Irene Decided to Die - Chapter 7
Burt was no different. While he had not directly tormented her, he had always been a bystander.
No sweet words he now spoke could sway her.
Irene covered her ears. She didn’t want to hear it. To her, bystanders were no different from aggressors.
“Please.”
Tears welling in her eyes, she looked at Burt and pleaded once more.
“I cannot do that.”
The world needed Irene, the saint, to continue. She had to be alive for that purpose.
At his words, Irene trembled and swung her hand in a fit. Her hand struck Burt, but he didn’t care.
“What right do you have! Why can’t I do as I please?”
“Lord Burt, are you alright?”
Voices from outside indicated the commotion had attracted attention.
“Don’t come in!”
Burt stopped those trying to enter.
A feeble hand flew at Burt again. He silently took it all.
Such attempts couldn’t hurt him; he was well-trained. Besides, the opponent was a severely injured patient who couldn’t properly strike.
“Stop it.”
“Shut up!”
“I am fine, but I’m worried you might get hurt.”
Such righteous words. Irene bit into her bandages with her mouth.
“Irene!”
“Don’t say my name!”
The taste of bitter blood touched her lips. Along with pain, a sense of liberation was felt.
It seemed like she might achieve what she wanted as she frantically bit down, but then Burt firmly embraced her body.
“Let me go!”
She screamed as if in a fit, but Burt didn’t budge.
“I cannot do that.”
Irene clenched her teeth at the repeated phrase. It felt like she could die if she just did a bit more.
Her fingertips scraped across Burt’s cheek. However, only red lines drawn in blood remained. He was unharmed.
“I will decide my life and my death.”
Irene sobbed and reached out for a shard of the broken vase. But what she wanted didn’t reach her hand.
“Do you think this will stop me from dying?”
A bitter voice escaped her. If self-harm didn’t work, she thought of refusing food and drink to death.
However, a firm voice reached Irene.
“You will not die. I will make sure of it. Do you think I can’t? A king who governs this world? Think more logically, saint. I will grant any request except for your death.”
“Anything?”
The thought of choosing a lesser option when her most desired one had been taken away was contemptible to her.
Yet, he wasn’t really looking at her. All he saw was a saint that needed saving.
“Anything.”
“Then kneel.”
Irene whispered eerily, her voice as fleeting as the wind brushing through dry branches.
“Kneel down and prostrate yourself on the ground, like your inferiors.”
It was a deeply humiliating request. For someone who had been born into royalty and ascended to kingship smoothly, such words were likely unheard before.
“Is that all you want?”
“No? Crawl here and kiss my feet. Humbly.”
Even as she spoke, Irene thought he wouldn’t comply. She knew the stature of a king, one of only four in the world, was no ordinary position.
Surely, he would say, “I cannot do that. Suggest something else.”
But her prediction was wrong. Burt slowly released Irene from his embrace and with cool hands, wiped the tears obstructing her vision.
“Perhaps this will help you see better?”
Then, he stepped back a few paces.
In front of Irene, seated against the bed, he knelt down. Slowly, he prostrated himself, palms touching the ground and head bowed down.
“Ha!”
Irene’s lips twisted into a sardonic smile.
Surely, it should have been the most humiliating position, yet it did not appear so. Instead, he seemed almost holy, as if offering a prayer to a deity.
This displeased her.
“Now crawl.”
At her command, Burt began to move. He navigated over the scattered shards of the vase, undeterred, his hands pressing into them. Thin red trails marked his path, yet no sound of discomfort escaped him.
This ignited Irene’s wrath.
‘Show shame! Suffer! Say you can’t do it!’
Gritting her teeth, she staggered to her feet. Her body felt like it was tearing apart with pain, but she managed to stand, lifting her foot. She then placed her foot on Burt’s shoulder, leaning her weight into it.
‘Now, what will you do?’
Her eyes narrowed into crescent moons. However, Burt’s subsequent action left Irene frozen.
He gently wrapped his hands around the foot resting on his shoulder and kissed it.
“Shall I do it again?”
He asked, calmly smiling afterward.
Irene clenched her teeth harder.
Even in performing what was supposed to be the most degrading act, he still exuded nobility. Nothing could tarnish his inherent dignity.
Burt spoke in a soft voice,
“If you wish, I’m willing to do even more than this.”
Did he want to protect his world and country to such lengths?
Irene, who found nothing precious in herself, thought him foolish.
“Even more?”
