Come and Cry at My Funeral - Chapter 65
Nightmare
After Freesia’s chilling statement, the room fell into a brief silence. However, Izar soon let out a low chuckle.
“You? Break me?”
“Yes.”
“Astonishing.”
He would have burst into laughter if not for his tiredness. It was an audaciously naive response from someone as harmless as a kitten without claws.
‘Confidence overflows from a single successful stone throw.’
Yet, he couldn’t take such a trifling threat lightly. Those emerald eyes were as firm as solid rock, and her whole being radiated sincerity from start to finish.
Would she try to punch him with all her might if he carelessly provoked her? Izar scoffed one last time before turning away.
“There’s no need to be so dramatic. I will never lay a hand on you.”
“Then, tonight—”
“You just need to sleep and go.”
He thought that this symptom, hardly insomnia, might improve by seeing the girl’s sleeping face.
‘Let’s just keep her here for this one time.’
It would surely be better afterward.
Without a word, they lay back to back. Izar closed his eyes and cursed inwardly.
‘Damn it.’
It was as if his heart was uncomfortably glued to his back.
Every nerve and muscle in his body seemed to be pointing towards where the shepherdess lay.
And though he was the one to scoff, he foolishly mulled over their previous conversation.
<So you’re saying that you’d consent to sleep with me only if I truly held you dear?>
<Yes.>
<And what if I force you?>
With his eyes still closed, Izar bit his lip.
‘I asked such idiotic questions.’
Why did he suddenly wonder about such things?
As if the girl’s intentions were ridiculously important to him.
He tried hard to clear his mind.
At least he might get some sleep, as intended for tonight.
However, it was unwelcome to feel this way because of her, especially when the dream he had for the first time in a while began with his childhood memories of seeing her.
* * *
Izar despised dreaming. His dreams were exceptionally vivid and dredged up memories he had tried to bury.
And this time, as always, it vividly revived memories he had tried to forget.
<Look at that, Izar.>
At ten years old, Izar looked up at his father, biting his lip. His body was sore from training from early morning until dusk, but he couldn’t disappoint his revered father.
He was too afraid to speak of his exhaustion. He didn’t want to be punished.
But that day, his father wasn’t out to punish him but pointed out someone else.
There was a girl, half-buried in the bushes. His father scoffed.
<It’s that madwoman’s daughter.>
The girl was diligently picking fruit.
Since her mother had lost her mind, it was always the seven-year-old daughter’s responsibility to find food.
When the girl looked up, Izar, forgetting his sore hands, stared at her face.
But his father’s voice made him startle.
<Do you understand why we keep those creatures here?>
<I do not know…>
<They are the lowest of the low.>
Just then, the girl struggled to lift a basket half her size. Those who had been picking berries glanced at her.
But, fearing the mother’s madness might infect them, no one stepped forward to help.
His father taught him by showing her.
<Remember, Izar. If such vermin can live, your pain is nothing.>
<……>
<Whenever you feel like whining, look at that girl.>
It was a lesson to reflect on his blessed circumstances by comparing them to others’ misfortunes.
<Yes, sir.>
Izar gripped the sword again with his blistered, blood-streaked hands. And for the last time, he glanced over his shoulder.
Unfortunate, lowest of the low, a mad mother, vermin.
Yet, for ‘vermin’, the girl’s eyes were exceptionally large and sparkled green, like peridot jewels that his stepmother proudly wore.
Despite his wish to keep looking, the girl had already walked into the twilight, leaving her face unseen.
And that year, eventually, disaster struck.
<We’ve found your mother, Izar!>
His father, with eyes flashing gold, dragged Izar to the execution site of the rebels.
Though he revered his father, he was afraid of him at that moment.
The monsters they killed often had that look in their eyes. Eyes crazed, fixated on something.
<Finally. Finally. Finally…!>
His father looked so happy that Izar couldn’t say anything. That happiness quickly shattered when his ‘mother’ rejected his father’s salvation.
His ‘mother’, captured, ignored whether his father threatened or pleaded.
<I’d rather die than live with you. Let me follow him in death. Kill me now.>
Hearing this more than ten times, his father eventually dragged Izar in front of her.
<Look at Izar! Our son Izar is here, and yet you keep choosing death!>
Sweat poured from Izar. He felt as if his worth was being measured at that moment, as if he meant nothing if he couldn’t persuade the woman in front of him.
<…Mother.>
The word was so awkward that his throat tightened. A title unused for years felt as grating as a rusty blade.
Heart racing, unsure of what to say to improve the situation, he barely managed to speak what he believed was a solution.
<Mother, just tell father you love him.>
Then, surely, even if it meant groveling at the emperor’s feet, his father would spare her life.
They could leave this terrible prison behind. They could live in luxury again in Arcturus…
<We can live together again…>
But as soon as he finished speaking, Izar flinched.
Hate was evident in the woman’s eyes as she looked at him.
<My only child is the one I had with him. Only the child I wanted is mine!>
