When the Violets Wither — 6
Swish. In the instant a tentacle was cleaved through, one thing became clear: the gulf between herself and Robert was considerable.
She had never once stopped to wonder how strong he might be, and yet... she hadn't imagined he would surpass even someone who had borrowed the Evil Dragon's power.
The pain piled up in her body only kept mounting. Pain that accrued with every memory that resurfaced — it was staggering. A heart being gouged hollow, entrails wrenched out, that dull searing ache wringing her throat — amid it all, she could not give herself wholly to the fight. It was the pain Robert had endured. Why she was the one bearing it, she didn't know. If one had to put a name to it, perhaps no word fit better than karma.
Karma. The moment the word crossed her mind, Theresia laughed bitterly.
The distance between her and Robert was closing. Every time he swung his sword, blossoming mana sheared through another tentacle, and the strength that had seemed it would never run dry was draining away. There was no hesitation in those swings. Perhaps because of what she herself had said. He had never loved her, not once. That phrase — meaningless to her — had stripped the hesitation from his blade.
Their eyes met for a brief instant, and she gave a dry little laugh. She couldn't fathom why an old memory chose now of all times to surface. Whether it had simply lingered all these years, or whether she was, at last, longing for those days.
One thing could no longer be denied: Robert had loved her, truly. And so the thought that bloomed was of a letter she had read long ago — the letter Robert sent her after their first meeting, the same in every life he lived. Written before his regressions had ever begun. It had been the first letter she'd ever received as well; perhaps that was why it had stayed with her so vividly.
This is the first time I have ever written a letter to anyone, so I set these words down with a somewhat trembling heart. To be honest, I am rather ashamed of our last meeting. I never meant for you to see me crying like that.
Swish. Robert's eyes narrowed as he cut down a tentacle surging up from the ground. Theresia's momentum had dulled, if only slightly. Why? He didn't know the reason. Only one thing was certain — an opening to press in would come soon.
The mana steeped in his body whirled and rose. Like flame, the burning mana began slowly to encroach upon the space around him. The power Theresia had gained by absorbing the Evil Dragon's strength was akin to that of the demonkin. Just how she had come to absorb that power was worth investigating later — for now, closing the distance came first.
To be honest, you were the first person to sympathize with my situation. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say you understood me. You smiled for my sake, and you drew near to me warmly, if only for that moment. I wished to thank you for that before anything else.
There was no hesitation. In bringing this bond to its end, Robert entertained not even a stray thought. Even if she understood every torment he had suffered, in the end Theresia had to die by his hand. He didn't wish for remorse, or regret. It would be better if she simply vanished, cleanly.
Part of him thought, too, that he wanted her gone at last. Perhaps he alone suffered over it — but Theresia was a presence that dragged the past back before his eyes. The days when he had repeated his own foolish mistakes. The years when he had searched for the fault in himself in every situation.
Crunch. He severed a tentacle boring into his arm and ran on. The wound began slowly to heal as mana seeped into it — no divine power, perhaps, but more than enough to stop the bleeding. He ran. Forgetting the pain, he bit clean through the tentacles that tried by any means to hold him back, cut them down with his sword, and — barely calming a heart that pounded fit to burst — kicked off the earth and drove forward.
Perhaps you are laughing as you read this letter by now. Truthfully, I hardly know what I ought to write, so I am rambling, putting down whatever comes to mind. I have studied etiquette of this sort at length before, but it seems practice is another matter entirely.
A short, derisive laugh slipped out of her, sudden and soft. Slowly dragging down the corners of her mouth, Theresia reached toward Robert once more. Tentacles thrust out of the empty air and shoved him back hard. That he blocked them with his blade and kept surging forward was astonishing — yet Theresia knew full well that this was only buying time.
Then why was she holding him back at all? Somewhere along the way, a hollowness had bloomed in her chest — a strangely subtle emotion. Only yesterday she had burned for vengeance. Swearing she would kill Robert, hadn't she slaughtered even young children as offerings without a flicker of hesitation?
Crack. Bones snapping of their own accord wrung an empty laugh from her.
"...Ahaha."
The pain of facing Robert's memories never ended. It poured through her all day long, deepening, aching, until her clenched teeth began to grind and give way. How fickle people were. Theresia knew full well that she was, at bottom, utterly ordinary. That was precisely why she had used others — why she had borrowed the name of Taylor in a bid to raise her fallen house again.
But knowing all of that, could he truly have tried to love her anyway? Impossible, she had thought, unless he were a fool or an idiot. Not that Robert was of that breed. Why would she ever have fallen for a fool or an idiot? No — Robert had simply believed it was the right thing to do.
She couldn't understand it. Even now, even as this pain swelled worse and worse, she could no more comprehend that way of thinking than before. Had she been in his place, she would have killed him long ago. Before things ever reached this point, she would surely have killed them all.
I am not a person who much befits the name Taylor. I am somewhat frail, and more naive than most. I lack my sister's strength of spirit, and I am not perfect in all things as my father is. If you asked me to name even one thing I do well, I could not easily answer. That is the sort of person I am — one with so many shortcomings that, were you to stay close, I might well disappoint you often.
Robert knew better than anyone how lacking he was. It had been true at his first regression, too. To fill those gaps, to mend every part of himself he judged deficient, he had endured the repeating deaths without breaking. Perhaps his real gift lay in that fortitude of spirit — in enduring dozens upon dozens of deaths, and carrying memories that belonged to one man alone. It was a lonely, wretched existence. More than once, he had gone briefly mad.
Cutting off one's own arm is no easy thing. There had been times he was so broken he could do nothing at all — could not even bring himself to die. He had endured all of it, and come this far.
To claim he never thought of the next cycle would be a lie. But as his bond with Adrian deepened, as he met Adele again, as he and Mirajen grew somewhat close — at last he had resolved to make this life the final one.
This time was the end. If he killed Theresia now, they would never meet again. Should they meet at all, it would be in hell.
Robert barked a bitter laugh and swung his sword at the empty air once more. No — not empty air. As the tentacles, their momentum failing, were severed one by one, the gap to Theresia had shrunk to almost nothing.
It wouldn't be long now. Until his sword sank into that heart.
Even so, the reason I send you this letter is that I wish to keep meeting you. You may be startled by words so direct. But I hope you will understand that this is not something written on a passing impulse.
Hah—. Robert's breathing was growing ragged, but Theresia was struggling just as much. Little strength remained to wield her power — of that much she was certain. Perhaps two more attempts. If even those failed, her chest would be run through by that sword.
Then why did she hesitate? In a situation where even raising her hand to block would fall short, why did she falter, if only for an instant? The more the contents of that long-ago letter surfaced, the more one emotion slowly filled her chest.
She had been loved. Without a shred of falsehood in it, without deception. There had been a time when she was loved, purely and simply.
Was that why she harbored such feelings now? Only now — only when this body, forced to feel all that pain, was crumbling to nothing — did she at last come to feel sorry?
"Ha."
I am told tomorrow will be a fine day. I went to the Magic Tower myself to ask, and they say it is the only day it will not rain, come what may. And so I send you this invitation. It is a garden my mother and I have tended since I was a child. I planted violets there especially, and I found myself wanting to show them to you.
The absurdity of it struck even herself, and as an incredulous laugh escaped her, Theresia's hand slid limply away. The tentacles reaching for Robert crumbled weakly as well.
Tap— She heard footsteps rushing toward her, without a moment's hesitation. The mansion born of her own power gradually lost its shape, and through the ceiling now torn fully open, the sky came into view.
If you do come to my garden tomorrow, I hope we may meet wearing different faces than last time. That day, I was crying, and you looked upon me with pity. But next time...
Fwoosh.
Blazing flames wrapped around Robert's sword. With the moonlight veiled by clouds, darkness reigned beneath the mansion — nothing but shadow, thick and utter. The mana cleaving through that shadow caught fire and flew, heading straight for her heart.
Theresia's gaze fixed on the sword's tip. What expression did Robert wear as he slashed toward her? Would he weep, as he had when they first met? Or would he be smiling, as on that day in the garden?
I only hope we may face one another smiling.
But his face held nothing at all, and at the hollowness coiling through her body, the corner of her mouth twisted. As the sword drove into her heart, blood burst from her lips. The tentacles writhing across the floor sloughed away, and only her limp body remained, falling helplessly toward the ground.
On Theresia's mouth hung a smile. A smile so vivid no one could have denied it — one that had surely flowed out of a memory.
— To Theresia Violet, from Robert Taylor.
Theresia's body began, slowly, to come apart. The sword lodged in her heart was crumbling with it — though I already held a second blade in hand, in case anything unexpected happened.
She would die soon and be gone, most likely. I felt relief, and alongside it, a certain bitterness. Whatever I felt toward Theresia, it didn't run deep enough to call this vengeance. This was nothing more than putting down a variable that might one day rear its head. I had wanted her to die in agony. But she seemed already to have suffered more than enough.
The wounds marking that endlessly regenerating, endlessly re-wounded body were familiar ones. I had noticed long ago that she was receiving, like karma, the torments I had endured in my previous lives. What in the world was this Moonstone I carried? I had never imagined that, beyond chaining me to my regressions, it could reach into another person and stir their memories awake.
Theresia, gagging up blood, turned her eyes toward me. She was different from before. Those once-dull eyes now held a faint clarity — like they had when I first met her.
"...I'd like you to finish me quickly, but I suppose that would be difficult, wouldn't it."
"You crossed far too many lines."
Newly grown bones splintered again; her innards forced their way out on their own and tore apart. It was horrific even to watch, yet Theresia's expression stayed placid. I could sense her flinch now and then, but her gaze never left me. After vomiting blood who knew how many times, she paused, and her lips moved slowly.
"You probably already know this, but you really are a foolish man. If you had killed me when you had the chance, none of this would have happened. You know that too... don't you?"
"I do."
"...If I were you, I'd never have died a hundred times over. There's a limit to being a fool, you know. Honestly — a hundred times. A hundred."
Gurgle. Blood bursting from every direction ran across the ground and pooled into puddles. As her strength left her, the mansion vanished with it, leaving behind nothing but an empty estate.
From the sky, bruised black with clouds, drops of water began to fall — one, then another. Plip. Plip— I tilted my head up toward a sky on the verge of rain, and Theresia's voice reached my ear.
"Do you think I'll regret it? The things I did to you?"
"Not at all."
"Then do you think I'll feel remorse?"
"...Not at all."
At that, Theresia burst into a short huff of laughter and smiled faintly. She laughed up at the sky for a long while, then smoothed her expression and turned to me. The light in her eyes had gone murky. Transparent, it seemed — as though it could hold no glimmer of anything at all.
"I'm sorry."
At the voice that came so suddenly, I turned my head. Words I had not expected — words I had never once imagined hearing from Theresia. For a moment I could only stare at her, dazed.
"I just... felt I had to say this much, at least."
Her paling lips parted with effort. It was as if she were wringing out the very last of her strength. Her body, scattering into dust, began to drift up through the empty air. The ceaseless cycle of wounding and regeneration finally stopped, leaving only flesh gone cold and still. Her lips, which had trembled open so many times, stopped just so. Even the breathing that had, briefly, filled this space fell silent — until nothing remained but her hollow eyes, resting on the void.
"Theresia."
I called her name, but no answer came. She had spoken words she had never let herself hope to say, and then closed her mouth. No reply would return. She was dead.
Only the sword that had pierced her heart stood planted, forlorn, in the ground. The mouth that had moved until moments ago, the eyes that had gazed at empty air — both scattered now like dust and vanished into the sky. She was dead. Theresia was, beyond any doubt, dead. I had driven the blade into her heart with my own hands; there could be no mistaking it. The woman who had remembered her regressions was dead. I had killed, with my own hands, the woman I had loved in my first life. That was reality. A laugh slipped out of me before I knew it, and with the corner of my mouth twisted, I quietly watched the sky.
Shhhhhh—
The downpour drenched me through. The blood pooled thick on the ground washed away with the rain, until soon even the spot where Theresia had lain could no longer be told apart from anywhere else. A drop fell from my sodden hair — plip — and ran down my chest. Over my chest, along my arm. The thread of water traced my fingers and fell.
In the blackened sky there was no moon to be found. Only clouds hurling down their rain, and a stillness where not one light could be seen.
I had thought killing Theresia would set me free. In all my past lives, I had never once let her go like this. Hadn't I told myself everything would be well now — that once she was dead, I could toast my victory in my own way?
Strangely enough, my chest felt tight. No matter how many times I struck my breast, that tightness alone would not lift.
"The weather is lovely today. I read it in your letter — did you truly go all the way to the Magic Tower to ask after it?"
"If we were ever to meet, I thought that day ought to have the finest weather of all."
At the memory that rose unbidden, I gave a small laugh. It was nothing like that day. Nothing like the day the violets bloomed in full glory, as that summer was about to begin. A season of rain at the far edge of winter. The season when the violets that had shone violet, however briefly, withered and were gone.
I stared into the empty air as the chill of the rain soaked into my skin — then closed my eyes and quietly held my breath.
I hated rainy days. Whenever I recalled the days I died, it had always poured — sorrowfully, mercilessly. The sound of rain in a damp, humid, suffocating room had a way of summoning up feelings I had long forgotten. That was why I hated it.
Because standing in the rain like this... it looked exactly as though I were crying.