In her previous life, she had heard that Maletta’s younger sister had starved to death at the Rambouillet Relief Center.
Ariadne was determined to show Maletta: if she did not listen, she would be left here. She would face the exact same fate as her sister.
“I wish to go where the suffering is greatest and the patients are at their worst. Is there anything I can do?”
“Err…… well, there is bathing duty for the patients, but……”
“Then I shall do that.”
* * *
There was a reason the administrator had hesitated. It was called bathing duty, but the reality was harrowing. Inside a long, isolated cloister, patients with no hope of recovery lay upon rotting straw.
The shadow of death hung heavy over their withered, stick-like bodies. There were no facilities, no supplies, and no one to care for them properly.
Even accounting for the fact that the relief center was poorly funded, operating solely on the Queen’s meager budget, it was atrocious—a malicious facade designed to let the poor starve in silence.
‘So this is why the administrator was so reluctant to send me here.’
Unlike Ariadne, who remained in cool contemplation, Maletta’s expression was deathly pale. It had been only two years since Isabella had plucked her from within this very hellhole.
The memories of hunger, the biting cold, and the primal terror of impending death were clawing their way back to the surface.
Maletta frantically scanned the room, searching for the girl with the red hair. What should she do if she found the sister she had abandoned two years ago?
Ariadne was searching for that same girl.
‘Is it that one?’
Maletta gasped as Ariadne began to approach a small, emaciated figure lying among the dying.
“My Lady, wait a moment……!”
Terrified at the prospect of running into her sister, Maletta grabbed Ariadne’s wrist.
Their skin—the wrist exposed by the sleeve and Maletta’s desperate hand—made contact.
– Crackle!
* * *
An intense wave of dizziness washed over her. Amidst a fleeting vision of lightning and murky clouds, a memory ‘appeared’ in Ariadne’s mind, unbidden.
– ‘I can only take one person. Which one of you should I take?’
It was Isabella. She stood outside the Rambouillet Relief Center, where the healthy poor were housed.
Before her stood a younger, dirtier Maletta, and a withered, freckled girl with the same red hair.
– ‘Which of you is smarter? Which one of you works harder?’
The scrawny girl begged Isabella.
– ‘My Lady, we sisters have grown up together since we were small. We will work hard, so please, I beg you, take us both!’
Isabella’s expression was cold, utterly indifferent.
– ‘There is only one spot. Don’t tell me why I should take you both; tell me why I should choose “you”.’
The young Maletta shoved the scrawny girl aside and knelt before Isabella. Prostrating herself on the ground, she clasped her hands and cried out with chilling desperation.
– ‘Noble My Lady! Sancha has a bad habit of stealing and suffers from a chronic coughing sickness!’
Sancha looked back at Maletta, her eyes wide with shock. Maletta gritted her teeth and refused to meet her sister’s gaze.
– ‘If you are only taking one, it is undoubtedly me! She is too young to be of any help, and she is as weak and frail as a baby rat! I will work like an ox! Please take me, My Lady!’
Isabella looked intrigued.
– ‘You, you have ambition, don’t you?’
– ‘I will work hard, My Lady!’
– ‘Very well, you it is.’
Isabella slowly turned away, leading Maletta as she began to exit the garden. Sancha, horrified that her sister was truly leaving her to die, shrieked in a frenzy.
– ‘Sister! Sister!’
Behind her, Maletta’s hurried, muffled voice could be heard as she was led away.
“Shh! Stay still! Once I get to that house and receive my wages, I’ll send them to you. I’ll save every coin until I can pull you out of this relief center. For the family to survive, one of us has to succeed. Do you understand? Wait patiently!”
* * *
“My Lady? My Lady?”
Maletta was shaking Ariadne’s shoulder, her expression one of alarm. Ariadne, offended by the maid’s presumptuous touch, swatted her hand away. Maletta awkwardly lowered her arm, hovering in the space between them.
“My Lady, are you alright? You suddenly froze—I was startled.”
“How long was I like that?”
“Only a moment. Two or three seconds, perhaps?”
“That is enough.”
What had she just seen? A flashback? Truth, or delusion? She had to verify it.
Ariadne approached the red-haired girl lying deathly still among the destitute, kneeling beside her. Masking her intent with a practiced air of kindness, she wiped the girl’s forehead with a damp cloth and asked in a low voice, “How are you feeling?”
The face that turned toward her belonged to a child, barely twelve or thirteen. Though she should have still held the softness of youth, her cheeks were sunken and haggard.
The freckled girl opened her light green eyes, casting a wary gaze between Ariadne and Maletta.
“Since you entered the Rambouillet Relief Center, has your family ever sent you any help?”
The girl shook her head desperately. Maletta’s expression darkened.
“Do you have an incurable coughing sickness?”
The shaking of the girl’s head became more frantic. Now, Maletta’s face was as pale as if the Grim Reaper himself had entered the room.
“Maletta? Do you know this child?”
“Um… that is…”
Maletta, flustered and struggling to find words, looked away. The freckled girl, eyes brimming with sudden, searing hatred and resentment, lunged forward to grab the hem of Ariadne’s sleeve with all her remaining strength.
“Save… me, please save me, My Lady…!”
* * *
“Even if you are the daughter of His Eminence the Cardinal, special treatment is not possible.”
The administrator shook his head, his tone flat. This was his response to Ariadne’s plea to save Sancha.
Ariadne was the daughter of the second most powerful man in San Carlo, but the title was hollow. Her father did not love her; he paid her no mind, save for the bare minimum investment required to keep her useful as a tool. She possessed no wealth, no leverage. Without coin, she couldn’t even summon a physician.
She was a bird in a cage, having returned from death only to find that her life remained entirely outside of her control.
“I understand. In that case, I will yield my share of food for today to that girl.”
Her ration consisted of nothing more than half a lump of dry bread and water.
Ariadne directed Maletta to crush the bread into boiling water, brewing a thin, watery gruel to feed Sancha. It was the only act of mercy she could afford. Ariadne felt a crushing sense of powerlessness, yet perhaps the girl had simply been starving; with even that small intake, she began to recover, her color returning like a stray kitten finally finding warmth.
“Maletta. Come here for a moment.”
While sequestered in the nuns’ quarters, Ariadne could not stop thinking of the vision. The way the pieces aligned when she questioned Sancha, coupled with Maletta’s terrified reaction, suggested the ‘vision’ had been a glimpse into the buried truth.
“Try grabbing my wrist again. Like before.”
Maletta hesitated, then reached out and took Ariadne’s wrist. Nothing happened. It seemed skin-to-skin contact did not always trigger the phenomenon.
* * *
After consistently surrendering her rations to Sancha, Ariadne’s frame grew gaunt with alarming speed.
The administrator had forced Ariadne back into the food distribution line, insisting she cease her care of Sancha. It seemed they feared that if a noble lady with such a compassionate heart continued to bathe patients in the great cloister, she might become dangerously fixated on another wretched soul.
‘Ah, I’m hungry.’
Ariadne stood in the line, swallowing hard as she watched the soup being ladled out. Under normal circumstances, it was thin, watery gruel she wouldn’t have touched, but now, even the thin layer of grease floating on the surface looked intoxicating. However, that soup already had its owners, and the paupers at the relief center were fiercely protective of their share.
Having finished the morning distribution without a single drop of sustenance, Ariadne had not eaten since the evening of the day before yesterday. She leaned against the shade of a tree, trying to quiet her starving stomach.
Just then, an apple appeared before her eyes.
‘Who?’
Looking up at the hand, she saw a handsome boy with dazzling blonde hair and milky features. He was dressed in court attire of fine satin, offering the fruit to her.
“Want some?”
It was Alfonso. He was a boy like a fresh, growing willow branch—far younger than the man she remembered, the one who had been killed at the hands of Cesare.
It felt surreal. He had already died.
Ariadne reached out and took the apple. Her fingertips brushed against his, and the sudden warmth made her tremble.
The past had truly returned. Everything was alive and moving, reset to the state before her sins had been committed.
“You looked hungry….”
He smiled, a shy expression revealing his neat, white teeth.
Even though she knew the boy was a prince, Ariadne spoke to him with the plainness of an equal. It was the instinct of a woman nearing thirty who had survived every trial and tribulation life could offer.
“Thank you.”
Wiping the apple on her sleeve, she took a large bite.
*Crunch!*
The apple tasted like honey. After three days of starvation, the sweetness was enough to shatter her composure. The juice was intensely refreshing.
One bite, then two, and the apple was reduced to the core in an instant. Only then did it occur to Ariadne that a prince was standing directly before her.
Flustered, she offered a hurried excuse, feeling a prickle of embarrassment.
“I’ve been starving for three days, so thanks to you, I managed to eat.”
She emphasized the “three days” to cover her awkwardness, but Alfonso, whether he knew the truth or not, gazed at her with kind eyes.
“I heard you’ve been giving your food to a sick child.”
“Ah…. It just happened that way.”
“I think that’s amazing. I don’t think I could ever give away my own food.”
Ariadne laughed softly before she could stop herself. Though she was unaware of it, her smile was bright and lovely, like a pear blossom in bloom.
“Me neither.”
For some reason, it felt hypocritical to pretend to be a saint in front of Alfonso. She lacked the audacity to play the fragile maiden before a man she had essentially seen die.
“I only gave it away because the relief center bread tastes terrible. If it were actual delicious food, I wouldn’t have been able to give it up.”
She chose to act blunt instead. Alfonso looked surprised.
“The relief center bread doesn’t taste good?”
“It’s incredibly dry. It lacks even a drop of milk or butter; it tastes only of flour and salt.”
“I see….”
Alfonso gave a bitter smile. It seemed the relief center had been careful not to serve him their true, meager rations.
She didn’t bother pretending she didn’t know he was a prince, and a brief silence settled between them. It was hardly the time or place to apologize for having killed him in her past life.
Thankfully, the prince broke the tension with another question.
“How long will you be here?”
“Until tomorrow.”
Had Isabella not been so spiteful, Ariadne would have returned home on the third day, and she would never have crossed paths with Prince Alfonso today.
The prince offered a kind smile.
“Will you continue to give away your food until then?”
“Well, I was planning to stop after today and eat it myself. But since someone was kind enough to give me an apple, I think I can keep going for two more days.”
Ariadne grinned.
Prince Alfonso frowned, as if lost in thought, before pulling a cookie wrapped in a handkerchief from his pocket and holding it out to her.
“I wish I had something more substantial to tide you over, but… this is all I have.”
Ariadne took the bundle. Embroidered in small gold thread on the corner of the handkerchief were the initials ‘AFC’—Alfonso De Carlo.
“I’ll eat it well. Thank you.”
As he watched the tall, slender girl accept the offering, the boy with golden hair tilted his head.
The afternoon sun, descending from its peak, bathed the two of them in a brilliant, gilded light.
“What is your name?”
“Ariadne. Ariadne De Mare.”