Delusion (9)

I didn't bother with the carriage.

I wanted to walk.

My feet carried me toward the dormitory, but my head was hollow. No thoughts surfaced of where I should go or what I should do.

The noise of the main street faded behind me. Laughter, rolling carriage wheels, merchants shouting—all of it blurred together, muffled, like sounds heard underwater.

The streetlamps had started flickering on one by one along the darkened path. Faint orange light stretched my shadow long.

I trudged forward in a daze and, before I knew it, I was at my door. I didn't remember getting there.

The door swung open and the room's familiar air greeted me. Everything neatly arranged. Too neat.

I hated it. It wasn't real. This was something I forced myself to maintain, and even if I cleaned it spotless every single day, it would end up a wreck eventually anyway.

A tremor ran through my hands. Fine, almost imperceptible.

With trembling hands I pulled the pipe from my coat. I packed it with tobacco leaves and sprinkled the powder on top. Flecks of leaf and white powder scattered from my fingertips.

I tried to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠strike a match, but my hands shook too badly. The matchstick snapped. I scraped at the wrong surface. I fumbled several times before a flame finally caught.

The moment the orange fire flared, the sensation of blurred burning swept through my body—the smell of searing flesh, my own screaming, and the people who only watched.

I lit the tobacco and sucked the smoke in desperately. But it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠didn't travel down my throat into my lungs. It coiled inside my mouth and dispersed.

The memory of the day I burned to death surfaced—drawing in smoke, still dying anyway, only metallic sounds escaping my lips.

The shaking wouldn't stop. It was getting worse.

I set the still-smoldering pipe down on the table. Then I grabbed the ashtray within reach—a heavy glass piece. I held it for a long moment, then hurled it at the wall.

Crash!

The shattering sound rang in my ears. Sharp fragments scattered everywhere.

The glass with a little water still in it. The landscape painting Serepina had given me, hanging on the wall. The liquor bottles crammed into the corner. Anything my hands found, I grabbed and threw and smashed.

Glass breaking, wood splintering, liquid spilling—the sounds filled the room.

Not long after, knocking came at the door.

Knock. Knock knock.

Bang! Bang!

The knocking turned violent.

I crossed the room panting and yanked the door open.

A female student from the next room stood there. One of the ones who'd clicked her tongue at me before. Not that anyone didn't. Tonight her eyes looked especially exhausted.

Her face warped. Rineta's face superimposed over it—those terrified eyes that couldn't recognize me.

Before she could finish, I grabbed her by the collar.

"Why don't you recognize me!? I didn't ask to be born a wreck like this! I just—I fucking didn't want to live in this godforsaken place! Why me! Why am I the only one living like this in this hellhole!?"

Breath surged up my throat. My voice cracked and tore.

Her face melted like candle wax and re-formed into Levina's. That occasional look of hers, the way she'd calmly say the worst things while remaining perfectly composed—every bit of it disgusted me.

"If I hadn't been born this pathetic mess, if I'd been born a decent commoner, I wouldn't be living like this. I could've done anything. Literally anything! I would've been happy if you just hadn't existed!! So why the hell—why do I have to live like this!?"

Dizziness swamped me. I looked down. The floor was a mix of shattered glass, spilled liquor, torn canvas.

When I lifted my head again, Serepina stood before me. A face on the verge of tears, a face that didn't understand me.

"This is because of you! If you'd just believed in me, that's all it would've taken! You, of all people, were supposed to believe in me!"

I knew it was a hallucination. I knew all of this. I knew that pulling the same pointless bullshit would ruin everything. So why was I doing it?

I couldn't stop.

I shoved the terrified girl aside—the one looking at me like I was insane, the one whose collar I'd been holding.

I stumbled and crashed into the hallway wall. Then I shut the door and returned to my room.

Bang!

Self-loathing crashed over me.

I stood there staring blankly at the wreckage. I pressed hard against my eyes. No tears came. Only a faint itch at the corners.

I collapsed onto the sofa. A sharp sting pricked my thigh. When I stood up, a tiny shard of glass was embedded there. I pulled it out and tossed it behind me without looking. Drops of blood hit the floor.

I sat back down. I picked up the pipe from the table. Faint warmth still clung to it.

I grabbed the whole box of powder Levina had given me and dumped it over the pipe. Viscous, sticky powder piled up thickly atop the tobacco. I struck a match and lit it. The powder burned, acrid smoke rising.

I didn't care. I inhaled deep. Very deep.

I had a rough idea of what this stuff was. But without it, I couldn't keep up the pretense of being functional outside this room.

I kept drawing the smoke in, letting it out. The haze veiled my vision, filled the room, and began kindly erasing every thought that had been surfacing, one by one. Every face vanished into the smoke. The tension drained from my body. The throbbing headache subsided. The trembling in my hands stopped.

What I lacked was probably courage. It always had been.

So I decided to brew a potion of courage.

I grabbed one of the intact liquor bottles rolling around in the corner, uncapped it, dumped in a generous amount of Levina's powder, plugged the opening with a finger, and shook it hard. The liquid and powder mixed into a cloudy color.

I chugged straight from the bottle. A feeling of swelling confidence washed over me. Right now, I felt like I could do anything.

I hurled the empty bottle to the floor and stood up.

* * *

I don't know why I suddenly wanted to stay in this tiny church. Maybe—maybe God, who had only ever taken things from me, was trying to give me something for once.

From the moment we first met, he felt like family I'd lost long ago. At the same time, it felt like reuniting with someone deeply loved after an achingly long separation. And alongside that came a terrible sadness. I half-wondered if I'd fallen under some kind of spell.

And the way Ravin talked—whether it was heretic sorcery or a demon's temptation—I couldn't bring myself to care. My mind showed no sign of wanting to evict the Ravin who'd taken up residence in my empty heart.

Staying in a church with no entertainment and no other people gets boring fast. But if the time was spent waiting for the occasional visits from Ravin, it wasn't so bad. The waiting might even be sweeter than the meeting.

I was standing in front of the altar, juggling three apples for amusement. The red fruits traced circles in the air.

Then I heard the church door open.

Creeeak.

Ravin walked in. Something was off. Different from usual.

His eyes were slightly unfocused, his cheeks faintly flushed. But his lips and fingertips had turned an unnatural bluish hue. His face was pale, his whole body drenched in sweat. His steps swayed erratically, the tips of his shoes catching on the floor, his feet tangling. Sweat trailed down his temples.

He opened his lips to speak, but the sound came out half-formed and shapeless.

He seemed aware he couldn't get the words out. He trudged straight toward me and, without a word, wrapped his arms around me. And held on a long time.

I could feel his heart pounding fast against my chest.

He ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠held me for a while, then cupped my face and kissed me.

I thought it would just be lips touching. Then he slid his tongue inside and my eyes went wide. It was embarrassing. Shocking. But I didn't push him away. I couldn't.

The moment our tongues touched, I tasted that distinct wine taste along with a strange, bitter, earthy flavor—astringent. I'd never imagined a first kiss would taste so bitter. Not the sweet or quietly thrilling thing I'd pictured.

Still, it was a kiss from Ravin. So I was happy. Even if he was clearly not okay.

When he's struggling, maybe I'm the only one he has to lean on. That thought crossed my mind, and it made me glad.

No sweetness, no familiar burn of alcohol. Just a heavy, ominous taste lingering in my mouth. Not a stench, exactly—something sticky and unclean.

To erase it, I bit into an apple. Then, thinking he'd miss if I tossed one to him, I stepped close and placed an apple in his hand.

Ravin looked at the apple and smiled. A childlike smile.

"Thank you."

He said it, then nibbled at the apple in small, slow bites. After a while, he sat down on one of the long pew benches and called my name.

"Estelle."

"Y-yeah."

"The kiss. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠How was it?"

"Different. From what I thought." My face flushed. I stumbled over the words a little. "Still. It was nice."

"Good."

Ravin set the half-eaten apple aside and pulled me into a tight embrace again. His body trembled faintly.

"Then will you do something for me?"

"...Something?"

"You said you'd do anything."

"...Oh. Yeah."

"The Duchess Edelgard. Can you bring her here without anyone knowing?"

At those words, my breath stopped for a second.

"I'll do way more than just a kiss. Anything you want. Please. Please bring her."

Ravin clung to me, pleading. He was almost sinking to his knees. Flustered, I pulled him upright.

"If I bring that person here, will you go back to normal?"

Ravin looked up at me with unfocused eyes. Then he answered in a voice that was perfectly serene.

"I'm fine right now."