Come and Cry at My Funeral - Chapter 163
Truth and despair
trigger warning: depression, suicide, self-harm, death of loved ones
In the final moment when her head was being crushed.
‘I despise you, Izar.’
Freesia was dying, filled with hatred and resentment.
These vile emotions had been familiar to her since she was young—anger, bitterness, resentment. But just as the flame of life was about to extinguish, a new thought surfaced.
‘This is so unfair.’
Her life, since she’d become aware of the world, had been tainted with violence, poverty, ridicule, scorn, and isolation. And now, to die with such loathsome feelings? To taint herself even in death?
‘I refuse.’
She couldn’t let her life end in such misery.
She wanted to die cherishing a heart radiant with love, even if that love had never been fulfilled.
‘Forget it.’
Forget the hatred.
‘Cover it with better memories.’
Fifteen, the night Izar saved her, and her heart fluttered all night.
The days before she turned twenty, crossing a field fragrant with fresh grass, hoping to catch a glimpse of him.
Twenty-three, when she bore their child.
The man who held her and fed her wild berries.
The star-filled night sky they shared, the hand he extended to her on the stairs when her belly grew too large to see her feet.
The gentle hand that touched her face at night, perhaps thinking she was asleep.
Those days when she willingly indulged in the fantasy that maybe, just maybe, he was starting to care for her too.
Freesia deceived herself into thinking these sparkling, precious memories would be her last, like dew glistening in sunlight.
But in truth, she despised Izar in her final moments.
The man who had mocked her and their child.
The husband who she once believed to be her salvation, only to find deception.
‘Please cry for me.’
She wanted him to weep, to be consumed by the pain of his torn heart.
To despair over his irreversible mistake, sinking into the abyss no matter how hard he struggled.
For everything he valued to slip through his fingers.
If only she could make that happen.
‘Please cry for me, Izar.’
In the instant her breath ceased, it felt like she saw him running toward her, calling her name.
‘I just want to see you cry over me once.’
But all she saw was the pitch-black night sky.
And so, Freesia died, suppressing even her own desire to know the true depth of his feelings hidden in his tears.
* * *
Freesia’s consciousness flickered as if looking at the sky through a veil.
Occasionally, images of a vast green field would flash across her dark vision, but they quickly receded back into darkness.
Sometimes, she even heard voices, but before she could grasp their meaning, they would drift softly back into silence.
‘Did I die again?’
That thought did occur to her, but like a drop sinking into water, it held little significance.
But then, one day.
A powerful scent overwhelmed her dormant consciousness, pulling her upwards as if someone had yanked her out of the water.
A mint scent.
“…Ugh!”
It was the terrible smell of the poison that had taken her child, filling her nose.
Even if she were reborn and forgot everything, that stench of death would never be erased.
“Gah, ugh…!”
“Miss! You’re really awake?!”
“Uh… ugh…!”
Her vision swayed, blurring, and her whole body ached as though she’d been battered.
The entire room was bathed in bright sunlight, and beside her stood a woman holding a vial of fragrant oil, looking down at her.
‘Is that Thea?’
Thea would be the only one fussing over her with such concern. She’d last seen her faint, but had Thea been unharmed?
‘Thank goodness, Thea’s safe. What about Sir Dike?’
And everyone else? The imperial family’s event?
Countless questions hovered on her lips.
But her parched throat couldn’t produce a sound, as though she had forgotten how to speak after so long.
“Uh… ugh.”
“Oh, please drink some water.”
The woman handed her a cup, but she wasn’t Thea.
The girl looking at her with wide black eyes and light brown pigtails—who was she?
‘Where am I?’
The room was similar to those in the manor, yet a blue horizon was visible outside the window.
It didn’t seem like the palace… nor the Arcturus estate or the Duke’s castle. And who was this girl tending to her with such familiarity?
“Thank goodness! You had to regain consciousness today!”
“Cough, cough… Who… are you?”
“I’m Kara, here to serve you, Miss!”
Miss?
She had never been addressed that way before.
(T/N: Miss or 아가씨, used typically in rofan as a term of address for a noble family’s daughter)
And the clothes she was wearing—a dark blue dress—were unfamiliar as well.
The last outfit she’d worn was the light green dress prepared for the hunting event…
〈Won’t you just die already? No one knows what to do with you here.〉
〈You’re tougher than I thought. Not a single tear after losing your child.〉
The words people had thrown at Freesia came back to her like leaves rustling in a fierce wind.
Each phrase stirred emotions she thought she’d buried—disbelief, fear, dread, anger, sorrow, guilt…
〈Izar. I despise you.〉
