Teresia’s head turned fully to the left, and one of her legs gave way, causing her to stagger.
She lacked the will to even remain standing. Dropping to the floor, she clutched her struck right cheek with her hand.
It hurt. How could it not, when a man, once a soldier, struck her so harshly? It was a slap hard enough to guess how much it would swell.
Joseph bent down, seemingly out of consideration for Teresia, who sat blankly on the floor, looking up at him. Then, gripping her chin, he said:
“Come now, Teresia, don’t look at me like that. You should love me.”
Utter insanity. Love? What even is that? Surely, you don’t think what you do qualifies as love? Tears formed from the physical pain slid down her cheeks and wet Joseph’s hand.
Seeing those tears, Joseph smiled—a mix of satisfaction and ridicule crossing his face. He then spoke curtly.
“Take it off.”
It was always the same.
Teresia could only believe that her emotions were particularly turbulent today because of the bitter chill of midwinter.
***
When she opened her eyes, Joseph was lying right next to her. Letting out a small sigh, Teresia lifted her gaze slightly to glance out the window. The sky was still dark; it must have been the early dawn. She had fainted and then come to.
Joseph’s normally neat black hair, always slicked back with pomade, had fallen loose over his forehead. His features beneath it were alluringly perfect and extraordinarily beautiful. Teresia despised that angelic face.
Not wanting to look at it any longer, she turned her body, but as her right cheek brushed against the bedsheet, it throbbed.
“Ugh…”
Letting out a small groan, Teresia remembered that Joseph had slapped her the previous day. Not just once—he had struck her multiple times throughout the night they spent together.
Not only her cheek but her entire body was in shambles. Had she fainted yesterday after being strangled? At any rate, her husband was a man with filthy tendencies.
Normally, one would assume that people with such proclivities are promiscuous. Teresia thought so, but her husband defied such common sense. He didn’t even glance at other women. Because of that, other wives often envied Teresia.
In society, Joseph was successful, impeccably handsome, and even seemed like a family man—at least outwardly.
“No other man would keep a barren woman with a ruined family like you so dearly, Teresia.”
Teresia suddenly recalled Joseph’s words.
“Dearly”? That part was laughable, but the rest of his statement made her wonder if he wasn’t entirely wrong.
Despite years of trying, they had no children. Joseph didn’t seem to care, though. He continued to use Teresia purely for his own pleasure. Teresia also wanted a child. Watching her peers’ children grow only added to her melancholy.
No one knew who was infertile—Teresia or Joseph—because neither of them had ever committed the impropriety of infidelity. Unwilling to dwell on it any longer, Teresia closed her eyes again. Ignoring the pain in her right cheek, she soon drifted back to sleep.
***
The tragic routine continued.
A life without family, friends, or joy trudged on, occasionally punctuated by violence. By the time the wound on Teresia’s left ring finger healed, an event that triggered a surge of dopamine occurred. Joseph threw a large Boston bag stuffed with cash and clothes in front of her.
“They’re coming for you from Devarn. Just like how they purged your father and brother.”
“So you want me to run? But more importantly, how dare Devarn come all the way to Stravants to kill your wife?”
“It means I’m going to die too. I’ll definitely be killed, so at least you should survive.”
It was absurd. After treating her like garbage all these years, now that they were both on the brink of death, he wanted her to live?
Was he trying to play the saint at the last moment? She couldn’t understand, but none of it mattered. If it meant escaping this unbearably miserable life, then fine. Grabbing the cashmere coat lazily draped over a chair, she picked up the Boston bag lying on the floor.
Then, brushing past Joseph with a small gesture of defiance, she headed for the door. She offered no farewell.
Thus began Teresia’s brief life on the run.
***
For almost half of her life—or, if counting only the years she could remember, more than half—she had lived as Teresia Brigelt. And it was because she was Teresia von Oppenhausen that she faced her death.
She had fled to the border to declare her intent to seek asylum and had lived a life on the run, but in the end, she was caught by the soldiers from Devarn.
And Teresia von Oppenhausen remembered what they had said.
They said, “Helmut von Leppel ordered it.” To kill her silently, without a trace.
Thus, at the tail end of a snowy winter, she was dragged into an icy forest and shot to death at once.
Perhaps it was a clean and painless death. Maybe because she didn’t resist much. And so, in the end, she died…
***
“Miss, wake up! We’ve arrived.”
Miss?
Teresia couldn’t remember the last time someone had called her “Miss.”
Ever since her marriage, she had always been addressed as “Madam” or “My Lady.”
But “Miss”?
Cautiously, she opened her eyelids.
At that moment, she was greeted by an unexpected warmth that wrapped around her entire body. And this place… seemed to be inside a carriage.
“What is this…”
“Did you fall asleep in the meantime?”
Ah.
Ah…
Could this be the afterlife…?
It was summer. The summer that Teresia loved. Just the air itself told her it was summer.
Teresia, a realist by nature, had never believed in the existence of heaven or hell.
She had been skeptical about the concept of an afterlife but secretly hoped that if it existed, it would be a place she loved.
And the person now standing before her eyes was…
“Anna.”
Anna, the maid who had served her since childhood and was her peer.
Unbidden tears welled up in Teresia’s eyes.
Ah, I must have missed Devarn deep down. I must have longed for those childhood days…
It seemed this was Devarn.
Her childhood home, Devarn. Her homeland, Devarn.
Even though she had died at the hands of this country, the yearning for her motherland must have deepened after her long years abroad.
Was that why she had come to a world resembling Devarn after death?
Anna, flustered by her mistress’s sudden tears, quickly pulled out a handkerchief and wiped away the tears streaming down Teresia’s cheeks.
“Why are you crying all of a sudden…?”
“It’s just…heuk… because I’m happy.”
But why was Anna here?
Teresia thought it would be better if Anna were merely a figment of her imagination.
If Anna, too, had come to this world because she had died, then Teresia would first mourn Anna’s death and then grieve that Anna still had to serve her even in death.
“Please stop crying and get off the carriage. You said you wanted to stop by the gift shop, didn’t you?”
“Did I…?”
“Yes, to buy a birthday gift for Lord Rosenthal—or rather, Count Rosenthal now. Isn’t that the sole reason you’re out today? What’s… what’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?”
“No, wait, Anna.”
“Yes?”
“What year is it right now?”
Was this truly the afterlife? If it was the afterlife, the timing felt oddly specific…
“Miss, we need to take you to the doctor. Why are you asking such strange things? It’s the year 429!”
“Ah…”
What was this? Could it be that I’ve somehow traveled back in time?
Teresia was startled.
If it was the year 429, then she was currently seventeen years old.
If she was on her way to buy a gift for her friend and cousin, Berthold Rosenthal, then it must indeed be early spring.
Her own seventeenth birthday would have been just a few weeks ago.
Unable to believe the situation, Teresia immediately opened the carriage door and jumped out.
***
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