Burn Me, So I Cannot Weep
A night where the boundary between pain and pleasure had been blurred beyond recognition.
She didn't know how many times her consciousness had slipped away.
How many times she had screamed. How many times she had sobbed.
Cecilia couldn't remember.
Only the endless touch that never ceased, and the sweet cries of ecstasy remained, scattered like fragments.
Her throat was parched, her head throbbing.
Couldn't you have gone a little easier on me?
Only when sunlight crept through the window did that long, long terrible nightmare finally come to an end.
So a whole day has passed, finally.
Cecilia drew in a ragged breath.
The sheets were thoroughly soaked with what had spilled from their two bodies, steeped in a lukewarm warmth and a faintly obscene scent. Sweat and skin, mingled with things too embarrassing to name. Every time that smell wormed its way into her nose, the sensations of the previous night stirred back to life.
Wherever she turned her head, whatever touched her skin, there was nothing but those traces. I want to erase all of it.
She was sick of it. How long would this go on?
Cecilia stared at the ceiling.
Her body felt as though it would shatter. Her mind was fogged over, hazy and dim, as if mist had settled in. Her throat burned as though it had been held to a flame.
"Oh, you're awake."
A voice drifted from beside her. It was Chloe.
Her disheveled black hair spilled loose around her shoulders as she gazed down at Cecilia with lazy, languid ease. For someone who had tormented her all night long, her face brimmed with unshakable composure. It was insufferable. Enough that Cecilia wanted to give her a sharp pinch, just once.
"Take your time getting yourself together."
Cecilia didn't have the strength to parse what that meant. She simply clutched the blanket tight and managed a hoarse, exhausted grumble.
"Thanks to you, my back is killing me."
It was a thorn-laced accusation. She could barely lift a single finger, but Chloe took it in an entirely different way. The distance between them narrowed.
Chloe's breath was suddenly at her nose. Her eyes narrowed to slits, and a smile curled across her lips.
Cecilia's body shrank back.
"Oh my. Is that your idea of an invitation?"
"...What? Does that sound like a joke to you?"
"Wasn't that a request for another round?"
"What nonsense. Stop touching me and get off."
How could anyone twist my back is killing me into that? Yet Chloe's hand slid smoothly, gliding toward Cecilia's waist.
Just before her fingertips made contact—
"...After all night, you're still not satisfied?"
Cecilia hastily caught the hand and stopped it.
If she let those hands wander again now, she knew perfectly well she wouldn't be released until the morning sun stood high overhead. And physically, she simply couldn't take it.
"If we keep this up, we'll be late. For the tournament, and everything else."
The moment the words left her mouth, Chloe's hand stilled. She gazed at Cecilia for a beat, then clicked her tongue with something like disappointment, sinuous and seductive as a serpent.
"I suppose. You do have a point."
Chloe sat up, roughly tidied her rumpled clothes, and spoke while only turning her head.
"Fine, then. I'll let you off—for now."
Lets me off? Who's sparing whom? I haven't lost yet.
Cecilia scoffed inwardly, but had no strength to voice it. She could only watch quietly as Chloe walked toward the door.
"I'll send the maids up, so stay here like a good girl until then. And don't even think about running."
"I'd love to run, if I had the strength for it."
At Cecilia's feeble retort, Chloe gave a short laugh, opened the door, and swept out of the room.
The door slammed shut. Silence settled in.
Cecilia was left alone.
A warm, gentle morning, sunlight filtering through.
Cecilia carefully savored that brief taste of peace. Her body was still heavy, and the brand on her lower abdomen throbbed dully—but for this moment, just this once...
She wanted to forget it all.
Cecilia closed her eyes.
Just a little... let me sleep.
Her consciousness slipped gently away.
Before she knew it, awareness drifted far off.
And so Cecilia sank into a short, brief sleep.
Dressed in a pristine white dress, Cecilia followed behind Chloe. Their destination was a vast forest thick with trees and grass.
Crowds had gathered there in droves.
Nobles in resplendent finery. They clustered in twos and threes, laughing and chattering.
The air buzzed with the giddy excitement of a hunting tournament about to begin. Everyone was dressed in their hunting attire, and here and there she spotted those who had brought falcons or hunting hounds along.
Those with quivers slung over their shoulders. Those wearing keenly honed blades at their hips.
On the surface it resembled an elegant gala, yet beneath it thrummed a feverish heat, like beasts anticipating blood and flesh.
Cecilia smoothed the hem of her white skirt.
Amid this dazzling crowd, her attire was utterly unfit for a hunt. Call it the dress of the prey, perhaps. To everyone watching, she was surely nothing more than a trophy on display.
...I'm the only one drifting here, untethered.
There's nowhere in this world that has a place for me anymore.
I lost everything that should have been mine by right.
Chloe seized Cecilia's hand in a firm grip.
Then, without a moment's hesitation, she strode into the crowd. The sight sent ripples of commotion through the onlookers.
"...That woman—don't tell me."
"It is. The disgraced princess everyone's been whispering about."
"They said she'd fallen, but she was alive all along."
"Her neck's still attached, apparently."
Eyes gleaming with delight at the miserable plight of a fallen villainess. Sneers tossed carelessly aside—she brought it on herself. The gazes flying at her from every direction pierced Cecilia's back. Nothing had changed here.
"Serves her right, truly. Should we get a portrait made of this?"
"Is she some kind of pet now? How hilarious."
"She must not have a shred of noble pride left."
"So that's what karma looks like, hm?"
Cecilia heard every single word.
But she felt nothing. Truly, nothing at all.
Chatter all you like. I'll remember every last word.
I will pay it all back—this humiliation, every ounce of it.
She did not shrink an inch. Instead she straightened her spine, lifted her chin ever so slightly, and advanced with steady, unyielding steps.
Yes, she had sinned. The pointing fingers were deserved. But the moment she bowed her head here, she would be handing them exactly the scene they craved. The sight of her crumbling was the one thing she could never show them.
Using the last fragment of her pride as a shield, Cecilia met the torrent of stares head-on. The straighter her back, the more the sneers lost their bite.
Chloe watched her from the corner of her eye, making no effort to hide her satisfaction.
"...See? This is how you were meant to be."
Cecilia pretended not to hear.
She hadn't done it for this woman's approval, after all. The tense, seething atmosphere gradually settled as a new group entered the grounds.
Soldiers in military uniform.
They marched in with disciplined strides, falling into ranks, and one by one the clamoring nobles fell silent. One soldier stepped forward and raised his voice.
"The hunting tournament, held in honor of the Empire's exalted prestige, will now commence!"
Applause rang out across the forest.
"All participants, please move according to your pre-assigned groups. We will now call out the groupings. First..."
The soldier unfurled a roster and began calling names one by one.
Each time a name rang out, the corresponding noble stepped forward to join their group. Cecilia watched the proceedings with indifferent eyes, deeming it a mere formality that would bind her to someone regardless.
"...Lady Chloe de Valois."
Chloe's name was called.
Then another name followed in the same group.
Anyone would do, really. Just let it be someone tolerable.
"And, Lucia Valentine."
...What? Ah—Lucia? Really?
Cecilia's heart plummeted.
That name—Cecilia knew it.
The Church's one and only Saintess.
The one who was never chosen by the Imperial Prince in the end.
A defeated heroine who graced the pages of the original story.
...Of all people, why her? This is a headache.
Had she ever wronged the Saintess's honor before?
Or was there something even worse than that?
It refused to surface from her gray-faded memories. Merely recalling the name filled her with a nameless, ominous premonition. I hope nothing comes of this.
To think we'd meet again in a place like this.
Fate truly is an unpredictable thing.
And I thought she'd returned to the Church.
The voices around them rose again.
"The Saintess and the villainess in the same group?"
"Will it be all right? If something happens..."
"Shh. Not in front of the Saintess."
"But that villainess, back then, she..."
Someone's words trailed off into murk.
Worried murmurs erupted here and there. Chloe frowned at the commotion, but raised no protest.
After all, no one could overturn an assigned grouping.
The crowd dispersed, gathering by their respective groups.
And then, from far off, someone came walking toward them.
A woman as though wreathed in a golden halo.
Hair rippling in soft waves.
The sacred light of the Church. Lucia.
Flawless, porcelain skin. With every step, the gazes around her were drawn to her as if by gravity. Hers was a figure for whom the title of Saintess felt not the least bit incongruous.
She came to a stop before Chloe and Cecilia.
Then her gaze flicked briefly to Cecilia.
Her blue eyes wavered for a moment before coming to rest on Cecilia. There was no warmth of reunion in them, no pure hostility either. Something far more complicated stirred behind those eyes.
"...I look forward to working with you all."
Lucia offered a brief greeting.
Composed, courteous words. On the surface, an impeccable politeness—yet something cold lay frozen beneath it. An old, long-simmering grudge, held in check by the restraint befitting a Saintess.
Their gazes tangled briefly in the air. Then, just as Lucia turned to leave, she tossed out one more line, light as a passing breeze.
"It's been a while. Have you been well?"
That soft greeting snagged in Cecilia's throat.
Cecilia pressed her lips shut.
There was something unsettling about being asked after her welfare with a smiling face.
She didn't want that woman coming anywhere near her.
...This is bad. Really bad.
Cold sweat traced down Cecilia's spine.
The confidence she'd worn so defiantly before the crowd crumbled helplessly at a single polite greeting.
The Saintess and the villainess, bound to the same group of all things.
Worse still, she couldn't even remember what she had done to the woman in the past. It was an utterly impossible situation.
Her mind went white and blank.
Cecilia strained to appear calm—
but even that effort froze stiff and awkward on her face.