Salvation of the Fallen - Chapter 12
Until now, Morpheus had been the perfect nobleman. Noble blood. A flawless aristocrat befitting the destiny set by God. To Morpheus, Arsena’s existence was merely a flaw that suddenly appeared in his life, one he wanted to tear out immediately.
Her mere existence was unpleasant, and now she was trembling alone. Like trash. It was behavior unbecoming of one bearing the Katarini name. Morpheus’s brow furrowed deeply.
“Follow me.”
As he jerked his head with a voice dripping with undisguisable irritation, Arsena hesitated, constantly looking back. She was like a frightened animal, not knowing what to do and hesitating.
“Haa…”
A deep sigh escaped, born of uncontrollable frustration. No matter how much they had taught her over the past year and dressed her in noble clothes, inside she was still a commoner. One who couldn’t make a single decision on her own.
He had no intention of treating such a person with courtesy. Morpheus strode over and roughly grabbed Arsena’s exposed wrist, pulling her along.
Her body, so small it was hard to believe she was born in the same year as him, followed without resistance. The wrist he held was even thinner than that of the much younger Rosalyn. The sensation against his hand was unpleasant. The faint pulse beneath the delicate, thin skin that seemed it might tear at any moment.
As he shook off Arsena’s skin that clung stickily to his palm, Arsena, who had been moving her feet as if being dragged, collapsed right there. Morpheus looked down at Arsena, who had slumped to the floor. It was a gaze befitting their innate positions as determined by God.
Her skirt was disheveled unattractively. The wrist he had just been holding was flushed red. The mark he had left was vivid, like blood spilled on untrodden snow. Her blue eyes, raised pitifully, were brimming with moisture. Tears she couldn’t shed, biting her small, delicate lips tightly.
“Get up.”
At Morpheus’s arrogant command, Arsena obediently raised her body. Her fragile frame seemed to struggle even with the weight of her clothes; the sight of her rising was pitiful.
Morpheus found himself staring at her for a long time, looking like a broken twig crackling. For some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off that unsightly scene. As Arsena, who had been painfully raising herself by pressing her hands on the cold floor and setting her knees, lost her balance and staggered.
His hand shot out instinctively, catching Arsena by the waist. It’s just an ingrained reflex, Morpheus thought as he hastily withdrew his hand.
“I’m sorry. I think I’ve twisted my ankle. Please go ahead, I’ll follow.”
That stupid thing. He wanted to throw her away right then, but regardless, she bore the Katarini name. He couldn’t let others see her in such a state.
“Lift it.”
“What?!”
Her startled face made him feel like a thug. Suppressing his unpleasant emotions, a deep sigh escaped.
“I said lift your dress. You said you twisted it.”
“Ah…”
Arsena lifted her skirt with a dumb expression. She should have just lifted it slightly to show her ankle, but that lowborn girl, without any sense of shame, was exposed up to her knee. His brow furrowed at the pathetic sight.
It wasn’t even worth explaining. Morpheus simply bent down to do what he needed to do.
For someone training as a knight, a twisted ankle was not a difficult problem. Morpheus reached out without hesitation.
However, the exposed ankle was much thinner than his own. As if it might break if touched wrongly. Would it break? Morpheus unconsciously gripped Arsena’s ankle tightly. The urge to break it right then and there surged within him.
“…Ah.”
A faint moan escaped from between Arsena’s parted lips. Arsena’s face was flushed red. Not only that but her exposed white legs were also tinged pink. All the way up to that deep place that shouldn’t be seen. Morpheus gritted his teeth.
“Cover your mouth.”
At Morpheus’s words, Arsena covered her small mouth with both hands without asking why. That too was behavior unbecoming of a noble. Strangely, this time it didn’t feel unpleasant.
Morpheus gripped the thin ankle as if to crush it, twisting it to set the bone back in place in one go. It must have been excruciatingly painful, but he didn’t care.
“Hnngh.”
That delicate hand. The muffled moan that escaped between those insignificant, weak joints made Morpheus raise his gaze. Arsena, sitting on the floor with her white legs exposed defenselessly, was still whimpering with her mouth covered.
That fragile, flower-petal-like weak appearance sent a thrilling shiver through him. Startled as if he had tasted a forbidden fruit he shouldn’t have known, Morpheus wiped his dry hands with a handkerchief. He wanted to shake off the sensation that had wrapped around his hand.
“Get up. It’s time for the service to start.”
With that, he turned sharply and hurried his steps.
“Thank you.”
A barely audible greeting was heard. Why did that faint sound pierce his ears so? Morpheus twisted his parched lips. As he confirmed the quiet footsteps followed him.
***
In the night when everyone was asleep.
Arsena sat curled up on the bed and prayed. It had become a habit since entering the Count’s residence. Arsena disliked the unfamiliar gazes directed at her. Today was no different, having bowed her head dozens, hundreds of times, surrounded by the crowds that flocked to the temple to see the orphan adopted into the Count’s family.
Please. Save me. Please have mercy and remove this hardship.
Even knowing she would receive no answer, Arsena prayed fervently. Every night. And that futile prayer was interrupted by a sudden knock.
“The Madam is looking for you.”
It was the middle of the night. Startled by the news that Viareche was looking for her at an hour when everyone was asleep, Arsena unconsciously glanced outside. As expected, it was a late night with only the sound of wolves howling.
“…What for?”
Instead of answering, the maid stood at the doorway, staring at Arsena endlessly. It meant to hurry and get ready. Arsena hastily moved, still in her nightgown.
Passing through the long corridor flickering with torches, she arrived at a dark room. She had been here before. A room specially made for secret conversations. It was right here where the Count had secretly called Arsena to silence her.
“Come here and sit down.”
What was she going to say? Arsena’s lips trembled slightly. The wavering candlestick faintly illuminated Viareche’s figure seated in the center of the room, but her expression was not visible.
The scent of alcohol produced by Felita filled the room. Unlike the smell that came from her mother whenever the Count sent money, this was deep and heavy.
The night her mother died. It was exactly like that scent. Arsena swallowed the rising nausea and took a seat in front of Viareche.
Viareche’s atmosphere was quite different from during the day. It was chillingly cold, unimaginable from the one who had dragged her through the crowds, fluttering her eyes like an elegant butterfly. As Viareche’s gaze, which usually secretly swept over her, now fixed on her intently, Arsena lowered her head to hide her face. Somehow, it felt like she had to do so.
Viareche remained silent for a while. The suffocating silence was like torture. Or perhaps a cruel punishment. The gaze still fixed on her felt like a whip. Arsena was a sinner.
Perhaps everything had been discovered. Since so many people had seen her today, someone might have tipped them off. That child is the daughter of a prostitute who lives in the shadowy village below the cliff.
No. Someone might have harbored doubts. A commoner with blue eyes exactly like the Count’s.
Would she be thrown out? Of course, they would throw her out. Arsena knew well that no matter how much the woman was called a living saint, her true nature was not so. They might rip out her tongue and cut off her limbs in anger at being deceived. That’s what nobles were like, after all. Arsena’s face turned pale.
“You did well today.”
