Chapter 18
“You’re not even listening now, are you? Tired of it? Of course you are—anyone would be, being tormented the same way every time.”
“…”
“But what can you do? Bored or not, even if it’s unfair, our poor little princess will always suffer—now, and in the future—right here, in the palm of my hand.”
This time, she was standing before Kail Letius.
Is this… another memory?
She had thought that dying inside one of these memories would finally end it all, that she’d disappear once and for all. But instead, her consciousness had shifted to yet another scene.
…When is this?
Her heavy eyelids lifted slightly as she looked around. She was definitely in the imperial palace of Letius.
Then she noticed Kail waving his finger at her, but she ignored it. Her gaze shifted instead to the letters scattered across the desk beside him. The elegant handwriting decorating the pages was unmistakably familiar.
This must have been the day he threatened her using her distant relatives—the ones who had changed their names and lived quietly. He’d discovered their location and warned her that if she didn’t obey, he’d have them killed silently.
That day, Natasha had crawled at his feet like a dog. She had clung to him, begging desperately, pleading with him not to harm them.
“You said you’d kill them…”
She murmured bitterly, recalling the memory.
Her pleas had only amused him. For Kail, Natasha’s suffering was his entertainment. Whenever boredom came knocking, he would dig into her deepest wounds—just like now.
“There we go. You finally understand. I was starting to think you’d gone deaf. A broken toy’s no fun at all.”
His condescending tone made her stomach churn. Every time she broke down in front of him, it only served to prove his power over her.
But then, she remembered something—her previous memory.
Even though it had ended in death, she had acted—said what she truly felt. And for the first time, she’d felt something close to freedom.
Yes…
If she was going to be trapped in these memories she never chose—
“Then kill me.”
She stepped closer to Kail, reaching for the sword at his waist. He didn’t even flinch. He had never imagined his little toy would fight back.
His guard was down. The weapon was poorly secured.
Natasha’s lips curled into a sharp smile.
“If I kill you, then you can become a ghost and kill them yourself, Kail.”
She drew his sword and plunged it into his eye.
The eyes that had always looked down on her were finally still.
The hands that had torn apart her family, her homeland, and her future…
The lips that had laughed at her pain… were now twisted in agony.
“His Majesty!”
The guards rushed in at the sound of Kail’s final scream. The captain gave a quick order:
“Kill her!”
A dozen blades tore through her flesh.
And again, she died.
This time, with a strange sense of satisfaction.
And yet, Natasha woke again.
Then again.
And again.
Each time, she came back to life—further in the past.
It was strange. The more she defied the world she was thrown into, the further back she went—as if time itself was being reversed.
And the only way to move through it…
was to die.
But that wasn’t all.
At first, she thought it was all just in her head—just memories. But no. The people around her responded. They reacted to her presence. They spoke to her, even when she gave different answers. They adjusted to her choices.
And strangely, she wasn’t trapped in her past footsteps.
She could change things.
That’s when she finally understood.
This wasn’t a dream.
This wasn’t a memory.
This was a return.
She hadn’t been watching her past.
She was living it again.
Not as a helpless spectator, but as an actor—a main character on the stage.
She was alive again—back in the past.
And now…
Her fifth return was about to begin.
The elegant sound of a harp rang through the air, trying to mask the whispered gossip slipping through every corner of the room.
Soft words stacked one over another until they pressed against her ears.
“That’s the last princess of Charlier, isn’t it?”
“They say she climbed high from nothing… But it looks like the duke doesn’t love her. Pitiful, really. But then again, she’s only getting what she deserves.”
The gazes and pointing fingers around her felt heavier than the marble pillars holding up the glittering ceiling. The hall was vast, yet suffocating.
It was a day when cruelty passed as casual conversation.
A day when Natasha, under the weight of mocking eyes, shrank into herself—
While Sieghart Aschart, standing right beside her, did nothing.
That was the day she finally understood what true misery meant.
Because that was also the day Kayeina was accused and arrested.
And the moment the accusations started, all the truths Natasha had buried deep—truths wrapped in shadow and denial—began to rise to the surface.
Her hand clenched tightly—like someone who had made a firm decision. A moment later, Natasha began pushing through the crowd, frantically searching for the person at the center of it all.
The final ceremony of the coronation had just begun. The figure at the heart of the ritual stood still, waiting patiently for the sacred anointing—the holy water, symbolizing immortality. He held the holy chalice and waited for the pope’s blessing to end.
During such a sacred rite, no disruption was tolerated. For the nobles attending, it was an unspoken rule—something so basic it didn’t need to be said.
Yet from the back of the hall came the sound of bold, hurried footsteps. One or two missteps could have been brushed off as a mistake—but this was far too deliberate.
No one dared stop the ritual to address the disturbance. Even as eyebrows rose and glances flickered toward the source of the sound, no one dared break the ceremony.
Then, suddenly—someone broke through the crowd.
Gasps erupted across the hall.
Natasha burst into the sacred circle and grabbed the chalice from the man’s hands. Without the slightest hesitation, she tilted the gold vessel to her lips and drank the holy water inside.
The sacred water—so valuable it was said to be priceless—tasted like lukewarm, flavorless water.
“Kh… cough…”
But unlike its bland taste, its effect was far from harmless.
It burned her throat as if she had swallowed fire. Unable to stop the rising heat, she gagged and vomited up a dark, thick mass. A ball of bright red blood hit the floor with a sickening splatter.
The guards who had rushed to stop her recoiled in horror. Even the nobles who had been whispering about the “mad duchess” now gasped and screamed.
The elegant, sacred coronation—so perfectly planned, so smoothly carried out until a moment ago—was thrown into chaos.
“Cough—Kh, cough—!”
It had been said that just a small amount of that holy water—actually a poison—could kill an ordinary person. And indeed, the pain rushing through her body felt all too familiar.
She had grown used to dying.
Perhaps that was why her body stubbornly clung to life. Even as agony tore through her limbs, her stubborn will gave her enough time—enough time to look at him.
Sieghart…
She doubted he could understand what would come after this moment. He couldn’t possibly know how this would twist her life further into tragedy.
She had drunk the poison not out of recklessness—but to reject that future altogether.
Through her slowly closing eyes, Natasha scanned every inch of his face.
Honestly, she hadn’t expected a reaction at all. He had killed so many people—how could her death matter? If anything, he might be relieved, happy to have such a troublesome pest out of the way.
Even if he was sad, it would probably be more like losing an annoying pet than grieving someone real.
But… why?
Why did he look horrified?
Why was the man she thought would feel nothing—rushing toward her with panic in his eyes?
Strange.
Natasha sat up slowly in bed, disoriented by her fifth life. Something about Sieghart’s reaction at the end of her last death still clung to her.
Later, when she checked the calendar, it showed the beginning of summer. Though the duchy was colder and windier than most places, the weather outside seemed to match the season perfectly.
How far will this cycle of meaningless deaths go?
Will it rewind all the way to when I married him? Or to our first meeting?
Or maybe… to the day my misfortune began?
There was no way to predict how far back it would continue to rewind. It was beyond her understanding.
Still, one thing had become clear to her.
The point of return seemed tied to the footsteps of her own misery.
It might be that she was returning only to the days when she had truly wished to die.
If that’s the case…
If the starting point was the moment her life ended, it could go as far back as the fall of the kingdom two years ago. Or, if it were tied to the moment her soul was broken—perhaps the beginning of her marriage.
Either way, dying quickly is in my best interest.
It was a simple calculation.
The faster she crushed each stone in the path of her tragedy, the faster she could move past it. The only method was to die—and trigger the next return.
She searched the room for something to end her life—and found a flower vase on the table.
Natasha shattered the glass and picked up the largest shard. Just as she rolled up the sleeve of her nightgown and placed the shard against her wrist—
She saw something.
A mark.
The number “4.”
A number?
That wasn’t there before.
She dipped her finger in the water dripping from the broken vase and rubbed the mark. She scrubbed until her skin turned red, but it didn’t fade.
It wasn’t ink. No one had drawn on her.
As the one who lived in this body, she was certain. She had dragged blades across this wrist dozens—no, hundreds—of times. If anything, new appeared, she would know.
This wasn’t an old mark.
This was a brand-new seal, freshly carved into her current self.
How many times have I died now?
She counted.
Starting from the death in the snowy forest, it had been six times. This was her fifth memory loop—and her sixth return.
Could it be… the number of returns I have left?
It was a compelling theory.
Unexplainable by medicine or theology, this strange phenomenon might only offer this single clue.
To be sure…
Natasha brought the glass shard back to her wrist.
I’ll just have to check… by dying.
And soon, the world went dark.
