Giselle

I opened the door without a word and entered the house.

Giselle never rushes, no matter when.

With calm steps, she follows me inside as if it's only natural.

Before sitting on the sofa, I rummaged through the cupboard first.

Thank goodness. There was alcohol left.

I grabbed a glass with scratches all over the bottom along with the bottle and set them on the table.

Giselle is sitting exactly where I was about to sit.

The smile she showed earlier is nowhere to be seen—just a blank expression, staring vacantly into space.

I'd rather die than sit next to Giselle, so I moved the drinking setup to the kitchen.

Standing in the kitchen, I pour alcohol into the glass.

Enough to overflow. Enough that nightmares could never find me.

But I'd already opened the door for the nightmare and welcomed it as a guest.

"You're late. Looks like you were out somewhere."

That nonchalant tone scrapes at my insides like the bottom of a glass.

My fingers tremble as if I have Parkinson's disease.

Wanting to calm down, I pulled out a cigarette and put it in my mouth.

But the match just won't light.

No matter how many times I strike it, whether from my hand's trembling or not, only sparks fly in all directions.

As I mutter curses while staring at the match, a porcelain-white hand extends toward me.

In the palm blooms a small orange flame like a tiny flower.

I hold the cigarette to the fire and blow smoke toward Giselle's face.

But Giselle's eyes don't even flinch, still looking at my face.

"Feeling a bit calmer now, Ain?"

Instead of answering, I downed the alcohol.

The cold liquid sliding down my throat gradually heats my entire body from the chest down.

But even this isn't enough. I fill the glass again. Until the bottle is empty.

My hand trembles like a cripple again.

Frustrated that the suffocation won't subside, I hurled the glass full of alcohol at the wall.

The sound of shattered fragments and alcohol spilling on the floor grates on my ears.

Giselle doesn't even glance in the direction where the glass was thrown.

She's still close to me, still looking only at me.

Giselle turns and sits back on the sofa without making a sound.

That dress that reveals the contours of her body is worn only to be shown to me.

Those doll-like stiff steps, hand movements, even her outfit—I haven't forgotten a single thing.

"As I thought, you didn't hear it back then."

Giselle, muttering incomprehensible words, lets out a small sigh—a rare occurrence.

"Why are you, why are you here..."

It seems Iris's stuttering has infected me.

Rather than answering my question, Giselle only recites what she's prepared to say.

"Let's talk, Ain. I came because I wanted to talk with you."

"Talk...? You want to talk...? You and me...?"

But I'm not trailing off like Iris does out of shyness.

My words are faltering because I'm so angry my teeth are grinding together.

I buried my face in a rag lying in the kitchen.

This was the right answer.

This rag reeking of fishy water calms me more than alcohol, more than cigarettes.

As I suppress the awareness that I'm in the same space as Giselle, my head rapidly cools.

"Talk, sure, talking's great. But Giselle, why the fuck now of all times?"

"I wanted to clear up a misunderstanding.

Because I was certain you were misunderstanding me, Ain."

"What fucking misunderstanding? That cryptic way you talk has always been shit.

I'm only just now remembering it clearly."

I still can't face Giselle like a coward, speaking only while staring at the darkness created by the rag.

"The rumor isn't true, Ain. As always.

Victor... the Grand Duke and I have no connection whatsoever.

I've heard that he already has someone he's promised to marry."

My thoughts won't connect properly.

I picked up only the words "Grand Duke" and "marriage," trying somehow to understand the situation.

...Is she making excuses to me right now that she has nothing to do with that bastard who came from the North?

But why? Not when I was soaking wet and begging on all fours like a dog—why now?

But Ain's body, whether I want it to or not, serves Giselle's words.

Even as I desperately try not to think about it, some part of my heart feels relieved by Giselle's excuse.

"You even know his name. Looks like plenty of connection to me.

Normally strangers don't escort each other getting out of carriages.

Yeah. Real nice sight.

If you were a bit closer, you'd be renting a room and setting up house together."

"I firmly refused. It must have been arranged between the families.

They would have known full well that doing it in the plaza would attract attention."

"Ah, I see. But Giselle, there's one thing I don't understand."

"Tell me, Ain."

I lifted my head from the rag and looked at Giselle.

Even though our eyes met, perhaps because of her explanation, my mind isn't as chaotic as before.

I picked up a cigarette that had fallen on the floor, still lit, and took a drag.

"Why the hell would you come all the way to my house to make excuses?

What are we to each other? You ended everything, Giselle.

With your own hands, with your own expression, you ended it all."

"Where's the ring?"

"...What?"

Giselle keeps spewing words that diverge from mine.

Giselle's words, scattering more chaotically than broken glass, confuse my mind.

"I'm talking about our ring, Ain. Are you keeping it safe?"

"Giselle, did you eat something wrong? You dare ask for that with your own mouth?"

My fingers tensed and the cigarette broke.

As the fire dies out, the ash that fell on the floor gradually turns gray.

Giselle, still with calm steps, approaches the drawer by the bed and starts opening it one by one.

"Ah, here it was. It's like a portrait of us, isn't it, Ain.

We went to the workshop together to make it. Engraving each other's initials on silver..."

"If you don't put that down right now, I might twist your neck and kill you."

I spoke almost growling, grinding my teeth.

The corners of Giselle's mouth, which had been speaking with a smile, drop as if collapsing.

Giselle puts the ring back in the drawer and closes it, then goes back to sit on the sofa.

"Has the misunderstanding cleared up a bit, Ain?

I can sit here and wait for hours until your anger subsides."

Who knew that fairy-tale princess-like archaic way of speaking would make me nauseous.

It used to be my gospel and faith.

Now I just want to gouge out my cochlea that receives Giselle's words.

"Will you tell me when you've calmed down?

Though any time spent with you is never boring.

I don't want to go home late and worry Father, Ain."

"Ain, Ain at the end of every sentence. Didn't I just tell you?

Your way of talking has always been shit.

How about getting to the point quickly and getting the fuck out of my house?"

My profanity didn't fluster Giselle.

Only then did she slowly turn her gaze in all directions, beginning to observe the room.

"The house we'll live in together will be much more beautiful than this.

I want to grow lots of flowers. Oh, animals might be nice too.

You've always loved dogs since you were little, Ain."

Now I just wish I could wake from this nightmare as soon as possible.

What if I just kill Giselle right now?

Take a sword, stab Giselle to death, then immediately slit my own throat.

'Fucking romantic. Absolutely not.'

Anyone would see it as a lovers' suicide.

Even if Giselle forgets after regression, I refuse.

I remember, so every time I see Giselle, it would just add another shitty memory.

"Giselle, I'm asking because maybe I drank too much and my brain broke.

When I returned home, do you remember throwing away the ring right in front of my fucking face?"

"I can't forget any of my memories with you, Ain.

I remember them all as vividly as if I saw them yesterday."

"Do you happen to know that what you're doing now doesn't connect at all with what you did then?"

"It's connected by love, Ain. I love you. Our souls are bound together."

"Haha, Giselle. Mine's just torn to shreds.

You tore it. With those tiny, pretty hands of yours, without leaving a trace."

What's truly fortunate is that I'm not swayed by Giselle's contextless love confession.

The thought that if I'd heard those words even a day earlier, even an hour earlier, I might have knelt again and pledged my entire life makes me break out in a cold sweat.

"But I saw you at the Academy, Ain."

"Yeah, I saw you too. How could I miss those rat-like eyes of yours shining."

"You got angry for my sake, didn't you?"

"...Say that again."

Giselle approaches me and places the back of her hand on my cheek.

Giselle's body temperature is always colder than her skin color suggests.

"When Max was bothering you, you got angry for my sake, didn't you, Ain."

I violently swatted Giselle's hand away hard enough to make a sound.

The knocked-away hand floats in the air.

But Giselle doesn't care and approaches me again.

The coldness transmitted from her clinging shoulders and stomach touches my body.

Grasping her reddened hand with the other, she whispered with a smile.

"I'm happy, Ain."

.

.

.

Where should I start explaining Giselle Evergreen?

Excluding her blind love for Ain, what components make up her?

If you ask my opinion, "self-righteousness" and "arrogance." Those two words come to mind first.

'Ain, the servant won't listen. I should tell Father and have them thrown out today.'

'There can't be anything more important than playing with me, Ain.'

'You made a sad expression because of this person, Ain. It's okay. They're still breathing.'

'I'd prefer you didn't hang around with that child, Ain. I hate having less time with you.'

'The child who insulted you wouldn't take back what they said, so that's all I did.'

There was no problem. I was faithful only to Giselle too.

Her poisonous personality ultimately stemmed from love for me. For Ain.

Giselle's whining was sufficiently acceptable to me if dismissed as a child's tantrum.

In the end, the ingredients that made up Giselle—her blood and flesh, her nutritional label—was Ain.

The past tense is important.

From the moment Giselle abandoned me, everything that constitutes her was no longer my concern.

Her expressionlessness only relaxed in front of Ain.

Only Ain could see her cold demeanor crumble.

Only Ain in the world didn't let a single grain of her small utterances fall.

But I'm no longer Ain Magnolia.

I don't have to sell my body to that childish nonsense and dive in like a moth to flame.

Therefore, as my maximum resistance, I grabbed Giselle's wrist and roughly dragged her outside my house.

"It hurts, Ain. My wrist is throbbing."

"Shut your fucking mouth. Never come near my house again."

"You seemed very close with that nun. She was a teacher invited to the Academy.

I'm happy if you make friends, Ain.

But I find myself being greedy, wanting you to be more interested in me."

She always expresses jealousy by drawing it out like this.

Now I understand you.

The fact that you haven't grown at all compared to when I first met you.

For someone whose wrist supposedly hurts, Giselle's expression remains completely unruffled.

When I practically threw Giselle, even as she fell in the yard, she continued speaking while still looking at me.

"Get lost. If you come again, I'll kill you."

"I'll come again, Ain. As many times as it takes."

Did she get a dick stuck in her ear, crazy bitch?

Ah, she was still a virgin. Fortunately, I never stuck my dick in any of Giselle's holes.

We only kissed, and even that was just childish pecks every day.

At least that's fortunate. One less thing I could have given away.

—Bang!

I slam the door hard enough to knock it off its hinges and rummage through the cupboard. No alcohol.

Fuuuck, that was the last of it. I'm screwed.

I don't want to wander outside where Giselle might be lingering.

I plop down on the bare floor, chewing on a cigarette with my teeth before lighting it.

Now I understand perfectly well why this godforsaken world calls itself a romance fantasy.

The fact that I had to cherish and cultivate romance with that flower-brained bitch is the real fantasy.

What greater illusion could there be?

I went to the bed and ground the cigarette into the ashtray.

I pick up a pillow reeking only of grime and press it against my face.

So the perfume scent reminiscent of lilies that Giselle left in the room won't reach my nose.

So I no longer chase her lingering fragrance.