Irene Decided to Die - Chapter 6
Irene, who had been laughing madly, suddenly stopped. Then, she raised her hand and began to scratch at her throat.
The tips of her fingers, wrapped in bandages, turned bright red as they drew bloody lines across her neck. But with her blunt fingers, no matter how much she scratched, she couldn’t inflict any real wound.
Realizing this, she tried to get up but collapsed. Her weakened body could hardly stand.
Yet, Irene didn’t give up. If she couldn’t stand, then crawling was enough.
Gritting her teeth, she crawled across the bed until she noticed a vase on the nightstand.
“Stop this.”
Burt stepped in front of Irene and spoke calmly, but she had no intention of listening.
Flailing her arms more violently, she finally knocked the vase to the floor, shattering it. Irene rolled off the bed after it.
“Cough, cough!“
A rough cough burst forth from the sudden shock.
Still, she continued to crawl. She didn’t want to continue this hellish life any longer.
Whatever pain might come after death, it had to be better than this place.
However, Irene couldn’t grasp the shards of the vase as she intended. Burt interfered.
She flailed desperately to break free from him, but in her current state, it was futile. Fear of not being able to die this time as well made her raise her voice unintentionally.
“Get lost!”
Her voice suddenly raised, leading to a bout of uncontrollable coughing, but she didn’t care.
“Cough, get lost! Go away!”
“Saint.”
“Don’t call me that!”
The title of saint felt utterly repulsive.
After all the torment and being driven to death, they changed their attitude as if flipping their hand once she became a saint.
Those who would have wished her dead, treating her like trash to be disposed of, now laid her in the temple and treated her. The contradictory attitude was chillingly detestable.
Prefer to hate and torment me as before! As it has always been from the beginning until now!
“No!”
As she floundered on the floor like an insect, Burt picked her up. His touch was gentle, but knowing it was all pretense made her skin crawl.
“Moving around will only worsen your wounds.”
“Let them worsen.”
No, she wished to just die then and there. Should she bite her tongue?
The moment Irene thought this, Burt’s fingers touched her lips, seemingly to prevent her from biting her tongue if she attempted.
“Get away.”
Irene glared at him with bloodshot eyes and spoke.
“I cannot do that.”
“Because you can’t let me die? Because I’m a saint?”
“You know that much.”
At that, she bit Burt’s fingers as hard as she could. Despite her efforts, he seemed unharmed, as she didn’t have the strength left to bite effectively.
Realizing this, Irene pushed Burt with all her might, breaking free from his grasp. Though it was clear she couldn’t physically overcome him, he willingly stepped back.
“If that makes you feel better, then do as you please.”
“I don’t need your permission!”
Now free, Irene tried once more to bite her tongue, but she was thwarted again.
“Let me go!”
“Do not treat your life so carelessly.”
“My life is mine to decide!”
Irene’s vehement declaration was followed by a cringe from the delayed pain. She had moved too violently with her injured body.
“Ah, ah.”
The pain did not cease, but she welcomed it.
Yes, better to just die like this! She screamed inwardly, embracing the pain.
“Huuh, huuh.”
Burt approached the distressed Irene and gently stroked her back.
Was he always like this? Probably not. It was merely because she was a saint… Had she not been a saint, such treatment would likely have not been afforded to her.
A bitter smile leaked through her lips.
The status she once desperately sought came into her hands only after she had decided to give it up. Now, it was of no use to her.
Then, a heavy voice settled by her ear.
“If you truly wish to die, why not create a reason to live first? For instance, revenge.”
Irene gasped, trying to suppress the tightness in her chest.
“Revenge?”
The notion was ludicrous. In this situation, the ultimate revenge would only be one thing.
For Irene to die. Thus, forcing the world to endure a hundred years without a saint.
“I can guess what you’re thinking. But consider this: if you die now, you won’t know what becomes of those who tormented you.”
“I don’t need to see to know.”
Her voice was weak.
“Wouldn’t it be better, though, to witness their despair with your own eyes?”
Burt whispered with a voice as enticing as a devil tempting a mortal, extending his hand to Irene, who lay collapsed on the floor.
“Now, you have the power to control the highest authority if you so desire. The lives of all are in the palm of your hand.”
“I don’t need that, I don’t need any of that.”
The lives of others held no interest for her. She yearned only for her soul to find peace in death.
So please, just let me die.
Irene swallowed her following words and stared blankly at the floor.
“Aren’t you curious about what the other kings are discussing right now?”
She didn’t need to hear it to know.
They were likely pondering ways to replace the saint or how to survive without one. Or, even more despicably, devising a method to keep her alive in confinement, sparing her life while stripping everything else away.
They wouldn’t leave Irene alone from now on. They might restrict her freedom, trying to keep her alive at all costs, turning her into nothing more than a breathing doll.
So, the chance was now. Only in this moment, alone with Burt, did she have the opportunity to die.
Knowing full well he wouldn’t let her die, she pleaded anyway.
“Please… leave me be.”
Tears welled up again.
She couldn’t bear to continue living like this. She detested the thought of those who hated her changing their attitudes.
