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3. A Story Like a Comedy

I didn’t show any particular reaction to my father.

Or rather, since the documents delivered by a disguised messenger were piled up like a mountain, I didn’t feel the need to fix my gaze on Marquis at all.

‘Whether she’s a villain or the queen of capitalism, my sister is the best.’

To become a villain, you need a background. As the younger sister of the villain who enjoys luxury, there was no shortage of connections and wealth earned through illegal activities and misdeeds.

“Damn it, what’s the problem, Moore!”

Unable to overcome his anxiety, my father eventually threw the lamp to the ground.

I could ignore a series of villainous remarks and immerse myself in my consciousness because the direction wasn’t toward me.

“I hope the medicine has arrived.”

He might be disappointed since I couldn’t leave a note. Our fluffy white ball. Still, the medicine needs to be applied.

At this level, Marquis should have been restrained by Reload or Hyzen. So, I spent time ignoring whatever he was shouting without paying attention to it.

And as expected, in an empty room that had been abandoned, I laughed freely and gradually lost consciousness.

The vision that flickered black was restored. I was dreaming.

The reason I could tell it was a dream was that the person glaring at me in front of me had a face I hadn’t seen in a long time.

I called out to the approaching figure that growled like a black panther.

“Dad.”

“…Our daughter.”

Kil-kil. A bizarre laughter trembled poorly. A sense of expectation, fear, guilt, and remorse mixed like smoke.

I blinked my eyes weakly underneath it. The figure of my father seemed to blur gradually. There was a strong smell of alcohol.

‘This is…’

Right. It was undoubtedly the last memory before possession. I groaned weakly, feeling the powerless sensation of being choked off from oxygen.

Just as I choked, I was more gasping for breath than experiencing the pain of suffocation. It was more like a whimper due to the desperation I felt at that time.

My father, just as I remembered, delivered the predetermined lines. He seemed insane.

“Go and tell your mother. I killed that bastard. Huh? You have to go and tell her instead of me, understood? Eunha.”

Chills ran down my spine. I uttered words like a convulsion. Not so much due to the pain of suffocation but just, at that moment, I realized how desperate I was.

Dad was a murderer, and I was still the room caretaker at that time.

At least the first murder seemed to have reasons and justifications. I remember the words I said at that time.

‘That person did something wrong.’

‘It’s okay, Dad. It’s okay.’

For Mom.

Twelve years old. Was I too young back then? I couldn’t distinguish between good and evil normally. Dad kept muttering continuously.

“Dad won’t live any longer. Huh? Cancer. So, damn it. Eunha, you must tell her. I got my revenge before I die.”

What nonsense.

Nineteen-year-old me gnashed my teeth and spat out while swaggering.

“Lies, don’t, do it.”

As the oxygen was cut off, the blurry vision reproduced memories exactly. So, facing Eunha, whose figure was becoming hazier, I regretted.

If I had left this house earlier, if I hadn’t stood by. I would have.

Calix and Taylor came to mind. Yeah. Surely, their eyes were empty.

Florencia also had eyes filled with sadness.

Then, Dad?

When I looked up at Dad’s face again, his eyes seemed

-Empty?

It felt like memories were sinking one by one into the sea.

No, it would be more appropriate to say it was being eroded by a tidal flat. Breathing properly wasn’t possible.

I had no memory after losing consciousness like this.

Right after losing consciousness, I became Margaret Eilish, not Jung Eunha. I repeated it as if brainwashed.

It’s okay, it’ll be fine.

“When you open your eyes, I’ll be Margaret Eilish.”

That had to be the case. It had to be. I wasn’t ready yet, and I didn’t want to wake up from the dream.

“-Cough!”

…But when I opened my eyes again, what I saw in front of me was.

“No.”

It was the ceiling of the house where ‘Jung Eunha’ lived, not Margaret.

“It can’t be like this.”

I muttered, trying to control my trembling body.

I plugged my mouth as if I were going to vomit and shook like crazy. No, it couldn’t be like this.

“It’s just an old memory.”

I didn’t want to go back to reality. Not yet.

* * *

“Young Lady, Young Lady Eilish?”

Kestiel, breathing heavily, quickly opened the door at the sound of coughing. There was a sound like suppressing nausea under the dim afternoon sunlight.

‘I expected this.’

Margaret appeared. She looked like a ghost in the bed under the canopy.

Kestiel was confused. Despite knowing that Margaret’s illness was an illusion, she coughed as if she felt pain in her throat.

“Young Lady.”

He couldn’t be sure where Margaret’s pupils were looking.

However, I could hear the voice that was trembling and spitting out less than before.

“The ending hasn’t come yet.”

Kestiel hesitated for a moment.

He felt like he should ask if she was okay. No, he felt like he needed to confirm if she was okay.

Although the Crown Prince and Beatrice had ordered her to report if anything happened, he originally had no intention of doing so.

Moreover, the Margaret in front of him was unfamiliar enough to easily forget about his personal circumstances.

There was a clear difference between her and the one he had always seen.

A woman who always observed the situation with a sarcastic attitude, now mumbling to herself while trembling.

Moreover, the way she was breathing heavily and coughing urgently to the point where her health was in doubt clearly indicated that something was wrong.

Kestiel struggled with the impulse to reach out and approach while suppressing the desire.

Even though he received the consciousness of the guardian spirit by the command of the Crown Prince, Margaret was the successor to the Marquis.

Calling her name and walking under the canopy were considered disrespectful.

He clenched his fist.

If it were Margaret, she wouldn’t care about such things, but now she was hostile to the Crown Prince.

‘It’s become awkward.’

If he set his mind to it, he could probably use his actions as an excuse to criticize the rudeness of the royal family.

If he claimed injustice against the nobility, it would be a considerable blow to the current Crown Prince.

Above all, the funds and a kind of ‘business’ that Florencia handed over to Margaret would undoubtedly have a significant impact on the Crown Prince.

Kestiel bit his tongue a couple of times and took a few steps back.

Margaret still hadn’t realized that someone had opened the door.

He, who was clearly just a surveillance agent, had to leave like this. But Kestiel Rylode couldn’t do that.

“I might have to leave here. Well, I didn’t think I couldn’t go back.”

‘…Go back?’

He couldn’t accept that simple sentence so vaguely.

He took a few more steps. Margaret’s cough, pouring out like suffocation, had somehow calmed down.

Kestiel quietly grabbed the canopy.

She was regaining her typical calmness.

The phantom-like figure under the transparent fabric seemed to disappear soon.

He thought about the last words he heard.

The ending goes back….

Kestiel didn’t know exactly what those two words meant.

He just had a gut feeling that if she reached the ‘ending’ she was talking about, he would intuitionally not be able to see the Margaret he knew again. Kestiel shivered with the palpable urgency.

“Damn.”

He could no longer deny it. He realized that his affection for Beatrice, which had been strangely single-minded, was no longer there.

Including the fact that it had been gradually fading since ‘some point.’

That’s why he did it. He impulsively removed the canopy he was holding. And calling her by her name, omitting the title.

“Margaret.”

Full of desperation in his voice, he still desperately called out to the woman lost in her own thoughts.

“Look at me. Margaret, snap out of it.”

Margaret slowly closed her lips. Kestiel, just like the Crown Prince did to Beatrice, pulled Margaret’s head harshly towards him and embraced her in his arms.

She closed her eyes against the cool touch of the knight’s hand and asked. The languid and gentle, monotonous tone had returned to its usual state without much difference.

“Um, if I were to say that I need your help, would you help me?”

Kestiel hesitated with a complex expression. Margaret’s tone seemed indifferent, without a trace of expectation. He chose his words carefully.

“Is it for the sake of Young Ae, or is it for the sake of your sister?”

“Well, it’s closer to something for me. Maybe it’s for you, too. You said you wanted to fill the void.”

Margaret murmured with an uncertain voice.

“…Do you still love Beatrice?”

“You might say that you’re disappointed in my affection, but no.”

He said. The knight’s answer was prompt and tidy. After a short silence, Margaret looked up and stared at him.

“Then answer me one thing. Just tell me your thoughts. Honestly and sincerely, like now.”

Kestiel nodded. There was a faint, newfound anticipation in her voice.

“If I were to…”

“…”

“If, for instance, I can’t prevent Florencia from dying as you wish.”

“…”

“If I were to see Loren Young Ae and the Crown Prince happily engaged in front of my sister turned to ashes in the fire…”

She smiled, gently twisting her dawn-like eyes. Like the fading western sky before the morning light.

“Can I live here as a being called ‘you’?”

He asked in a choked voice after some time had passed. Hoping that Margaret wouldn’t notice the subtle trembling in the arms he awkwardly held.

“Is that what you call the ‘ending’ you’re talking about?”

Margaret was still smiling. She answered with her soft voice as if singing.

“Yes.”