Please Don’t Die, My Lady

Chapter 22

From my earliest memory, my life was already stained with blood.

While girls my age were learning etiquette or tea ceremonies, I was in my father’s workshop studying more effective methods of torture.

My first kill was when I was six years old.

A boy a couple of years older than me.

I twisted three of his fingers, and he foamed at the mouth before collapsing dead.

What a fragile little thing, I thought, but my father kindly explained the concept of death by shock.

Anyway, since he was the first person whose life I took, I remember his face vividly.

The first time always leaves a deep impression.

Of course, it’s not only the first time that I remember.

I recall the second and third too.

Oh, the fourth one lingers faintly in my memory as well.

After that, I’ve forgotten them all, but I’d ask not to be blamed.

Back then, I was less skilled and killed more people than I do now.

Practically every day, using various methods.

When they came at me in numbers, I didn’t have the luxury to focus on each one individually.

Watching me stain my hands with blood day after day, my father worried that I might develop some kind of trauma.

After all, this would become my livelihood, and it would be troublesome if I grew bad memories from a young age.

At the time, I did cry and suffer sleepless nights.

Thankfully—or perhaps not—I no longer feel anything now.

Maybe I deceived others so thoroughly that I fooled myself, or maybe my emotions simply crumbled and dulled over time.

It doesn’t matter either way.

What’s important is that I’ve grown accustomed to it.

My attitude toward life followed a similar pattern.

Though my life was anything but ordinary, I never resented anyone or anything, even as I endured everything alone.

After all, I am a noble.

One of the blue-blooded rulers who stand atop the empire’s pyramid, with millions of commoners underfoot.

Even if we descend from lowly slaves, we are nobles because we fulfill the duties given to us.

Our privileges are a reward for offering our talents to His Majesty the Emperor.

Complaining is for those who’ve never even been granted an opportunity.

Whenever I experimented on commoners brought in as test subjects, those thoughts only grew stronger.

I’m truly fortunate, I’d think.

***

When I turned ten, I visited the Adelian Duchy with my father for the first time.

I knew our family served the Adelians, but that day was my first time seeing them in person.

As one of the “Four Great Houses,” their grandeur and majesty made it impossible to look away.

It felt surreal that our family was part of a faction led by such an extraordinary house.

To me, the Warton family honestly didn’t seem noble at all.

That must’ve been why I was so tense.

As a child, I feared that a mistake of mine might earn the disfavor of someone so esteemed.

Naive, childish thoughts.

As if anyone would take notice of the second daughter of a house like Warton.

But tension wasn’t the only thing I felt.

The strongest emotion, I think, was inferiority.

The princess’ birthday banquet we attended was a massive gathering of nobles.

I didn’t want to be the subject of ridicule for not even knowing proper etiquette.

But objectively, I knew I was lacking compared to girls my age.

So, as I resolved to focus and not embarrass myself, a thought crossed my mind.

The princess was said to be my age.

If I could befriend her, it might give me an advantage over others as we grew older.

I’ll cling to her, no matter what it takes, and forge a connection.

With this determination, I decided to make this effort for my family’s future.

And then, when I first met Remia Adelian—

“Hello…”

“…Beautiful.”

“…Huh?”

She was stunning.

I couldn’t think of anything else.

Eyes as clear as jade, a perfectly sculpted nose, lips soft and red as pomegranates.

Hair so fine it seemed it might dissolve at a touch, and a face carved to perfection.

Her shy demeanor, her tiny hands fidgeting nervously…

Even at her young age, her figure showed promise. Her pale skin tinged faintly with pink…

Could someone so lovely truly exist?

I couldn’t look away. She was too beautiful.

The silence stretched on until the Duke himself grew curious. But I remained entranced, staring blankly at the princess’ face.

Honestly, at that moment—

“…Ah, I misspoke.

I’m Ariana Warton, Princess!”

“Oh… okay…”

“I am part of the Warton family, who serve you loyally.

Whatever you need, please just say the word!”

“Ah…? Oh… uh…”

—I fell for her.

At first sight.

It wasn’t a feeling of affection.

I may have been young, but with my knowledge of torture and anatomy, I understood what it was.

What I wanted to share with her was physical love.

To kiss her, touch her, and engage in sexual intimacy—it was the feeling of desire.

Not that I was some lust-driven child.

It was simply that this was the only form of love I knew.

Having been trained extensively in torture, I had no education on how to function as a normal human.

I wish my first love had been purer, but it was doomed from the start.

Regardless, I felt my heart race with this new emotion.

And then, it sank just as quickly.

Not because my feelings for the princess faded, but because I realized it was a love that could never be fulfilled.

There were too many obstacles: our difference in status, among other things.

…Even putting that aside, loving another woman?

That was strange.

I’d never liked a man before, but I assumed that was just because I was young. I never imagined I might be a homosexual.

It was shocking and a bit disheartening.

A lifetime of unrequited love seemed so bleak.

I wished I could be normal.

I wanted to love like everyone else.

I even tried to deceive my feelings, just as I’d deceived others with my masks.

But it was impossible.

No matter how hard I suppressed it, seeing the princess’ face reignited the flames.

As puberty set in and my encounters with the princess became more frequent, I realized this couldn’t go on.

Now, it wasn’t just her appearance—it was everything about Remia herself that I adored.

The more I learned about her, the deeper my feelings grew.

I couldn’t contain them.

I worried that one day, I might act impulsively and ruin not just myself, but my entire family.

It wasn’t a joke—every time I met her, it felt like my brain was breaking.

When I caught myself debating whether to just go for it and take her, I knew I was in real trouble.

In the end, I gave up on suppressing my emotions and decided to redirect them.

I would become her devoted follower.

If I couldn’t stand by her as a lover, I’d at least become someone she could rely on, serving her faithfully for life.

It was an extension of the mask I’d painstakingly crafted over the years.

Emotions are fluid, after all, and even a slight redirection can change their entire nature.

“Ariana.”

“Yes, Princess?”

“Will you hold my hand?”

“…I think it’s time I refrain from such actions.”

“Really?”

“…Is that okay?”

“Hm? Of course.”

But truthfully—

I didn’t want to be apart from you for even a moment.

Seeing you accept things so easily, I clutched my chest in secret.

I couldn’t help it.

I harbored feelings for you, and without doing something—anything—I couldn’t control myself.

Just the fact that I could stay by your side had to be enough for me.

Even when you slowly opened your heart to Hans Decardi,

I always watched from a step behind, and that alone was satisfying.

No, to be honest,

when I realized the feelings you held for Decardi, it hurt.

It hurt enough that I spent a long time crying under the covers, worrying my family, locking myself in my room without saying a word, until it took me three days to finally pull myself together enough to pretend I was okay in front of others.

…Looking back, it must’ve hurt a lot.

I didn’t even have any hope to begin with, yet I acted like I’d been rejected outright. What a ridiculous display.

Still, for me, it was as inevitable as a natural disaster.

You asked me what those feelings you had for Decardi were.

That was when I learned how vile it feels to give love advice to the person you’re secretly in love with.

It had been nearly five years since I last struggled this hard to maintain my composure, even with the mask I had painstakingly crafted to perfection, one that no longer cracked or fell apart.

And that wasn’t the end of it.

From that moment on, every single consultation about Decardi was mine to handle.

I can’t count how many times I thought about giving up—on being your follower, on everything.

When you, without hesitation or thought, climbed into the same bed as me, unguarded because we were the same gender, I even wondered if you were deliberately trying to tempt me.

But still, I endured.

I never once let it show, and in the end, you never found out.

…Can you understand even a fraction of how hard it was for me?

So,

since you hurt me so deeply,

the least you could’ve done was be with Decardi, raise beautiful children, and live a peaceful life together.

For someone filthy like me, just seeing you happy would’ve been enough.

I wished for someone as pure as you to at least find happiness.