Fated Across Worlds

Enter, Hilde (1)

Silence fell.

Mere moments ago, the woman would have had a lot to say about the fact that ‘Lilith Vespers’ only had three major aspects to her personality, none of which could be considered decent.

However, that identity had now been—for lack of a better term—"salvaged." 

All of her “usable parts” were now owned by the woman standing in the middle of the cube-shaped room. What remained of ‘Lilith Vespers’ was represented by the Cube's side that made up the floor she was standing on: it alone had turned black.

For several moments, the woman looked at the obsidian floor that seemed to emit its own light. Now that she was no longer ‘Lilith Vespers,’ everything about the actress became easier for her to see objectively.

On a personal level, ‘Lilith Vespers’ respected other peoples' abilities and valued authenticity in an industry where wearing masks was the norm. As a colleague, as long as she didn't outright dislike the other person, she was a perfectly civilized human being. 

If she truly hated someone, however, everyone would know it.

Acting was her life. That's not an exaggeration, she really had little else going on outside of work. Undeniably, she was talented at what she did, but aside from her "sadistic tendencies," there was another reason she favored villainous roles: she lacked the emotional capacity to play the “heroine” to her own satisfaction.

She did try in her younger years, but being an obsessive perfectionist, she knew her performances left a lot to be desired. She derived no pleasure from them. Even when others told her she did well, that was only her technical skills. 

She could not "become" those warm and loving female leads the way she could easily slip into the skin of an antagonist… all because she did not seem to have the capacity to feel deeply about anyone.

Only… that wasn't quite true. Back in her world, ‘Lilith Vespers’ had family and friends who genuinely loved her. When she had still been the active “identity” inside the Cube, she had willfully avoided thinking about how much they would mourn her loss.

To the person “she” now was, it didn't appear like ‘Lilith Vespers’ could not feel deeply. It seemed more like she had been irrationally reluctant to do so.

Then again, this woman’s assumption of this new identity was still incomplete. Maybe she was interpreting things wrongly.

The woman raised her eyes and looked at the wall directly in front of her.

"Prick?" she called.

A beat passed, then the voice asked, [Is that supposed to be me?] He had the gall to sound displeased. When it became obvious he'd receive no response, he conceded. [Fair enough. What is it?]

Drawing a deep breath to steady herself, Princess Hilde of Arnica answered, "Please tell me about me."

***                       

The bedroom door opened and closed. At the sound, the young woman dozing on a chair by the bedside started lightly. By reflex, she looked towards the bed's occupant to see if there were any changes from the last time she checked. Aside from the subtle shift in the angle of the late morning light, however, everything else was the same.

"She's still not awake?" the middle-aged woman who'd just entered the room asked, not bothering to lower her voice. 

She stopped beside the young woman's chair and stared at the girl who lay unconscious on the bed, her head wrapped so tightly in bandages that only a few wisps of her silvery blonde hair were left unconfined.

The physician attending the girl had told them that her skull was not fractured, which was miraculous enough. The way witnesses had described how she fell off a galloping horse, no one would have been surprised if her head had smashed like an egg on impact with the ground. 

Other than bruises, however, she didn't seem to have any other injuries. The physician had still put her neck in a brace—a precaution he half-thought unnecessary, for grim reasons.

Earlier, he'd informed the women that injuries to the head were tricky to judge. Very often, they were also deadly. They would not know how severe this girl's case was until she recovers—or dies.

Everyone was more or less aware of that. They knew all anyone could do now was wait for her to regain consciousness.

"It's been more than a day," the young woman on the chair answered, her worry evident. The physician had indicated that this was a cause for great concern.

Thinking there was little hope left, the older woman huffed in bitter exasperation. "The stupid girl," she said. "Her elder brother just died, and the first thing she did was endanger her own life."

"Mother," replied her daughter in an imploring tone. "She must have been very upset by the news."

"Yes, she was upset," the woman conceded. "But not about her own brother's death." The statement was met with silence. After all, there was no denying it. The speaker's tone softened as she said, "I simply worry for you. If she also dies, it will be you who—"

"Mother, please…" her daughter interrupted gently. 

She sounded as tired as she looked: her deep-set, almond-shaped eyes had dark circles under them; her bronze-tinted golden curls were slightly unkempt. Ever since the other young woman had been brought to their home the day before, she'd hardly left that bedside.

Her mother sighed. "I'll call a maid in to stay with her. You rest." Not giving her daughter a chance to argue, she left the way she’d come.

Silence returned to the room. No longer drowsy, the young woman whiled away the minutes watching the slow rise and fall of the bed occupant's chest…

…and caught the moment when her shallow breathing hitched.

She rose swiftly to her feet and shifted her gaze to the other girl's face. She saw that while her eyes were still closed, tears had begun streaming from the corners, tracking both her temples.

"Oh, dearest…" the young woman breathed out—in great sympathy and in even greater relief. She knelt by the bed and squeezed the other's rough and calloused hand. "I know—I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" she repeated, her own eyes tearing up. "I know you're in pain, but please, please… you must open your eyes now, Hilde."