matter to you, Your Highness?!” I snapped back, trying (and failing) to pull myself out of his grasp.
I was sick and tired of this game’s apathetic yet sycophantic characters. Callisto was a wild card that would do one thing and say another. Sometimes, he acted like he cared, but then he would say such cruel things. What right did he have to intrude on my health and autonomy when he doesn’t even love me? What right did he have to give me hope and then crush it in the palm of his blood-stained hands over and over again?
I recalled his stinging words, 'Love…? Don't you think that's a naive word that doesn't suit us?'
I gazed at the system message obstructing my vision, reminded of the hand that gripped my wrist.
<SYSTEM> Would you like to check the favorability of [Callisto]?
[4 million gold / Fame 200]
I knew that I shouldn't. He fancied a contractual union, not me. Otherwise, I'd have won this damned game and been home by now.
Yet, underlying my anger was a yearning. Callisto was the only person besides Emily who had really checked in with me, even if he was a couple of days too late and his approach was aggressive and patronizing. A stupid, naive part of me, a part of me that I thought had died in Korea, still wanted to feel. Still hoped for... something. Acknowledgement? ...Pity? ...Compassion?
A certain four letter world came to mind, but I buried the thought before it could even surface.
This game was as frustrating as it was unpredictable. Reynold, an impudent brat, has somehow become a more reliable brother than Derrick; Eckles, who was supposed to be my best chance of escape, brought home my doom; Callisto, who was supposed to kill Penelope, asked for her hand in marriage… Nothing made sense to me anymore. And, well, it seemed that nothing really mattered, as my death warrant has already been issued, and I was exorbitantly wealthy.
What could it hurt?
'Yes.'