I found myself dragging my feet toward Westwond Mansion and, from there, toward the Rosethorn Parterre.
My head hung so low that I barely paid attention to the path before me. I could feel an invisible cloud of dread trailing behind every step.
My misery must have been particularly leaking, because whenever servants and chambermaids alike noticed me, they flattened themselves against the stone walls, hurriedly parting before my path.
Perhaps they believed I was a ghost. Not expecting me to emerge from the underground dungeon alive.
After all, there had likely been those who expected me to perish inside that monstrous enclosure underneath.
I could hardly blame them for being surprised to see me walking about in one piece, though I found their superstition rather stupid.
Either way, surviving the punishment this morning mattered very little when I was still destined to become a midnight feast for those dreadful beasts.
I released a long and mournful sigh resigning my unfortunate existence entirely to fate. Perhaps this universe simply considered me an unbearable eyesore and took every opportunity to misfortune my life in an effort to erase me.
And if that was the case, then I admire its persistence, for it had certainly been working very diligently since my rebirth.
Oh, well.
I give up.
Ever since I had been reincarnated into this cursed third life, I had been struggling to survive almost every waking moment.
One disaster after another keeps changing after me without allowing me even the courtesy of a peaceful afternoon.
And I had grown rather tired of constantly fighting against whatever strange fate had prepared for me.
Why should I always be the one struggling so desperately to remain alive when the universe itself appears determined to throw me into the grave?
Perhaps I ought to simply lie on the ground one day and allow fate to do whatever it pleases.
But then the sudden thought of those dreadful hounds waiting underneath, spiraled a shiver down my spine.
No! I refuse to just give up!
There were limits to my surrender!
Ahead of me, a small cluster of maidservants holding baskets of fresh linen were conversing with bright, melodious laughter.
But the moment their eyes fell upon me, their cheerful conversation abruptly faded.
Their expressions changed almost immediately, they clutched their baskets tightly against their chests, backing away in synchronized terror and one by one, they subtly moved away from my path before hurrying past me.
I slowly turned my head and watched them go. One of them even glanced back.
I rolled my eyes.
So much for being sensible human beings.
I marveled at how grown humans could believe so fervently in vengeful ghosts and wandering spirits.
Then again, I immediately checked my own arrogance with a grim, who was I to judge them when I had died twice and somehow returned to live for the third time.
If someone had recounted such a bizarre, unnatural tale to me without proof, I would have stared at them like an unhinged lunatic running rampant.
Yet here I was, walking through the grounds of Westwond Estate as living proof.
Life was truly absurd.
With another sigh, I eventually entered the Rosethorn Parterre.
The moment I stepped into the garden, the sweet fragrance of roses and freshly watered earth greeted my senses. I nearly melted where I stood, my shoulders relaxing as though someone had physically lifted the burden from them.
After spending more than an hour beneath the ground surrounded by cold stone, rusted iron, rotten meat, and creatures that appeared excited to separate my head from my shoulders, the garden felt almost heavenly.
Goodness.
What a magical place the Rosethorn Parterre truly was.
I closed my eyes and let out a soft breath, marveling at the sheer enchantment of the garden not believing I had contemplated marching up to Madame Marsala to demand an exchange of duties.
This had to be the most fortunate duty any servant could possibly receive.
I would never entertain such dangerous thoughts again.
Just as I began basking in the brief and beautiful silence, after such a dreadful day, a soft, melodious voice called from before me.
"Clare?"
My eyes, which had been peacefully closed, tightened even further.
The faint smile upon my lips nearly disappeared, though I stubbornly forced it to remain. Unfortunately, the longer I held it there, the more unnatural it became
I was quite certain that anyone looking at me would assume I had just committed a splendid murder.
What kind of luck is this!
I screamed internally at the skies—rather—the universe, wondering what grand sin I had committed to get these relentless misfortunes.
Just when I had begun thinking that no situation could possibly be worse than returning underground to become an evening meal for those monstrous hounds.
Then another difficulty appeared before me. Was this some form of divine mockery?
Had the heavens truly looked down upon my brief moment of happiness and decided that I was enjoying myself far too much?
Slowly, very slowly, I opened my eyes.
My smile remained, though it had begun twitching slightly at the corners.
Standing before me was the ever-gentle Ariana.
She appeared so breathtakingly beautiful that, for a brief and ridiculous moment,
I nearly believed she was glowing.
The sunlight resting upon her hair and pale features made her seem almost radiant, like one of those noble ladies described in romantic tales whose beauty supposedly caused flowers to bloom and birds to sing.
I squinted slightly against the sheer radiance. Was she sparkling?
Then vigorously shook my head to clear the absurd imagery from my exhausted brain before my mind deteriorated any further.
Ariana stood motionless for a moment, her large, expressive eyes traveling across my battered face while my artificial smile remained pinned in place, making me look utterly insane.
Then her expression began to change, her eyes began to glisten with unshed, shimmering tears.
Oh no no.
Please do not cry!
She then took a hesitant step forward, reaching out a trembling hand.
"Clare, I... I…"
But before my mind could even process her approach, my body reacted on pure, defensive instinct, forcing me to take a sharp, reflex step backward.
What was wrong with me?!
It seems like after spending an entire morning around monstrous hounds, perhaps my instincts had become slightly confused.
Realizing how terribly rude my movement must have appeared, I cursed myself and immediately stepped forward again in an attempt to correct myself.
"A-Ariana, I—"
It was already too late. The moment I had initially recoiled, Ariana had frozen in her tracks, her outstretched hand dropping limp to her side as the light drained from her eyes, replaced by a deep, heartbreaking sorrow.
I wished to pull my own hair out at this moment.
Somehow I had become the villain of the situation without even doing anything at all.
What exactly did she want from me?
""Ariana... I didn't mean to startle you," I blurted out, trying desperately to steady my voice. "That was incredibly rude of me... It's just that..."
"It's quite okay, Clare... I understand," she interrupted, her voice dropping to a fragile, breathy whisper.
"Part of this terrible outcome was entirely my fault anyway."
I stared at her in disbelief, suddenly realizing with a rising horror that if anyone were to witness this exchange they would immediately brand me as an unfeeling monster terrorizing a helpless maiden.
I really want to shake her by the shoulders and demand why on earth she was weeping when we were merely two servants having a mundane conversation in a garden.
I simply wanted to begin my work in peace.
"If only I had listened to Flores and handed you the task of fetching water from the lower well," Ariana continued softly, her lower lip trembling as she wrung her hands.
"Our colleagues wouldn't have used it as an excuse to accuse you of bullying me, nor would they have picked that violent fight with you."
I let out a low, internal scoff at her revision of events, though I had to admit her summary was oddly accurate in its own romanticized way.
While her sheer helplessness had certainly provided the spark, she wasn't entirely slightly at fault.
Those arrogant snobs had just been itching for a reason to tear me apart from the very start.
If nothing else, a dark sense of satisfaction washed over me as I recalled the memory of their swollen eyes and bashed faces, it left me comforted.
"I am sorry," Ariana whispered.
Her head remained bowed.
I simply could not bear watching her appear so miserable, particularly when the entire situation made me look like some cruel hooligan who had spent the day tormenting an innocent and gentle princess.
I sighed quietly.
Very well.
Let us settle this before a passerby mistook her tears for fresh abuse and reported me to the head housekeepers.
"Ariana—"
"What is going on here?"
A sharp, imperious voice boomed from the garden entrance, slicing through the air like a cold steel blade.
I froze mid-sentence, my shoulders slumping in total, utter defeat as I became entirely certain that the universe could not bear my existence breathing.