From the Tip of the Tongue of the Lowliest Maid - Chapter 7
Arzeletta looked up at him, who approached without any fear or hesitation, with eyes that were pure and clear.
The emotion contained in her light green eyes was nearly blind faith and obedience.
Rather, it was Theogrim who looked pained.
His eyes, filled with fear and suffering, and his shoulders, weighed down by his own cowardice, appeared heavy.
Theogrim slowly raised his hand.
“……!”
When Theogrim’s hand touched her shoulder, Arzeletta’s face twisted in pain.
His hand traced down behind her shoulder blade. The skin, more than just red, had been charred black—this was the area where the injury was most severely deformed.
Seeing Arzeletta’s lips bitten tightly shut, Theogrim spoke heavily.
“Rzel. This wound…”
“…….”
“Do you regret it?”
Arzeletta shook her head with clenched teeth.
The wound that his fingers touched still hurt, but even so, the answer was already decided.
No matter how many times the question was repeated, the answer would remain the same.
“No, not at all.”
“…Why?”
“Because I met you, Lord Theogrim.”
Feeling the hand tracing the wound come to a stop, Arzeletta continued.
“Because I came to know that you exist in this world.”
“…….”
“Because I was able to live in the same world as you.”
Arzeletta lowered her eyes. The pain of the wound meant nothing.
To her, the wound was a badge of honor. A clear sign that she lived because of him, undeniable proof that her life had been saved by him.
“I will never regret it.”
With a voice soaked in joy, Arzeletta spoke.
She knew. This was fanaticism, and it was a love that could never be returned.
But that was fine. He was someone born for that purpose.
A person who existed to be worshipped and revered, to be a light and hope even to someone as lowly as herself.
Even if this longing was entirely one-sided, there was nothing to regret. It would always be so. There would be no regret, no hesitation.
“…….”
Theogrim withdrew his hand.
Compared to Arzeletta, who wore shabby rags soaked in dirty water, he, dressed in beautiful and pristine garments, felt even more wretched.
“……?”
Arzeletta lifted her head.
He had unfastened the ruby brooch himself and taken off his cloak to hold in his hand.
“Theogrim-nim….”
Arzeletta’s lips parted slightly. A cloak made of precious satin was draped over Arzeletta’s shoulders.
“…….”
In the end, he could not say a word. Yet Arzeletta heard the words he could not speak. The things he wanted to say when he approached her earlier that day.
That he wanted to wrap her with his noble cloak in front of everyone.
The cloak that covered her wet and bare body was soft and warm. Theogrim’s clean scent had soaked into the fabric. Arzeletta took a deep breath.
It felt as if she had endured a long time just for this moment.
Theogrim tightened the cloak wrapped around Arzeletta.
If he opened this cloak, beneath the thin cloth would be her body. She could not forget how Arzeletta looked earlier that day.
He looked down at the innocent Arzeletta, who seemed genuinely touched by his kindness, with dim eyes.
And he imagined.
The ragged clothes sticking to her chest, soaked with water, the faintly visible pink tips that rose like a peak.
The wet, transparent fabric clinging to her lower belly and waist, the deeply carved navel, and the valley between her thighs that were even deeper and darker.
No one would have thought that he, the great heir of Ragnar, would entertain such obscene imaginations.
If a god looked into his mind, it would know. How filthy lust was smeared thickly on the heart of a man praised as a gift from the gods.
‘Filthy bastard.’
Theogrim’s Adam’s apple moved roughly.
He turned around as he was. Before the filthy, ugly thoughts could start multiplying again, he had to leave.
He could not add lust onto a body and soul that belonged to the gods, even if it was his own. All the sins of today were things his flesh had to wash away with pain.
“……!”
But before taking two steps, Theogrim stopped. At the feeling of a tickling finger pulling at the hem of his clothes from behind.
“…Thank you.”
Whispering hesitantly, yet with an undeniable warmth, Arzeletta murmured. The fingertips of the maid who tugged at his clothes weighed heavily like a counterweight, holding back Theogrim’s steps.
