The Villainess's Secret Bedroom Service
Chapter 130: Melancholia

Chapter 130: Melancholia

"My dear Ayana, it pains me to see you like this. It has been over ten days since my brother’s funeral, and you haven’t had a proper meal. I implore you, my love, to nourish yourself, if even just a morsel."

With tender care, Luther made his way to Ayana’s rocking chair, positioned beside the grand, expansive window that allowed the soft glow of sunlight to gently caress the room. There, on the small, wooden tray resting upon his wife’s lap, he placed a steaming bowl of comforting soup. Taking his place on the chair across from her, he wore a gentle, encouraging smile, silently urging her to commence her meal.

Indeed, ten long days had passed since the sorrowful burial of Dorian and Elizabeth Dio in the serene garden tucked away behind their stately mansion. The tragic incident had cast a profound shadow upon the Empress, leaving her profoundly impacted in myriad ways. Not only had she bid farewell to her cherished friends, who had been her unwavering companions, united by shared beliefs, but she also found herself grappling with a profound disillusionment in humanity as a whole.

The mere contemplation of her husband’s potential jealousy, capable of extinguishing an entire family’s existence on a mere whim, sent shudders through her very core. The mortifying thought weighed heavily upon her, leaving her overwhelmed by a profound sense of devastation and emptiness. She yearned, at that moment, for the solace of emotional numbness, desiring to shield herself from feeling anything further.

She fixed her deep, sorrowful, and dark eyes intently upon the pristine white bowl filled with a comforting vegetable soup. In silence, she remained motionless for an extended moment, every muscle in her body seemingly frozen in place. Finally, a hint of indifference brushed across her slender fingers as she casually nudged the wooden tray away from her, causing the warm, translucent liquid to spill across the white rug beneath her feet. It transformed the once-unblemished canvas into a tapestry adorned with the vibrant hues of the vegetables.

Without acknowledging the spill, Ayana redirected her gaze outward once more, her eyes captivated by the unhurried drift of fluffy white clouds against the brilliant blue expanse of the morning sky.

The Emperor’s face darkened, an unmistakable shade of rage clouding his features. In an abrupt motion, he rose from his chair, fists clenched, as he endeavored to contain the surging anger that threatened to consume him. Yet, despite his best efforts, the maelstrom of fury continued to wrest control.

"So, is this to be your course of action henceforth? Dramatically starving yourself, all in an attempt to impart a lesson? Very well! My suspicions were not unfounded! You harbored affection for that wretched scoundrel! You sought to betray me! And now that he lies dead, you believe you have naught left to live for, hmm? I shall not permit your succumbing to grief! I shall compel you to endure! I shall not allow you to perish under its weight!"

Still consumed by a simmering fury, and increasingly so as his wife seemed to disregard him entirely, Luther unleashed his anger. In an impulsive act, he forcefully kicked the pristine white bowl with his foot, causing it to shatter into countless fragments. His tumultuous exit from the room resonated with a resounding bang as he slammed the door shut behind him.

Ayana’s gaze remained fixed on the vast, billowing white clouds drifting leisurely across the unblemished canvas of the clear, blue sky. A warmth coursed down her pallid cheeks, leaving a trail of moisture in its wake.

"I safeguarded my heart beneath layers of hope, only to have it once again mercilessly crushed by its weight. To be hailed as ’The Hidden Saintess’... How utterly absurd. To possess something so sacred, yet unwittingly incite wars and bloodshed in its name. The immense power I concealed within me gnaws at my very existence. Hope, it seems, has deserted me entirely. Death offers no solace either. All that remains is this empty vessel and the continuation of a life I no longer yearn for."

The Emperor remained resolute in his commitment. To secure Ayana’s well-being, he promptly arranged for her to be transported to the Holy Temple, where her "incessant bouts of melancholia" could be tended to through the High Priest’s sacred abilities, ensuring her safety and healing.

The Empress did not offer resistance; instead, she had descended into a profound emptiness. She had resigned herself to the life she must persist in, opting to exist as a mere hollow shell until the sweet embrace of death finally welcomed her.

The "treatment" administered to Ayana within the Temple held little significance for her. Her own latent power surpassed that of High Priest Alexander, rendering his efforts futile in alleviating her condition. Nevertheless, with each application of his power upon her soul, her own abilities quivered, forcing her into a continuous struggle to ensure they remained suppressed, safeguarding her concealed existence from potential betrayal.

The hollow existence chosen by the Empress demanded little sustenance. Her days were filled with two distinct routines: one consisted of hiding herself amidst the comforting shadows cast by the towering trees within the Temple gardens, where she would gaze vacantly at the world, absorbing everything and nothing; the other involved basking in the gentle embrace of the sun’s warmth along the serene banks of the Mirror Lake. There, she observed in quiet contemplation as the crystal-clear surface of the water danced in radiant reflection of the sun’s brilliance.

To her surprise, Luther maintained a consistent presence, diligently visiting her as often as his bustling schedule allowed. During each encounter, he continued to lavish Ayana with unwavering love and affection, his heartfelt pleas nearly begging for her swift recovery so that she might reunite with him and their cherished son, Loyd.

Ayana remained unmoved by both his words and his touch, his loving gestures failing to stir any genuine response. Her outward demeanor was a carefully constructed facade designed to grant him a sense of tranquility, a disguise concealing the immense pain and suffering he had wrought upon her.

Yet, despite her efforts, she could never entirely dispel the lingering grief when in his presence. The prospect of returning to her former self was one she steadfastly resisted.

In the end, Ayana found herself burdened with another pregnancy. As the months unfurled, the Empress’s restlessness and anxiety intensified, ensnaring her mind within the inky depths of fear, a relentless preoccupation with the well-being of her unborn child.

’I was blessed

Ayana murmured softly, her gaze fixed on a drifting green leaf atop the tranquil waters of the Mirror Lake. A sigh escaped her lips, her thoughts quivering once more.

’A daughter destined to inherit my powers, the forthcoming Saintess, whose very name will be uttered in reverence by those who would not hesitate to shed blood in her honor.’

With a delicate touch, she placed her bony right hand upon her round stomach, drawing a deep breath. Two slender rivulets of tears traced down her cheeks, her eyes lifting to meet the expanse of the clear, blue sky above.

’And if I were to aid her instead... What sort of life would await her? One spent lurking in the shadow of her own formidable powers? Living in constant dread of being ensnared and imprisoned, akin to some exotic magical creature? They might venerate her while simultaneously shackling her within a gilded cage. Or perhaps, they’d parade her across the entire continent like a sideshow oddity, dooming her to a life of solitary ’otherness’ rather than embracing her humanity.’

Driven by her musings, Ayana rose from her seat and embarked on a slow, deliberate journey toward the water’s edge. A flinch coursed through her as the icy chill of the lake’s touch made contact with the delicate skin of her feet.

’How could I subject you to this, my dear child? Is this the love a mother should bestow? I shall put an end to it with me, my daughter. I shall forever seal away this power, ensuring no soul shall lay claim to it again. No one shall endure suffering because of it. I apologize that the only life you could have known was within me. I am sorry that I had to be your mother.’

Ayana pressed onward, each deliberate step carrying her deeper into the chill embrace of the Mirror Lake. Its cool waters wrapped around her, encasing her form, rendering her body heavier as it melded with the lake’s welcoming essence.

With just one more step to vanish entirely, the power and hope she had concealed within her began to wane, or perhaps, transmute into something entirely new.

. . .

The baby emerged, liberated from the frigid confines of her mother’s body, and emitted a faint, yet comforting cry. Her sob was hushed but unwavering, as if imploring to be reunited with her lifeless mother’s side.

The Emperor cradled his daughter tenderly, his gaze drifting to her pallid face. She bore a striking resemblance to her mother, save for the vivid azure jewels that graced her eyes, a trait inherited from him. The white locks of her short hair evoked the image of angelic wings, and the name that seemed to materialize on his lips was none other than that of an angel.

"Angelica."

Angelica came into the world as a frail infant, a hapless casualty of her mother’s harsh and self-centered disposition, an ordeal that had nearly claimed her life. Yet, unbeknownst to all, her fragility was a consequence of an ongoing inner battle, a relentless struggle with the very essence she had inherited from her mother, Ayana Naidar, the solitary princess of a decimated pagan settlement. The Hidden Saintess.