If You Leave Without a Word - Chapter 3
‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.
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Amidst the crowd of countless people, she felt isolated, never truly blending in but always standing alone.
〈What should we do, poor young lady? What should we do, really?〉
Agatha looked around, searching for Charlotte, who had disappeared after muttering these words under her breath, her voice soaked in moisture, as she absentmindedly poked at her teary eyes with the sleeve of her dress.
Behind the four knights carrying a large chest, other knights in white uniforms formed a procession and stepped into the mansion. Their faces appeared emotionless, as if they were devoid of feelings, but strangely, it made them seem even more immersed in sadness.
Of course, Agatha was unaware that the attire they wore was not formal wear but rather mourning clothing. So, she simply gazed dazedly at the end of the procession, where a young noble lady’s vulnerability was on full display.
Then, her gaze settled on the knight standing at the very back. He held a framed portrait of Duke Kristin, Agatha’s father, in his arms. In the painting, the Duke appeared as he always did, strong and affectionate.
“Father…”
The young lady whispered softly. Since no one had explained the situation to her in detail, she didn’t know exactly what was happening, but she had an intuitive sense that something had changed with her father.
The seriousness and the unusual atmosphere were evidence of that. She felt that if she stayed here any longer, something truly frightening might happen. Agatha turned and headed towards the rear of the mansion.
⚜ ⚜ ⚜
Passing through the central garden and veering slightly to the right, there was a small courtyard behind the secluded alley where no one could enter. It had long been used as the Duchess’s secret retreat.
The overgrown grass and untended trees made the place look eerie, as servants were not allowed to enter without permission. In such a place, the young lady revealed herself.
Since a very young age, Agatha had spent time here, following her mother, the Duchess. Amidst the chaos, it was almost natural for her to come here, following her mother’s trail.
No one had told her that the Duchess had passed away, but the young lady instinctively felt that her mother had left her side.
Now just 10 years old, she was far too young to fully comprehend and accept the concept of death. The chubby-cheeked girl with a youthful face pushed through the underbrush with little strength, taking hesitant steps forward. The tall bushes, too high for her small hands to push aside, rustled against her tender skin as she passed through.
Her steps halted in front of a beautifully large tree. A swing, made of thick ropes, gently swayed from one of its branches.
⚜ ⚜ ⚜
Sitting on the swing, she tapped her toes on the dirt floor, making it bounce softly. She gazed at the sand grains that bounced up when her feet hit the ground. After a while, Agatha lifted her head.
〈I’ll be back soon, so wait for just three nights, my dear.〉
Those were the last words her mother, the Duchess, had left before leaving the mansion. Her mother always used a shortened nickname when addressing her daughter, and Agatha loved it when her mother used that endearing term.
The warmth of their customary end-of-conversation kiss seemed to linger on her forehead. She raised her hand and lightly touched her forehead, though it didn’t truly bring back the sensation of her mother’s touch. Agatha kept rubbing her forehead until it turned slightly red.
Then, her attention was suddenly drawn by the sound of footsteps crunching on dry branches.
“Who’s, who there?”
Could it be that her mother had returned?
With hope filling her young heart, she turned her head towards the source of the sound.
“…Mother?”
Drip, drop.
Suddenly, raindrops began to fall. What had started as a few drops quickly intensified into a downpour, and Agatha’s view, as she waited for a response, became blurry.
The silhouette faintly visible beyond her hazy vision, sadly, was not her mother’s. Her mother wasn’t that tall.
In the moment of disappointment, fear soon followed.
If it wasn’t her mother, then who could it be?
No servant would dare enter here without a special order from the Duchess. Agatha gripped the swing ropes with all her might.
Splash…
The sudden downpour showed no sign of stopping. She thought it would rain for a little while and then cease, but it didn’t.
The Young Lady couldn’t easily decide whether to avoid the pouring rain or the approaching stranger. In the midst of her hesitation, the stranger approached her.
“Lady Agatha.”
It was a voice she had heard before. She blinked, letting raindrops hanging on her eyelashes fall. When she looked up, she saw a man with large hands shielding her head, gazing down at her.
He was one of the four knights who had stood at the front of the procession. The brown-haired knight who stood on the right, supporting one side of the chest. Cain.
His expression seemed to ask why she was standing there in the rain. It took Agatha a moment to realize that he had covered her head with his hands to shield her from the rain.
