RAMHM Chapter 5

A Mad Woman and a Weeping Beautiful Man

The cemetery—packed full with silent chaos. The name I'd longed to hear directed at this body throughout the entire funeral came from the mouth of a man I'd never seen before in my life. I stared, body gone rigid, at the man who'd turned his head toward me. His face—wet, twisted with something pitiful, utterly ruined. Sunken eye sockets. Within them, intensely red irises catching the gaslight and moonlight, gleaming strangely.

My heart—thump—seemed to drop, and goosebumps prickled across my skin in a cold rush. It wasn't simply because of those unfamiliar red eyes. The man's contorted face—howling low like a wild animal robbed of prey, like a beast whose cub had been stolen—threw me into confusion.

The one whose face should crumble completely from weeping like that wasn't this stranger I'd never met. It should have been Novian. The person who should be calling my name right now wasn't this unfamiliar man. It should have been my husband. The person I needed to encounter right now was also—

I need to meet Novian first.

I didn't even properly know who this body belonged to—I couldn't meet someone else who recognized my face first. It was something like animal instinct.

"Adrienne...!"

The man—frozen as if turned to ice—jerked to his feet. Simultaneously, those broad shoulders swayed heavily. Seeing him in slightly better light, he looked like someone who'd sustained a major injury. The front of his uniform jacket, dense with medals, was stained a reddish hue with blood. The man pressed one large hand against the wound, staggering. I forced my stiffened body to move—as if this were my last chance—spun around and ran. Whether fortunate or unfortunate, Bliea's newly acquired body was so healthy I could run without difficulty.

"Adrienne, Adrienne...!"

A piteous voice—one that could only come from someone who knew me—stabbed straight into the back of my skull. I ran desperately, like a madwoman.

After that, I couldn't remember how I'd escaped that place. Whether the voice calling me belonged to that red-eyed man or the cemetery keeper who'd been standing at the entrance. Clutching my wildly pounding heart, gasping, I climbed into the Count's carriage waiting for me at the roadside. Ignoring the flustered coachman's shout, I pounded frantically on the wall. The hesitant coachman called out "Hiyah!" and immediately set the carriage in motion.

Outside the rapidly moving carriage window, dusky lanterns whooshed past in quick succession. As the lights piercing the darkness continued and my ragged breathing settled—

"Huh?"

I checked my feet, which felt strangely empty. The white silk stockings, torn in places, were a mess of dirt and grass, two toes poking out. And the black shoes I'd worn to match the outfit had all come off.

"Ha..."

I curled my body forward, elbows resting on my knees, and buried my head in my still-trembling hands. I remembered nearly falling while running, barely managing to keep my balance and continue. Back then, the heel of my shoe had gotten slightly caught in a small mud pile.

The eyes of the man I'd met in front of the tombstone had been half-mad. Like someone slightly unhinged. That's why I'd fled so desperately. Those red eyes flashing beneath the moonlight had been exactly like that. Even while stanching blood, even while staggering as if about to collapse any moment—he'd tried to come to me. Brushing the rough little pebbles from my dirt-covered feet, I exhaled deeply.

"Who... who even are you..."

I tried to piece together the situation I'd been too frantic to properly process while running. Simultaneously clutching my head as it began to throb suddenly, I struggled to recall the man's face in greater detail.

Who was that man? I'd only attended parties twice after my debutante ball. The man who'd appeared in that empty cemetery—he'd blazed like the sun rising on a winter night, and though only for an instant, he was a stunningly beautiful man, dazzlingly enough to open one's eyes. Yet despite his remarkable beauty—the kind impossible not to remember—I couldn't recall who he was at all.

Even after arriving, I sat in the carriage in a daze for quite some time before finally gathering my wits and entering the Count's estate.

"Madam! You've returned?"

"Madam, your feet...!"

Perhaps worried that I'd gone out without a single attendant, Marge and Yona quickly attached themselves to me. I removed my hat and collapsed onto the drawing room sofa as if crumbling. Body and mind both exhausted, confused. One after another, situations too overwhelming to handle in a single day continued, until I felt my head might burst. My death. This newly acquired body. People calling me my husband's mistress. My funeral. And there—a man I didn't know, sobbing.

Yona, accepting the somber black hat used only at funerals, busily massaged my legs and carefully peeled off the torn stockings, washing my feet. The water brought in for washing hands instantly became a foot bath. The warm water stung the moment it touched—I must have gotten cuts. Marge, seeming to intuit something had happened from my condition, paced frantically in front of me.

"Did—did you meet His Grace the Grand Duke, madam?"

Ah. Yes, Novian. Hearing his name snapped me alert, the thing I'd forgotten while fleeing suddenly remembered. Because of that beautiful man who'd appeared like a wild beast, I hadn't waited for Novian until the end. Realizing this, an inexplicable anxiety swept over me. That stranger's ruined face, which had filled my head the entire journey here, was erased in an instant.

What... what do I do now.

Only then did I try to recall Novian's face at the funeral. Even in the last moment I'd seen him, he'd endured the first day of mourning quietly, not granting me a single glance.

"Madam?"

"......"

I nodded quietly without much answer. I had seen Novian, after all. Marge, examining my face properly again, saw my face with dried tears and stopped her restless movements, briefly losing words.

"And the Grand Duchess's body?"

"...Yeah."

I answered barely, my voice completely choked. I saw it. Saw it clearly. Saw myself—more beautifully arranged than during those days confined to bed as an invalid at the Grand Ducal estate. Saw the reality that even a body to return to no longer existed. Novian would have to display my corpse like an owner showing prized antiques whenever important guests arrived, receiving mourners. It was absurd. During the past two years of married life, Novian—worked like a dog by the Imperial family—had found it so difficult to stay in the capital more than two days. Now he had no choice but to remain in this capital for a hundred days. Only after my death. That too was a duty of royalty.

"...I thought you'd faint from joy, so why are you crying?"

I must have been weeping continuously. Marge spoke gruffly while handing me a handkerchief. I buried my face in that handkerchief and quietly swallowed my sobs on the sofa.

You are young.

Novian's voice—always embracing and comforting me—whirred and circled through my head. Yes, I was still young and ignorant, delighted beyond measure just this morning by the healthy body suddenly granted me. Unable to contain myself. It was the body I'd wished for my entire life.

And I was so ashamed of that now. I'd gained a healthy body. But hadn't I lost everything in exchange? My husband was no longer the beautiful Novian, and my name was no longer Adrienne Trovika or Adrienne Pirreta.

How wonderful it would have been if this situation were a fairy tale or novel. Then I wouldn't be something like the Countess Acacia. Novian would have recognized—the moment our eyes met—like destiny—that Adrienne dwelled within this body. Then I would have run to Novian, kissing him, rejoicing that I'd finally cast off my diseased body and been reborn into a new one. Screaming happily that the Lord had finally granted my wish.

But I clearly remembered the gazes of several noble ladies and young ladies paying their respects at the funeral—their eyes targeting Novian. They all looked healthy and beautiful. This wasn't a scene from a fairy tale. This was my reality. If my soul had actually departed this world—well, I might have watched that scene from heaven and smiled wistfully, saying, 'Be happy even without me, Noah.' But seeing it before my eyes—my stomach turned inside out.

Ah. How absurd.

Despite my burning emotions, helpless laughter kept bursting out together with tears. I was dead—even inhabiting another person's body. Yet what made me sadder was just... that. Marge, watching me continue sobbing with my face buried in the handkerchief, fidgeted restlessly before finally sighing deeply and sent Yona out to bring tea good for calming nerves.

It's the first time I've seen Noah cry.

Having never once witnessed his weak side, it had been an enormous shock to me. I wanted to hit my head hard for doubting him even for that brief moment.

How can I be such a fool.

The person in the most pain was Novian—writhing in the loss of me, receiving mourners with my corpse at his side. The shallow suspicion toward Novian—who'd sent someone to invite a vassal's wife to the funeral—was erased without a trace. An expression that couldn't emerge without love. I'd seen it clearly with my own two eyes.

"Madam! Madam!!"

And the reason my grief-stricken emotions reversed in an instant was because of a single mysterious card.

"Madam, this was at the front of the house!"

Yes. Because of the handwriting on that single card Yona brought back with her in a rush while preparing chamomile tea. The handwriting of whoever was calling for B—clearly Bliea's initial—asking her to keep a promise... was unmistakably identical to my husband Novian's.