Third Person’s POV
The room was pitch black.
A coil of rope lay on the floor.
A crumpled note sat on the table.
A lifeless body lay in the corner.
Brett woke up from his recurring nightmare, drenched in sweat. His face was pale, with sweat droplets resembling rain on a windowpane. As he opened his dry lips to take a breath, he realized there was no moisture. Despite the lump in his throat making it difficult to swallow, he managed to let out a groggy morning voice.
"Same dream, again," he chuckled to himself.
However, his laughter quickly faded as he felt an overwhelming weakness. His energy seemed to have left his body, making it hard to find the motivation to get up. His head spun, as if someone was tightening a screw in his brain, and he felt the urge to vomit.
Feeling sluggish in the morning is something everyone experiences, and Brett was no exception. But today, his exhaustion went beyond the usual laziness. It was due to his physical condition.
He groaned, complaining about the pounding headache. His tongue grazed his burning gums, while a wave of intense heat seemed to radiate from behind his eyes. Despite this, his hands and feet were freezing cold. He continued to lie there, staring up at the ceiling, already convinced that today would be far less productive than yesterday. As his senses began to dull, a sudden knock at the door jolted him back to reality.
"Knock, knock, knock."
If it was one of the maids or Sebastian, Brett couldn't be bothered to open his heavy eyelids. However, if it happened to be Agatha, that woman, he might summon the strength to sit up. So, with a glimmer of hope, he turned his gaze towards the door.
"It's me. Are you still asleep?" Agatha's voice echoed through the room.
A small, weary smile tugged at his lips. The sound of her voice compelled him to make an effort and sit upright.
In an instant, the world seemed to spin and the walls appeared to crumble, even though they remained intact.
He huffed warm air as he walked towards the door, swaying slightly. Finally, his hand grasped the doorknob. He paused, leaning on it briefly before letting out a grunt as he pushed the door open.
Agatha stood at the entrance, looking like she was about to speak but changed her mind when she saw Brett's pale face.
His eyes were wide, resembling a waxing moon after the first quarter. His lips were dry, and he breathed heavily.
"Why are you here?" he asked weakly. "Did you suddenly miss me early in the mor..." His joke was cut short as he slumped against her shoulder.
"Hey!" She caught him, feeling the heat radiating from his body. "Y-You..." She glanced at his sweaty face, then checked his temperature, eyes widening. "You're burning up."
Brett lacked the energy to respond, feeling his mouth dry and his saliva churning. He made an effort to nod his head.
Agatha anxiously scanned the area, but there was no one she could call for assistance. Therefore, she decided to guide him back to his bed first.
Despite his consciousness, Brett managed to open his eyes as she gently pulled him towards the bed. "W-Wait," she panicked. "I'll get help."
As he lay down, Brett mustered the strength to call out to her. "Hey."
Agatha stopped in her tracks.
"Why?" she questioned.
"Why?" he repeated.
He wanted to know why she was helping him, even though he had been a bad person to her.
However, he was anxious to hear her response, as he couldn't bear the thought of her agreeing out of fear for her own life. In reality, he had no intention of harming her. Instead, he had purchased her and coerced her into a slavery contract, using her life as leverage. Consequently, Agatha had no other option but to comply with his outrageous demand of seducing Lanceil.
Considering this, Brett altered his question to...
"Why did you wake me up so early?"
Agatha cast her gaze downwards and replied, "I simply wanted to pay you a visit."
The concept itself is strange. Brett jokingly referred to it as a "Buff." He chuckled, "You're here to ask me if it's okay to go see Lanceil, right?"
Agatha glanced back at him. She couldn't deny that he guessed correctly. She felt the need to somehow reject the idea. But before she could, Brett's voice, filled with desperation, interrupted.
"Please don't go," he pleaded. The smile on his face slowly disappeared. "I know I haven't treated you well from the beginning. I even used you to get closer to Lanceil. But, can you..."
He closed his eyes once more and nervously nibbled on his lower lip. As he finally opened both his eyes and mouth, Agatha couldn't help but notice the tears welling up at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over.
"Can you just stick by my side?" he pleaded, tears streaming down his face.
Agatha felt at a loss, unsure of what to say or do. Even simply holding her breath felt like a daunting task in that moment.
"When I first started all of this," he confessed through silent sobs. "I made a vow to myself to embrace my dark side until the very end. I convinced myself that trusting others would only lead to heartbreak.
But now, I can't help but think that maybe, if there's just one person who will stand by me until the end, then maybe I can find happiness once more."
Brett reached out his hand, silently urging her to take it.
"So please, stay with me. Don't leave for Lanceil. Please."
She gazed at his shaking hand before returning her gaze to his tear-filled eyes. Memories flooded back to her in the car. He had kissed her, claiming it was just practice, so she wondered if he would try to do the same thing if she made a move now.
Her hesitation was evident.
Agatha continued to stare at him until his arm grew tired from reaching out to her shadow.
"Like I thought," he chuckled through tears.
As his awareness began to slip away, he closed his eyes slowly and let his hand fall. But before it could touch the soft fabric beneath, Agatha grasped it firmly.
She held onto his hand as his mind drifted into oblivion. Sadly, Brett mistook the warmth in his hand for a mere part of his dream.