Episode 2: A Night of Love
Sayne stared blankly into the empty air.
It felt as though she had been made the plaything of some cruel, twisted jest. The reality before her was something she could never laugh away, leaving her mind utterly numb.
She had seen it. She had seen herself plunging a dagger into his back.
She had seen him sacrificing himself for her sake.
She had seen him saving her, again and again.
For her, there could be no worse nightmare.
She had spat fury in his face, accusing him of betrayal. Yet if one were to truly reckon the truth, was she not the one who had betrayed him first? She was the one who had stabbed him in the back and killed him, the one who had been delivered from ruin and whispered of love—only to turn around and preach of justice and the greater good to his face.
Could anything be more pathetic?
Could anything be more sickening?
"Ah... ngh... ugh..."
As if mirroring her shattered state of mind, incoherent sounds spilled from her throat, having lost both direction and language.
She owed him far too much. She owed him the life of her precious sibling, and she owed him the very freedom she enjoyed today. In what world was it considered justice for a debtor to bare her fangs and turn her blade upon her savior?
What had he thought as he listened to her cruel words and turned his back on this empire? What silent words had he spoken to himself, looking upon someone who had taken every piece of aid he had to offer, only to bite the hand that fed her?
She wished he had resented her instead. She wished he had held her accountable for his death. Yet where in the world had such devotion come from—to endure bleeding wounds just to embrace the very person who had murdered him?
She had never possessed the right to be held in his arms.
She had never possessed the right to speak of love to him.
Not from the very moment she first drove that steel into his back.
And yet, he had held her close. Transcending death, agony, and horrific wounds, he had shone the light of salvation upon her.
What on earth have I done?
Her head throbbed as if it were about to split wide open. Guilt flooded her mind to bursting, and she buried her head in her trembling hands. That guilt coursed through her blood and pierced her heart, shredding it until it felt as though it had detonated into tatters.
Once more, she asked herself:
What... what on earth did I do?
Only now did she realize what words she had truly wanted to give him. It felt as though a dam had ruptured, sending a torrent of blood gushing forth.
"I'm sorry..."
That was the true identity of the words etched into her chest—the words she had desperately longed to utter the moment she witnessed him dying at her hands.
Her voice dissolved into a ragged sob.
"I'm so sorry..."
Tears poured down her cheeks. The scalding droplets streaming along her skin felt hot enough to incinerate her—less like tears and more like blood vomited straight from her heart. She was coughing up blood through her eyes, for her heart had been skewered through by guilt.
She wanted to look away. She wanted to stop this agony—digging through the traces left behind by the exiled Hero, stabbing herself, hurting, and stabbing herself all over again. Yet she did not turn her eyes away. She could not afford to. She could never avert her gaze from her own heinous sins, nor from the lingering remnants of the man who had departed, scorching her heart to ashes.
"I'm sorry... I'm... so sorry..."
She could barely string her words together, her voice breaking into fractured sobs. The void left by his departure—an absence she herself had brought about—bore down on her with crushing weight. Clutching the bedsheets beneath her with white-knuckled fists, she wept uncontrollably.
Blood began to seep from between her clenched fingers where her nails dug deep into her palms, but she couldn't care less about such trivial bleeding. The blood her heart was spewing out was wider than the sky and deeper than the sea. She flailed helplessly in the dark crimson ocean she had brought upon herself.
A violent wave of nausea surged up her throat. Every single piece of her existence felt so revolting that she wanted to retch. She felt utter disgust at the simple fact that she was alive.
"Filthy..."
She spat the word at herself.
Could any word describe what she was right now better than "filthy"? She had hollowly prattled about righteousness while plunging a knife into the back of the very man who saved her. No other word could possibly suit her better.
"So filthy..."
She began raking her nails viciously against her forearm. As if trying to scrape away some putrid stain, she did not stop until beads of crimson welled up along the torn skin.
Before she realized it, she rose to her feet and staggered forward on unsteady legs toward her sword. Why did I come over here? she asked herself in a daze. And the moment her fingers gripped the hilt, she understood.
She brought the bare edge of the blade against her wrist.
Slash. The quiet sound of flesh parting echoed through the room.
"Haaah..."
Cutting into her wrist did not hurt as much as she had expected. If anything, it felt as though all the strength were pleasantly draining out of her. A breathy groan slipped from her lips.
Slash. She carved into her forearm once again.
"I have to drain it..."
This disgusting blood of hers.
"I have to get it out..."
With hollow, unfocused eyes, she watched the blood well up and spill from her wrist. Slash. Slash. For a long while, the sickening sound resonated through her bedchamber.
Staring blankly at the wounds dripping scarlet onto the floor, she stood in a trance for a moment before casting the sword aside and crawling back into bed. Even if only for a brief while, she simply wanted to rest.
In the haze of her fading consciousness, an illusion surfaced before her eyes. It was a vision of the days she had traveled with him. Filled with the bright hope of defeating the Demon King, they had trained together, fought side by side, laughed, and bantered. It was so vivid that it felt as if she could reach out and touch it, yet she knew full well it was nothing more than a fantasy spun by her broken mind.
To hallucinate like this—she was no better than a madwoman. Not that it mattered anymore. Clinging to the phantom warmth of those fond memories, she fell into slumber.
When Sayne came to her senses, she found herself trapped in pitch-black darkness. She tried to move her limbs, but they refused to budge, as if pinned down by invisible bindings. She sat there like a spectator trapped in a seat, forced to watch a grim spectacle.
Then, the dark void began to warp. The shadows rippled and parted. When she closed and reopened her eyes against the sudden flare of light, she found herself looking into a bedchamber. Candles cast a gentle glow across a bed fashioned from luxurious materials, and she realized people were inside.
A man with hair as black as ebony was looking leisurely around the room. Behind him stood a red-haired woman, clutching a dagger.
Sayne felt her breath seize in her throat.
It was herself.
Just as the man began to turn around, her past self plunged the dagger into his back. The man collapsed, crimson pooling beneath him.
"No... Ah, no..."
Sayne stammered, but she remained bound, powerless to intervene.
Then, a voice drifted up from the fallen man's corpse.
"Oh dear, looks like I died."
With a grotesque shudder, the man's body jerked upright like a marionette on pulled strings.
"Still, it's fine! You were only trying to save your sister, weren't you? I can understand that completely."
Dripping with fresh gore, he leaned in until his grotesque face was inches from hers.
The scenery shifted. Next, she saw a masked man severing the neck of the bleeding, dagger-pierced man.
"Oh dear, dead again!"
His severed head bounced along the floor like a ball, speaking with theatrical exaggeration.
"Still, it couldn't be helped! This wasn't your fault either, was it? Even though your father ordered it just because I wouldn't marry you, it's fine! I can understand everything."
Next came the sight of his headless torso, a dagger still buried in its back, being torn to shreds by ravenous claws. Dripping blood, the mangled body staggered forward before collapsing with a heavy thud.
His severed head continued to bounce cheerfully beside it, chattering away:
"Oops, dead yet again. What an utter fool. That so-called Hero is truly useless, isn't he?"
Bleeding profusely, the severed head twisted into a bizarre, mockery of a smile.
"Come on, be honest with me. You hated having someone like that as your Hero too, didn't you? Someone kinder, braver, and far more capable could have been chosen instead, but of all people, he ended up the Hero."
Sayne hung her head low, her voice barely a crawl.
"N-No..."
The bouncing head let out a bright, mocking laugh.
"Hm? What was that? Your voice is far too quiet, I can't hear you!"
"N-No! He's...!"
As tears spilled from her eyes, the bouncing head abruptly stopped laughing. A terrifying, dead chill washed over its bloody features.
"Is that so?"
Trembling in sheer terror, she nodded. The expression on the head twisted into a horrifying sneer.
"Then why did you chase me out?"
Tears of blood began streaming down from the eyes of the severed head. Before she could blink, the heads multiplied—dozens of them, glaring at her with bloodshot gazes.
"Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it?"
Sayne clutched her head. Frozen stiff with dread, cold sweat drenched her from head to toe.
"Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it? Why did you do it?"
The terror was driving her out of her mind. A bloodcurdling shriek tore from her throat.
"Aaaaaaaargh!"
"LookmeatthefacetellmewhydidyoudoittomeIdiedhelpingyouandyouturnedandstabbedmeinthebackwithoutashredofgratitudewhyareyouquietnowtellmestraightwhydidyoudoittome—"
The swarming heads lunged forward, tearing into her flesh with their teeth. Just as her breath was choked from her lungs, she jolted awake from the nightmare.