Chapter 44 -

Pamilla was dead. But that no longer mattered to me.

After all, I had effectively been handed a death sentence by her as well.

There was no way back to my original world—Pamilla herself had said so.

It felt as if everything I had done until now had been invalidated: persuading Amon to join forces, interrogating suspects, intervening in the arson case, and clashing with the Elder Council.

I had lost my purpose. The one goal I clung to amid the chaos—to return to my original world and reclaim my body—was now gone.

It was as if the faint light which barely illuminated my darkened path had been extinguished. As though the world was shouting at me, Give up. There’s nothing you can do.

As soon as I returned from the Duke’s estate, I locked myself in my room. I bolted the door and spoke to no one. I ignored Amon’s questions about what had happened and dismissed Marvin’s urging to eat.

And so, I slept.

Whenever I woke, I wished to find myself back in my original world, but it never happened. My thoughts tormented me.

How had Pamilla’s voice echoed in my mind?

She was the protagonist of this novel. So why did she sound as if she were the author narrating descriptive passages in my head? And why did she deny responsibility for bringing me to this place?

Pamilla had said that “she” wouldn’t want her saying such things to me. Did that mean someone else had brought me here?

If so, why had the voice belonged to Pamilla and not “her”? Why had Pamilla spoken those words to me despite knowing “she” wouldn’t approve?

Especially the final words she’d said.

Unlike the previous narrations that echoed in my head like excerpts, these words were spoken in an ordinary tone:

[Because it had to be you.]

What did that mean?

Questions piled upon questions, none of which I could answer.

I lay on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Earlier, I’d been so frustrated I wanted to scream, but now even that seemed too much effort. I didn’t want to do anything. I was utterly drained.

“Haah...”

With a sigh, I twisted my body to the side and felt something dig into my back. Reaching under me, I pulled out a small piece of paper.

It was a postcard—the one Amon had shown me, depicting a log cabin in a desert region.

'So that’s where it was...'

I must have tucked it into my pocket without realizing it during my hurried trip to the Duke’s estate upon receiving Pamilla’s letter.

'What good is this now, anyway?'

The postcard crumpled in my grip. The urge to tear it to shreds flared up, but I took a deep breath. Venting my frustration on it wouldn’t change anything.

As I smoothed the crumpled postcard, it occurred to me that I had never looked at its back.

'Not that it matters anymore...'

Even as I thought that, I flipped it over. The back was mostly blank, save for a short phrase and a stamped emblem in the lower-right corner. Likely the name and symbol of the desert region.

'Fedel?'

The name felt oddly familiar, though I couldn’t possibly know any place names in this world.

Had it appeared in the original story? Or perhaps in one of the books I’d read in the library?

I pondered briefly before letting out a hollow laugh. What was the point of racking my brain over something so futile?

“I’m sorry. But you can’t go back.”

I had already been sentenced to death. Struggling against it wouldn’t change a thing.

I irritably tossed the postcard onto the nightstand, but it fluttered to the floor instead. I didn’t have the energy to pick it up.

'...Should I just die?'

A heavy weight pressed against my calf. I was still wearing the dagger I usually set aside upon entering my room.

'If I can’t go back anyway, maybe I should just...'

The thought of plunging the blade into myself flashed vividly through my mind. My body tensed with fear, then quickly slackened.

Even dying felt too tiresome. Even death seemed too much of an effort. I was exhausted. I wanted to sink into nothingness.

So I stopped thinking.

A bright, cheerful laugh rang out. A child was running through a field of blooming flowers, dressed in a white dress that suited the scenery perfectly.

“Mommy!”

The girl called out, waving her hands. In the distance, a man and woman came into faint view—her parents.

“Daddy!”

They waved back at her. Though the distance blurred their faces, they were surely smiling warmly.

Receiving their reply, the girl grinned with satisfaction and resumed running across the field. Closing her eyes as if to feel the wind, she spread her arms wide.

Eventually, she plopped down near a patch of white wildflowers. Her small hands dug into the soil, plucking flowers to craft a garland. She planned to make two identical ones, one for each of her parents.

Her smile grew as she imagined their praise.

Time passed. The peaceful sunlight began to fade, and soon, darkness fell. It was only when she was finishing the second garland that the girl looked up.

“Huh?”

She stood abruptly, her once-pristine white dress now smeared with dirt.

“...Mommy?”

She scanned her surroundings but saw nothing.

“...Daddy?”

The garland in her hand slipped to the ground.

“Where did you go? Where are you?”

Her small legs began running through the field. But no matter how far she ran, no one appeared. Her feet crushed the flowers beneath her, leaving a trail of destruction.

“Mommy, Daddy!”

As the flowers withered underfoot, the girl grew. The vibrant field transformed into a barren desert, and the child became an adult.

The sunlight, once warm, now seared her skin. A fierce sandstorm whipped around her, blinding her eyes. Yet she kept running.

“Mommy, Daddy!”

Her parched throat ached with thirst. The soles of her feet, battered by scorching sand, had long since worn raw. Each cry for her parents filled her mouth with coarse, gritty sand.

“Where did you go? Where are you?”

Her feeble voice echoed across the desolation. Unable to go further, she collapsed where she stood.

Night fell once more, and an icy chill gnawed at her skin.

“Mommy, Daddy...”

Her frail fists clenched, but the sand slipped through her fingers. There were no flowers to pick, no garlands to weave, no praise to return to. The child had grown up, but she was still utterly alone.

The tattered dress clinging to her body, now darkened with age, was the only evidence of the time that had passed.

I awoke with a start.

My mouth was dry, as though I had truly wandered through a sandstorm.

Sitting up in bed, I wiped my face with my hands. They were wet. Sweat? No—tears.

“What...?”

No matter how much I wiped, the tears wouldn’t stop. A deep, aching sorrow filled my chest.

“That dream just now...”

Since coming to this world, I had never dreamt of anything other than killing Russell. And now, a dream about a girl I didn’t know?

Everything in that dream was unfamiliar to me, yet somehow felt achingly familiar: the white dress, the blooming flowers, the hazy silhouettes.

My gaze drifted to the postcard on the floor. The barren desert, Fedel.

“Ah...”

A soft gasp escaped my lips as realization dawned. I now understood why the name had felt familiar. The place in my dream—it was Fedel.

I had memories of that place. Memories of traveling there long ago with my parents.

No, these weren’t my memories—they were Julia’s.

The garlands, the field, the desert... even the yearning and affection I had felt. They all belonged to Julia.

To vividly recall a childhood that wasn’t even mentioned in the original story... my mind swirled with confusion.

“Just who... am I?”

My body trembled uncontrollably. Wrapping my arms around myself, I shivered as chills ran down my spine.

“Who am I?”

I couldn’t even remember my original name.

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