After I Died, My Husband Went Mad - Chapter 32
No thoughts or explanations were necessary. In the face of her death, all words became meaningless. Dehart simply ran. Even as his cries echoed, even as he stumbled and ultimately crashed to the ground, words seemed futile. This was what it meant to be a mess. His passing thoughts mocked him fiercely. But his legs were already moving. He didn’t know when the sun had set, when his rain-soaked clothes had dried. When did his throat split open, and when did his eyes shut?
He remembered nothing, had no reason to remember, and had no time to recall if he did. And so, Dehart reached the North. His homeland, his house, his family. And naturally, Sebelia should have been there. Yet what he saw was a procession of black and the burning eyes of servants.
“Ah.”
Dehart dragged his mud-caked shoes, sprinting toward the tolling bell.
Beyond the windows, the priest’s muted chant had begun. It was the final farewell, bidding her goodbye and severing ties from this world.
No, it can’t be.
I can’t.
I can’t let you go.
BANG!
The chilling air inside the funeral parlor pushed against him. Nevertheless, Dehart pressed forward. He pushed past all the eyes that pushed him away and headed for the highest point, the dais. There, she was waiting for him.
“…This can’t be real.”
Sebelia’s eyes were closed, her face a mask of tranquility. She looked utterly blissful, as if she had reached peace, completely free of the pain he was causing her.
“…Ah.”
A choked scream ripped through his gut. Crimson emotions clawed at his vision.
“This can’t be true. You, really…”
His once proud knees now touched the ground before her. Dehart trembled, lips quivering.
“No, Sebelia. No, please…”
Thud.
Raindrops pounded against the window. From a distance, thunder began to rumble loudly.
It was a fitting day to mourn the Duchess’s tragic demise.
* * *
Crack!
“Aaaagh!!!”
With a deafening roar, the glass window exploded. Shattered fragments scattered across the floor.
“Ugh, huff….”
The bloodied servants, clinging to the wall, exhaled trembling breaths. It had been days, perhaps; they couldn’t recall. The macabre scene that followed the Duchess’s funeral continued, gradually enveloping Hillend Hall in terror. A maid wrapped her arms around a servant, her voice quivering with fear. A long gash marked her throat—a remnant from the passing shards of glass.
“W-what do we do?”
“Let’s inform the butler first. If we stay here any longer…”
As the servant comforted the maid with blood-drenched hands, they both moved toward the corridor.
Boom!
As if on cue, the earth shook, and a bolt of pure white lightning struck the roof.
“Aaaaah!”
Within moments, screams erupted from all directions.
“Help! Someone come here, James fell from the ladder!”
Three days after Sebelia’s funeral, Hillend had transformed into a living hell.
Standing before the broken window, Dehart peered into the mansion with eyes darkened by shadows. Servants darted around, a bustling butler attending to them. Even Glenn looked up at him with wide eyes.
“Haha.”
It was an absurd sight, almost unimaginable right after the funeral. Surely, the nobles who came to pay their respects had all gone home in a huff.
They’ll gossip about the notorious state of Inverness as they please.
It was fine, absolutely delightfully fine. Nothing brought more joy than the crumbling of the family’s prestige and honor.
For a while, Dehart had been bursting with laughter until, in an instant, his face turned a ghastly shade of pale blue.
“…Sebelia.”
A sense of melancholy struck his mind like lightning. His emotions surged like wild waves, fluctuating between peaks and troughs.
“You should see this.”
You should see Glenn, who deceived you, wearing such a vile face.
But then…
Ah, what’s the point of all this.
Dehart trembled with disgust. No, truthfully, his hands had been trembling long before that.
“Ha…”
Everything was horrible. Everything in this mansion reverberated with an unbearable rumble.
“But the most horrible thing is me.”
Laughing at his own hypocrisy, Dehart turned away. Empty bottles and extinguished candles greeted him on the table.
“Ultimately, it’s all just excuses…”
He reached for the psychedelic candle instead of the taper. This remarkable object showed him hallucinations of Sebelia. It revealed her, loving him, waiting for him. A hollow laugh escaped his lips.
Oh, how he wished he hadn’t pushed her away then. Instead of turning away in anger, he should have asked her at least once for an explanation. As always, regret caught up with him, and he greeted it with open arms, a sharp whip in each hand.
“…Cough!”
As he deeply inhaled the fumes, blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Yet, his eyes, soaked in rapture, wandered somewhere in the air.
“Ah, Sebelia, you. There you are.”
Dehart reached out towards her.
“Come here.”
The sharp edge of a broken windowpane lacerated his hand.
