Pain... cold, hot—these two feelings were intense, like a needle pricking all her insides. She thought she would finally gain peace after death, but even the afterlife was unbearable for her. Many memories and scenes, which seemed to be from different lives, were attaching themselves to her, and she seemed to have lived all of them. There were so many emotions in each memory—some with intense pain and sadness, some the opposite, and others a mixture—that she felt like she was dying each time. Was this going to be her final peace, eternal death instead of rest? In one of those haunting memories, she glimpsed a past life where she had been trapped in a dark, dank cell, forlorn and forsaken, a victim of betrayal by the one she had loved most. The anguish from that betrayal clung to her, resonating through the cycles of her existence, amplifying her current torment.
Issol suddenly jerked awake, her eyes hazy as if her soul was missing. The intense feelings of pain and memories attacked her again as she convulsed seriously. Those feelings seemed to have been deeply ingrained in her bone marrow, becoming a lifelong nightmare.
Issol lay soulless for a while after the convulsion subsided. Her gaze unfocused as she relived each memory flashing in her mind like a black-and-white picture.
She never would have thought that she had lived so many lives if she had not relived them in this passing moment. Even then, little of those memories held lasting happiness.
Most of them ended the same way.
With Cold. Hunger. Fear. Loneliness.
Different faces, different worlds, yet the feeling never truly changed. She was always the one left behind. The one forgotten. The one whose existence seemed to matter only until it became inconvenient.
Issol blinked slowly.
Her chest rose and fell unevenly, each breath shallow, as though her body itself was unsure whether it should continue. The pain still lingered, but it no longer screamed. It settled quietly, sinking into her bones, becoming something she could no longer separate from herself.
She felt tired.
Not the kind of exhaustion that sleep could mend, but the kind that came from living too many endings without rest in between.
Her fingers twitched weakly against the cold bedding. The sensation grounded her, pulling her back into the present. This body was small. Fragile. Still alive.
So she had not been granted rest.
A faint bitterness surfaced in her chest, but even that emotion felt distant, muted by everything she had already endured. If this were another life, then it was simply another beginning that would eventually lead to an end.
Issol stared at the ceiling, her eyes dull and unfocused.
If happiness existed, it was fleeting.
And if suffering followed her no matter where she went, then perhaps this was not punishment.
Perhaps this was simply what she was meant to endure.
Her thoughts were disrupted by the feeling of a strange warmth flowing through her body.
It was faint at first, almost unnoticeable, but it spread slowly, seeping into her limbs and settling deep within her chest. Even in the cold, even with the chill clinging to her skin, Issol felt… comfortable. More comfortable than she had ever felt in this body.
She lay there, marvelling quietly at the unfamiliar sensation, wondering if this, too, would disappear like everything else.
Then she heard a gasp.
Issol turned her head weakly and met a pair of wide eyes staring back at her with great shock. Fuer sat frozenly beside the bed, one hand covering her mouth, disbelief written plainly across her red face.
Only then did Issol realize she had forgotten the maid was still there. Everything she had experienced moments ago had pushed the rest of the world far away.
She opened her mouth to call out to her.
But only a hoarse breath escaped.
Fuer noticed immediately.
"Miss—"
Before Issol could say anything else, the maid had already rushed out of the room.
Issol sighed softly, unsure whether she had frightened her. She tried to sit up, breathing slowly as she raised her hands in front of her face. But her vision remained hazy, unfocused, so she shifted toward the one place where the moonlight touched the room. Where Fuer had been sitting.
The pale light fell over her fingers.
They were thin. Bony. Almost fragile.
Issol stared at them for a long moment before attempting to stretch them. To her surprise, they moved easily, each joint responding without pain. Curious, she tried again, bending and straightening them slowly.
Nothing hurt.
She tested further, shifting her arms, her shoulders, then her waist. Just as she leaned forward to examine herself more closely, a sharp voice cut through the quiet.
"Miss, why are you moving from the bed?"
Issol looked up to see Fuer standing there again, her brows drawn tight with worry.
"It's cold, and you're still too weak," she scolded gently as she hurried forward.
Before Issol could protest, she felt herself lifted from the ground.
Warmth surrounded her instantly.
Her body stiffened in shock at first. The heat was overwhelming, comforting in a way she was not used to. For a brief moment, she wanted to lean into it, to cling to it and never let go. But she held herself still, unsure.
Fuer lay her back onto the bed and wrapped a fresh shawl around her, tucking it carefully around her shoulders.
Issol opened her mouth to say something, but the words refused to come. She didn't know what she wanted to say. So she closed it again.
"Here."
Fuer's voice pulled her attention back.
Issol looked up and saw the maid smiling softly at her before something warm was pressed into her hands. She looked down to see a cup cradled between her fingers.
"I added honey," Fuer said, her tone carrying a quiet pride. "It should help your throat. Drink slowly."
Issol stared at the cup, then at Fuer's smiling face. After a moment, she lifted it to her lips and drank, finishing it without a word.
Fuer watched her closely and let out a soft sigh, her heart aching at the sight. She patted Issol's back gently as she drank, thinking only of how pitiful her little miss looked.
And how fragile she still was.