Chapter 42
Trauma
Since Luke had refused to allow Lenon to visit, the only option Aria had left was to write a letter.
But I can’t just write everything down.
Not because she was worried about the secret being leaked—
It was because she physically couldn’t.
Just like when she had tried to reveal her true identity to Lenon, she found herself unable to write anything related to the subject.
A curse.
Back then, she had been so overwhelmed by the joy of being recognized that she hadn’t fully grasped the reality of it.
But now that she was experiencing this strange restriction again, the word curse lodged itself in her mind like a thorn.
“Why did I even come back to life?”
At first, she had vaguely assumed that Luke must have done something.
But something about that theory didn’t quite add up.
First.
If Luke had truly attempted and succeeded in reviving her, he should have recognized her as Elodie.
Yet he hadn’t.
Instead, he had threatened her outright.
If he had even the slightest suspicion, he wouldn’t have acted that way.
Second.
The existence of this curse.
“Luke wouldn’t have done something harmful to me.”
If he had brought her back with magic, then this curse shouldn’t exist.
Though, she couldn’t completely rule out the possibility that it was an unintended consequence of Luke’s magic.
After all, resurrection magic…
Necromancy had vanished from the continent more than half a century ago, but one thing was certain.
All dark magic comes with a price.
Aria clenched and unclenched her hand.
It felt natural—like it had belonged to her from birth.
But if she stopped to think about it…
If this was the body of a dead person, no—of her dead former friend—her chest filled with a cold, creeping dread.
And then, an unsettling thought struck her.
…Was I really dead?
Elodie had believed that she had only come to inhabit this body because Aria had died.
There were no visible injuries on the body.
But death often comes suddenly—acute alcohol poisoning, for example…
Or…
…
Now that she thought about it, something didn’t feel right.
Aria had been a perfectly healthy woman in her late twenties.
Dying so abruptly? It wasn’t impossible, but it was highly unlikely.
“……”
Could Aria still be alive…?
The moment she voiced the thought, Aria gasped and clamped a hand over her mouth, horrified.
It was an absurd idea.
This body belonged to her now.
Her mind, her thoughts, her identity—it was all Elodie. Not Aria.
But if Aria was alive…
Then that meant—
She had either been reincarnated into Elodie’s rotting corpse…
Or.
She was still conscious, trapped inside this body, watching everything Elodie did.
Either way, it was horrifying.
And if it were the latter, then Aria couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even choose to end it.
No matter how much Aria had betrayed her, Elodie didn’t wish such a cruel fate upon her.
She had only wanted answers.
Why did you do it?
And then, after that…
She probably would have handed her over for a proper trial.
But it was all meaningless now.
The true criminal had disappeared, leaving behind only Elodie Lissianthus wearing her shell.
Aria collapsed onto the bed of the unfamiliar room.
A suffocating, sticky depression coiled around her, slowly dragging her down like quicksand.
All because Bonita wasn’t here.
Since the moment she had possessed this body, she had spent nearly every waking hour with Bonita.
And when she wasn’t, there had always been someone nearby.
Being alone like this…
It made her think of death.
Of how the warmth left her body, how her vision blurred, how the pain that had wracked her body suddenly dulled into nothingness.
And then, her eyes had closed.
The last thing she had heard was the sound of the wind.
She had died alone, in the middle of the night—when Luke had been away.
There had been no one by her side in the end.
Aria’s fingers unconsciously clawed at her throat.
Cold sweat broke out across her skin.
She was freezing.
It happened in an instant.
Before she knew it, anxiety and fear had ballooned into something monstrous, something that swallowed her whole.
Her breath hitched.
Her body, desperate for air, gasped—mouth opening wide, lungs burning.
Then, suddenly—
The air wouldn’t go in.
A choked gasp.
Her body convulsed as her fingernails dug into the soft flesh of her throat.
Thin trails of blood seeped down her skin, staining the pristine white sheets.
“A…ahh… hhk… khhk…”
Pain throbbed through her body with each frantic beat of her heart.
If someone had seen her in this state, they would have immediately called for a doctor.
But unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—Aria was alone.
She had sent the servants away, telling them she wasn’t feeling well.
And she had explicitly forbidden anyone from entering.
Her vision swam.
Everything turned white.
She writhed, curled up like a wounded animal, desperately clawing at her skin.
Then—
A knock.
Knock, knock.
A small, hesitant sound.
It was the only lifeline that could pull her out of the abyss.
But Aria, too lost in her panic, couldn’t even process that help had arrived.
A tiny voice came from outside the door.
“…Mommy?”
So quiet.
Barely a whisper.
Another knock.
“Mommy… are you okay…?”
Again, so soft.
Too soft for someone in a panic attack to register.
But sometimes, inexplicable miracles happen.
Aria’s trembling fingers, which had been digging into her throat, suddenly stilled.
The erratic rise and fall of her chest slowed—just a little.
Her vision was still hazy.
She blinked.
And for the first time, the world came back into focus.
Hot tears streamed down her cheeks.
She lay there, breathing—just breathing—for what felt like an eternity.
Staring at the ceiling, she struggled to grasp what had just happened.
It felt like…
Like she had woken up from a nightmare.
Outside the door, there was a faint murmur.
“Are you asleep…?”
Aria tried to sit up, but her legs gave out, and she staggered. The thud startled Bonita on the other side of the door.
“Mom? Are you okay?”
Aria hurried to reassure her. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.
Only a hoarse, unpleasant metallic rasp escaped from her throat.
She coughed several times before trying again.
“I’m fine! Something just fell.”
Her voice was much rougher than usual, but at least she could speak now.
However, Bonita didn’t seem convinced.
“Mom, your voice sounds bad. Are you really sick?”
She sounded as if she was about to cry.
Aria forced herself to stand on shaky legs. She clutched the headboard for support, knowing she’d collapse again without it.
Reaching out with her other hand, she spoke.
“Just a moment, I’ll open the doo—”
Her words cut off when she saw her own hand.
It was covered in blood.
Her nails, upon closer inspection, had bits of flesh stuck under them.
The moment she became aware of it, her throat burned.
“Mom?”
“Uh… sorry, sweetheart. I don’t think I can open the door right now. I don’t want you catching my cold.”
The way Bonita openly called her Mom meant there were no servants around.
Aria dragged herself to the door and leaned against it. Bonita’s voice sounded clearer, closer now.
“Are you in a lot of pain?”
“No. Just one good night’s sleep, and I’ll be perfectly fine.”
“Really?”
“Of course. I promise.”
Bonita’s voice brightened at Aria’s reassurance.
“That’s a relief. The Duke said you were sick, but everyone told me I couldn’t go see you…”
“I see. His Grace must have been worried that you’d catch whatever I have.”
“But… I want to be with you, Mom…”
Bonita trailed off.
Aria glanced toward the window.
It was already dark outside.
“So, you snuck out?”
“…Yes. I wanted to sleep with you.”
Her small, desperate plea tugged at Aria’s heart.
Of course she wanted to be with her daughter. She wanted nothing more than to throw open the door and embrace her.
But she couldn’t let Bonita see her like this.
She was already a fragile child. After attending the social gathering, Aria had sensed it even more.
Bonita’s dependence and attachment to her were stronger than that of a typical seven-year-old. If she saw her mother covered in blood—
It would undoubtedly shake her.
Aria closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.
“Daughter.”
“…Yes?”
“Are you standing outside alone?”
“…Actually, I told Mary I was going to sleep, then snuck out. I’m sorry.”
Mary was one of the maids assigned to care for Bonita.
Aria smiled faintly.
She suddenly recalled something Hazel had said.
“Allen is a master at sneaking out after pretending to sleep. So is Derek. Honestly, they’re so quick, even the servants lose track of them sometimes.”
Had Bonita picked this up from them in just one night?
Aria asked softly,
“Are you afraid to sleep alone, sweetheart?”
“…I used to sleep alone.”
A thump.
Bonita had sat down. Judging by the sound, she had leaned against the door—just like Aria.
“Mother didn’t really like sleeping next to me.”
