Please Don’t Die, My Lady

Chapter 6: Fragrance

Was it back in high school? There was a poem our literature teacher emphasized, saying it would be on the exam.

The title… right, Fragrance.

It was a famous poem praised for its poignant depiction of nostalgia and longing for one’s hometown.

I memorized it back then without much thought.

I wasn’t interested in the profound meanings hidden in the poem.

After that, I didn’t look at it even once for a long time.

Yet now, out of the blue, a single line has resurfaced in my mind.

“How could that place ever be forgotten, even in dreams?”

Perhaps because it best captures my current state of mind.

It seems I only came to understand it after truly experiencing the poet’s feelings myself.

Maybe what I feel is even worse.

At least the poet had a way to return.

As for me—

I seem to be stricken with a relentless homesickness.

Though, truthfully, I’m starting to forget.

And yet, I can never entirely let go.

No matter how much time passes, no matter how blurred everything about reality becomes, there’s this one strange sensation that grows sharper and clearer.

And I can’t even definitively say what that one thing is.

I can only guess—maybe this is what they call homesickness.

In the end, homesickness isn’t merely about yearning for a physical hometown.

It’s the deep ache of someone, exhausted by the hardships of living in a foreign land, succumbing to a biased nostalgia for the past—a past when life felt happier and more comfortable, back in the days when they were still at home.

Whether it truly was that way or merely seems so in retrospect doesn’t matter much to someone afflicted with homesickness.

Don’t older folks often say things like, “Those were the good old days”?

If we can define a temporal home in addition to a spatial one, then that, too, is homesickness.

A mental escape to the idealized haven of youth—a refuge from the harshness of the present.

If that’s the case, isn’t it fair to wonder:

Am I really longing for my ordinary past? Was it truly my home?

Or is it merely an illusion created by Remia Adelian to escape reality?

Though the memories are fragmented, parts of them remain vividly clear, enough to offer a hazy answer.

Probably, I think.

But as more time passes, when I truly can’t remember anything, will I still be able to answer?

By then, if I’ve fully immersed myself in this world, even if reality does exist, there might be no reason to favor it over an illusion.

What meaning is there in a refuge from which one cannot escape?

At that point, wouldn’t fleeing into an illusion become the true escape?

The person I used to be would vanish, leaving only a mere stand-in for Remia Adelian.

Or perhaps, by then, we would have fully merged into one.

That might be far better than this current, ambiguous state of separation.

No matter how much I try to improve my situation, the will of the duchess constantly thwarts me, driving me mad.

If we had been one from the beginning, perhaps things would have been slightly better.

At least not like this—

…Ridiculous.

I’m aware of it.

I’m straining to draw a line between myself and the duchess, yet deep down, I know.

I know that I can’t truly distinguish where I end, and the duchess begins.

And yet, I offload even my own faults onto her, disgracefully consoling myself.

Calling her the root of all evil. What sin could such a fragile girl possibly have?

If there’s any fault, it’s merely being born that way.

How pitiful.

How much lower am I willing to sink?

“…Let’s stop this.”

I let out a deep sigh and pulled myself out of the private world of my thoughts.

Dwelling on these ideas over and over is just another form of escapism.

A long, meandering train of thought, utterly unfit for the situation at hand.

Maybe I’m not just homesick—maybe I’m delusional.

Lunchtime is almost over.

Whatever happens, I must leave this place. There’s no way I’m letting anyone see my swollen, tear-stained eyes.

As for afternoon classes… I don’t care.

I’m not in the mood to worry about that right now.

Gripping the desk, I pulled myself upright.

Though some strength had returned, it was just enough to make standing a chore.

The sudden motion made my head spin, dizziness overtaking me.

My body feels heavy.

My head burns—it hurts.

My entire body aches as if it might shatter at any moment.

Without realizing it, a faint groan escaped my lips.

“Haa… ugh…”

I hadn’t noticed before, but my body already felt feverish.

Each breath I took carried heat through me, coming and going with every inhale and exhale.

My throat felt dry, as though I had a cold, and my nose began to tingle faintly.

The sense of upheaval in my stomach and the pounding in my head were beyond words.

I’d had a feeling earlier, but now I was certain—

When I get back, I’m going to be seriously sick.

Not surprising, really. On top of the wounds I sustained yesterday, I endured what felt like torture not once but twice today.

Frankly, I deserve credit for still being conscious.

How admirable.

Praise me.

I’ve worked so hard.

Somebody, please.

Hold me.

Pat my head.

Share some warmth.

Even that would be a comfort.

Stringing meaningless sentences together in my head, I took a step forward.

In the end, the only thing the duchess can do is flee to her room.

Because the people who could have done those things for me disappeared long ago.

When I stepped out of the classroom and into the hallway, I saw students in groups, laughing and chatting after their meals.

As soon as they noticed my unsteady steps, their gazes turned to me, the same as always—harsh and piercing.

Mockery, anger, contempt, indifference, and a faint trace of pity.

Their gazes mixed emotions and thoughts too complex to define with a single word.

It wasn’t the first time, and I realized I’d grown somewhat numb to it.

Or so I thought.

Was I just shoving the discomfort onto the duchess again?

Even as I convinced myself their stares didn’t faze me, my pace quickened.

It seems the duchess finds this unbearable.

I couldn’t even tell if I was moving properly. My mind was hazy, but even in that state, I cared enough about others’ eyes to straighten my steps—a demeanor truly befitting the duchess.

Of course, as always, my body couldn’t keep up with the duchess’s resolute will.

While descending the stairs toward the dormitory, my ankle finally gave out under the strain, and I fell forward.

Or perhaps “collapsed” would be a more accurate term.

In any case, the critical detail was that it happened on the stairs, and I fell almost immediately after stepping onto them.

Instinctively, I grabbed the handrail, but my arms lacked the strength to hold on. I hit my head on the edge of the stairs and tumbled downward.

Thud. Clunk. Thud.

The rhythmic sound of the impacts seemed distant.

I no longer had the energy to scream or even groan.

Something warm and sticky flowed from my forehead, which had struck the edge.

Oddly detached, as if I were observing from a third-person perspective, I lay on the spot where I’d fallen. 

My body trembled uncontrollably, clutching my own shoulders as if unable to bear the pain.

The sensation of detachment between “me” and my body felt strange.

You’re in pain too, aren’t you?

I get it.

I stared at the blurry ceiling for a moment before propping myself up.

The red liquid flowing from my forehead stung as it entered my right eye.

My left eye was already weak, and now the discomfort worsened.

What a sight I must be.

Nothing seems to go right.

Even something as simple as returning to my room is too much for the duchess.

Pathetic. How can a person be this wretched?

Oh, right. I’d decided not to think like this anymore.

Whatever happens, it’s my fault, I told myself.

Still, since the duchess is part of me now, isn’t it okay to blame her for this?

I don’t know.

I’m sorry.

I’ll stop these silly thoughts.

I need to go back.

I stood up.

The pain had started to fade, making it easier to get up compared to before.

However, the numbness creeping in from my extremities didn’t seem like a good sign.

If I delayed, I might collapse entirely.

Dragging my body along, I moved to leave when I heard footsteps coming from the other side of the stairs.

Even though I didn’t want to look, my gaze naturally shifted.

My vision was blurry, but it seemed to be a girl with long black hair and a build similar to mine.

She hesitated for a moment, staring at me in surprise, then approached and spoke.

“Are you… okay?”

Of course not.

How could I possibly be okay in this situation?

The concern in her voice was something I hadn’t imagined anyone would express toward me.

I instinctively tried to respond, but my lips clamped shut.

For the first time since coming to this world, I heard words of genuine concern. They felt hollow.

And they hurt—more than any physical pain.

I could barely endure the pity conveyed through others’ gazes. 

This pity, expressed in words and followed by an offer of help, felt like an assault on my very humanity.

It was as if the words echoed the self-reproach I’d hurled at myself.

Pity can only be shown to someone less fortunate, so from any perspective, the duchess is utterly pitiful.

If I were to accept this goodwill, born of pity, Remia Adelian would be finished.

I’d no longer function as a human being.

As she reached out, intending to help me, I spoke.

My voice, cracked and dry, emerged hoarse.

“I’m fine. Move… aside.”

Then I swatted her hand away.

The girl stared at me in shock, but I walked past her, heading toward the one space in the academy that was mine alone.

The only refuge I had left that wasn’t an illusion.

I walked.

I fell.

I stood up.

I walked again.

I fell.

I tried to stand but fell again.

So I crawled.

Finally, just before losing consciousness, I reached my room.

Leaning my weight against the doorknob, I managed to open the door.

Dizzy.

Out of breath.

I feel like I’m dying.

Using the last bit of my strength, I stumbled a few more steps and collapsed onto the bed.

Only then did I feel a sense of relief.

The contrast with the unease I’d felt outside was so stark that my mind felt blank.

Reality or whatever—it doesn’t matter. From now on, this room is my home.

My homesickness is resolved.

Hooray.

I let go of the last threads of my consciousness.