The Most Comfortable Place (1)
It had been two days since I'd — half against my will, though I'd tried to make the best of it — taken care of Ethan's sexual frustrations in a manner somewhat different from how I'd originally planned, after leaving them unattended for a good half year. And now Ethan and I were staying at Blackwood Manor rather than the Academy.
By the time my treatment had wrapped up, my student council duties had come to an end as well, so there was no longer any reason to linger at the Academy — and besides, the longer I stayed, the greater the chance that some other Divinity Department student might catch on to the fact that I was a saintess. Hence the hasty return to the estate.
As it happened, my staying a few extra days after the evaluation tournament coincided with Harold's own return to Blackwood Manor, so this journey home, like the last one, was made in a four-person carriage with Harold riding along.
…Along with his endless stock of "back in my day" stories, of course. I'll never understand how a middle-aged man knocking on fifty's door has so much left to talk about.
Thus I returned alongside a Sword Master speaker who could drone on for twelve hours straight without pausing for breath, and I arrived at the manor unable to catch so much as a wink of sleep in the carriage. That was just yesterday.
I woke up in bed that morning with a faintly weary sensation already pressing in on me, and set about straightening the covers.
"Ugh, hnnngh…"
Even though I was waking up in my own familiar bed after so long, my whole body felt as heavy as if I'd been run through a wringer. My muscles ached dully, as though they hadn't properly unwound at all.
It wasn't because my sleeping arrangements had changed. Up until now, the bed itself had never mattered — I'd slept soundly at Blackwood Manor, in the Academy dormitory, even in the infirmary of the Academy chapel.
No, if I really had to assign blame, the primary culprit was that damned McHart bastard, and after that, the fact that there was no one sleeping beside me anymore.
Ever since the day McHart threatened me, I'd had nightmares ambush me in the night more than a few times — but each time, the warmth I felt at my side from Ethan had been enough to lull me back to sleep. Now that we'd returned to Blackwood Manor, we were sleeping separately, so I couldn't exactly impose on him.
And back when I was bedridden in the Academy chapel infirmary, Agnes had always stayed by my side, which had been at least some comfort. But ever since I'd switched to sleeping alone for the first time in ages, my heart hadn't settled, and I'd failed to sleep properly — that was last night.
"Haaaaah… mm…"
"Lilith, are you okay?"
"Hm? What about?"
"You just look tired all day today. You seemed that way this morning too, and you still do."
"I agree with Isabel, Miss Lilith. Did the change in sleeping arrangements keep you up, perhaps?"
This was Isabel and Katharina, prodding at me in the middle of lunch, so naturally I could do nothing but wave my hands and wave off their concern.
"No, Katharina. My bed's been changing constantly ever since I started going back and forth to the Academy anyway. I think I just had a bad dream last night because I was a little worn out."
"Do you think you can keep working? I could ask Lord Ethan for leave and tell him you'll rest for an hour or two. I'll look after him while you're gone."
"I appreciate the concern, but I'm fine, Isabel."
I mean, the idea of an exclusive maid going to bed while her master was wide awake was laughable on its face. All the more so in broad daylight with the sun hanging high in the sky.
After the meal, I set aside the brief chatter with the colleagues I was only permitted to talk to at this hour and returned to my duties as Ethan's personal maid.
"Being Ethan's personal maid is my place, after all."
As if one night of poor sleep were going to wreck me.
I hadn't gone completely without sleep — I'd just kept drifting off and waking — and this much I could push through.
…That was what I thought, once upon a time.
⁎ ⁎ ⁎
And then, three days later.
When waking up tense and strung out from the nightmares that flickered behind my eyelids every time I closed them had become my daily routine, my mind was already so thoroughly frayed that even breathing felt like labor.
"……"
"L-Lilith…?"
"…Miss Lilith?"
"……"
"M-Maybe you really should get some rest…"
"If you're in this state, even Lord Ethan would understand, Miss Lilith…"
Isabel and Katharina seemed to be saying something on either side of me, but honestly, just keeping my eyes open demanded every scrap of concentration I had.
I'm dying….
It took three days of this for me to truly understand why sleep deprivation counts as torture. No wonder the CIA uses it to extract information.
If someone had come up to me right then and said, Get comfy, I'll let you sleep — now spill your past-life secrets, I honestly don't think I could have refused. No — I'm not even sure I'd have had enough mind left to understand the demand in the first place.
Last night too, and the night before that, I'd lain in bed tossing and turning, trying over and over to fall asleep — but the moment I sank even slightly into deep sleep, something like a nightmare would seize me and jerk me awake. After three full days without even the luxury of proper dozing, my nerve endings were quietly approaching their limit.
That son of a bitch McHart shows up even in my dreams to spew his garbage…. I really have to deal with him fast, somehow….
At this rate, forget McHart — my brain was going to give out first. The McHart takedown plan I'd spent over a month painstakingly building was on the verge of falling apart completely.
But there were still three more days until the operation's execution date, and if I spent those three days in this state, the result wouldn't be McHart's downfall — it'd be me getting thoroughly worked over by McHart instead.
That is the one outcome I absolutely cannot allow.
Being captured by that bastard McHart and turned into a doll of meat was a fate far more horrifying than being trained by Ethan, or than being shackled to a future spent years galivanting across the continent as collateral for the Hero's promise.
If I had to pick one of the three, being with Ethan was honestly the least bad option. He wasn't the trash-tier degenerate young master from the original story anymore these days anyway. And even if he did train me… that'd still be better than McHart's meat-doll future or an unpaid round-the-world tour….
No — what the hell am I even thinking about.
My exhausted brain kept spiraling into one-track nonsense. I'd already eliminated all of those futures long ago precisely so they could never happen.
I stuffed all that garlic down my throat in the Blackwood kitchen specifically to prevent that kind of thing from ever occurring — why was I compromising now?
Apparently, when a person sinks into the realm of the subconscious, the survival instinct branded into their body naturally steers them toward whichever path offers the best odds of living. Which probably meant that was why Ethan's face had surfaced in my mind.
…Except, hold on — what the hell does Ethan have to do with my survival instinct?
— Clang.
"…………Ah."
I was midway through bringing a spoonful of soup to my mouth when exhaustion loosened my grip for an instant, and the spoon dropped from right in front of my lips, plummeting straight down.
The falling hunk of metal bounced once off my chest, scattering its contents, then struck the floor with a raucous clatter.
My senses were so dulled that I barely registered the touch against my body or any sense of heat. All that crossed my mind was that I'd dropped the spoon, and that I should probably pick it up.
"…Aagh?! …Miss Lil—!"
"…My lady! First, Lil…."
The voices around me grew muddier and more distant, until I could no longer tell who was speaking. Isabel, or Katharina, or — whatever, just some maid or other.
Pure instinct drove my body to lean out of the chair to retrieve the fallen spoon — and the weight of my heavy upper body sent me toppling sideways.
— Thud!
Ah.
…If I hit the floor like this, it's going to hurt. A lot.
Actually, I didn't care if it hurt — I just wanted to sleep properly, once, for the love of god. If I passed out falling to the floor like this, I figured I'd at least get a few hours before anything could force me awake again.
But contrary to my hopes, what met my falling body wasn't the hard floor — it was someone's embrace, and that warm sensation wrapping around me carried me gently down into the deep world of sleep.
⁎ ⁎ ⁎
Pitch-black darkness. Not just in every direction around me, but above and below as well — a total darkness dyed in ink.
The instant I felt the exhaustion that had piled up in my body melt away, I found myself in some unfamiliar space.
…No. Not unfamiliar at all.
While I was awake, the fatigue made it hard to string two thoughts together — but here, in a dream, my head still worked to some degree.
Granted, there were limits: my thinking couldn't stray beyond the confines of the dream, and I couldn't hold more than one thought at a time.
The moment I recognized that this was a place I'd visited many times before — and that I was inside a dream — my mind inevitably raced ahead to what would happen next.
— Tap. Tap.
"……"
Footsteps approaching me from within the darkness, from something faintly glowing, all alone.
It was the same utterly vile gait I'd heard countless times in my dreams over the past several days.
"Awake now? How does it feel, being left all alone in the dark, hm?"
Son of a bitch.
A greasy voice crawled up from somewhere low and burrowed into my ears. Then again, since this was a dream, there was fortunately nothing for me to throw up.
Out of the darkness, glowing faintly as though he were the star of his own private show, his face finally revealed itself.
"Long time no see, my foul-mouthed young lady."
"……"
Another encounter with that damned McHart — so many now that I'd lost count ages ago.