A Piece of Memory

No one greeted Roselyn as she left the room. There was only a silence that felt like an insult, making her misery complete.

A few servants were called to drag her away, but Roselyn brushed their hands off.

Step by step, holding onto the wall, she walked down the corridor with every joint in her body screaming in pain. Her chest felt tight. Her lips stung.

Until she arrived in front of her room, where a familiar figure was already waiting.

"My Lady, let me help you," Matthew said, reaching out to support her.

Although his expression was hard to read, Roselyn noticed the way he glanced at her bleeding forehead. Yet, it was not with the amused look of the other servants, but something much heavier than mere pity.

"Are you going to lock my room again?"

"I am sorry, My Lady. Those are the Count's orders." The middle-aged man looked hesitant as he reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out a small package.

"For me?"

"Yes, please use this."

Roselyn stared at the small tin. It was the same ointment she always received after being beaten.

"Elysium," Roselyn said, bordering on a laugh. "Father always gives it to me after torturing me. He’s afraid the scars will ruin the view, isn't he?"

"No. I have been the one buying it all along."

"Impossible. Why?!"

"You are the Lady of this house."

"But this ointment costs three months of a servant's salary..."

Matthew smiled softly. He seemed to radiate a gentle warmth as he handed over the medicine.

"I am sorry for not being able to help you. But I hope, at the very least, you won't have to sleep in pain, My Lady."

After giving her the elysium, Matthew bowed briefly and locked Roselyn inside the room.

The sound of the key turning echoed longer than usual.

Roselyn slid down slowly against the door, finally letting the long-withheld tears flow.

All this time, she thought the elysium was from Vogard—a gift from a father terrified that his asset would be permanently damaged. And she had accepted it with a numb heart, as if it were only to be expected. But it wasn't. It turned out there was someone paying out of his own pocket, secretly, without expecting anything in return.

She opened her palm, staring at the ointment and a few snacks Matthew had given her, because he knew Vogard would lock her up without food.

"I thought you were just Father's lapdog." Her voice was hoarse, barely audible. "Who would have thought you’d still be poor after working for decades? Turns out your salary was spent on this... Uncle."

***

Roselyn did not know how long she had been sitting there.

Behind the locked door, on the cold floor, with the ointment in one hand and the drying snacks in the other. The candle in the corner of the room had burned down short, a sign that night was fast approaching.

"You are the only one for me, Rose," Derrick’s words still echoed, making her close her eyes.

A few flashes of the past began to visit her one by one.

A white gown with silver embroidery at the wedding altar. Derrick looked at her in a way that made all sacrifices feel worthwhile.

The sweet smile and blue eyes she had always admired. Who would have thought that very smile would be given to another woman?

Roselyn opened her eyes.

She did not let the pieces of memory continue.

"So this is what it feels like to live again," Roselyn murmured.

Just when she truly did not know what to do, a soft knock was heard at the door. Matthew walked in, carrying a tray with bread, soup, and tea.

"Do you feel any better, My Lady?"

"Fairly well." Roselyn watched him set the tray down.

"Even though it is not as luxurious as the food you usually enjoy, please eat."

"Thank you. But... aren't you afraid Father will find out?"

"I would never be careless enough to put us both in danger."

True. For years, that gray figure was the only one who had helped Roselyn.

If she hadn't gone to her mother's grave in her past life and caught Matthew there, she would never have known his true identity.

However, Roselyn could not just reveal the truth that she knew. She still wanted to make sure that everything she saw was not a mere delusion.

"My Lady, are you thinking about your fiancé?" Matthew asked in a low voice.

"No. I'm just thinking about something else."

"You keep losing weight, My Lady. Seeing you return home in such a terrible state, only to endure the Count's blows, makes me worry that you will fall ill."

"I am fine, Uncle."

The word slipped out just like that. Roselyn only realized it when Matthew's expression froze, just for a second, before he returned to his well-trained, blank face.

"I'm sorry. I meant—"

"You may call me that, My Lady." The man smiled, a gleam of relief evident in his eyes. “Even if you're thinking of leaving, I'm here to help you.”