Swan Grave - Chapter 47

Anna let out a low sigh. Though she had suspected it, the shock of having her suspicions confirmed as fact was nearly unbearable. Her slender body swayed as if about to collapse to the floor, but with sheer will, like a final act of defiance, she barely managed to stand.

Yet like the surface of water violently rippling, she couldn’t suppress her heart from being tossed about by betrayal. The backlash was immense after having been so composed until now. At last, Anna burst out in indignation.

“Why? Was it fun to toy with me? Did it give you great satisfaction to see me accept all your advances like a whore? Did you hate me that much? Because I am a swan like the Marchioness?”

Her uncharacteristic outburst of passion tore through the silence. It was the first time she had ever raised her voice so fiercely at Rothbart. She had somewhat expected that one day she might bare her true heart to him, but she had never wished it to be such raw negativity. Venom shimmered in her eyes as she glared at him.

Rothbart stared at Anna in silence. His face was filled with the rapture of something long anticipated. Yes, Rothbart was clearly savoring Anna’s hostility.

Before she realized it, they had drawn close enough to hear each other’s breath. Rothbart lifted his hand and, brushing the back of his fingers against her cheek, whispered tenderly.

“How could I hate you? That’s impossible.”

“Lies. You must have thought I was in the palm of your hand. That you could toy with me until you were sick of me, and then, when the day came that I learned the truth and was shattered, you would mock me, right? Fine. That day is today. If you want to mock me, then go ahead and do it!”

The contact that once felt so familiar now made her nauseous. Anna coldly slapped his hand away. Though he could easily have stopped her, Rothbart obediently pulled back.

“Mockery is your specialty, not mine.”

Even in the face of the hostility and aggression she revealed for the first time, Rothbart remained at ease. Rather, joy enveloped him, as though he had discovered the flesh inside a fruit that had always been sealed tight.

How much grueling patience had he endured to push her to this point! Now all that remained was to harvest and savor her. There was no need to rush.

“You’ve always made a fool of me, haven’t you?”

“…When did I ever?”

“You acted as if you loved me, as if I were your only one. And while I flailed, deceived so foolishly, you enjoyed it, then left me all alone. Compared to the butchery you inflicted on me… this can’t even be called mockery.”

Rothbart smiled faintly. The expression that spread across his face contained both the blind innocence of a youth in his twenties and the sordid malice of a man in his late thirties.

His reaction was utterly unlike anything Anna had expected. Watching Rothbart sneer as if he were the victim, Anna’s body tightened with tension. The moral balance she had always believed to tilt in her favor suddenly tipped beneath his wicked tongue. Something… was flowing in a terribly wrong direction.

Rothbart inhaled the scent of tension radiating from Anna’s body with a leisurely breath and murmured softly, “You are truly a cruel woman, Ianna. Everything I do is nothing more than rightful revenge.”

Only then did Anna sense the strange discord in Rothbart’s words. The person he was addressing was not Anna, but the Marchioness. Even now, he was treating her as a substitute for the Marchioness. Rage surged in her to the tips of her hair.

“You’re still mocking me. I am not the Marchioness, Lord Lohengrin. No matter how much you torment me…”

Your revenge will only create another unjust victim.

Just as Anna tried to continue, Rothbart pulled the cord covering the portrait above the fireplace. The thick curtain fell away, revealing the painting behind it.

Red moonlight poured over the portrait behind Rothbart. The moonlight, especially brilliant today, brought out the figure within the portrait with vivid clarity

The woman in the portrait, bathed in crimson, stared silently at Anna. Eyelids clear even without double folds. Black hair like silk piled up and adorned with glittering jewels. A woman from the Eastern Continent.

Anna’s breath caught in her throat. Why?

The portrait of the Marchioness, who had disappeared eleven years ago, looked exactly like Anna, as though she had been preserved in paint. Had it not been for the different clothes, she might have mistaken the frame for a mirror.

She had thought, since Rothbart said they resembled each other, that there must have been some similarity… But this wasn’t just a resemblance. A chill like confronting a doppelgänger shot through Anna’s body. Her pale lips trembled.

“This makes no sense…”

Coincidence? But could all of this really be explained by coincidence alone?

It became clear why Rothbart was convinced Anna was the Marchioness. With such resemblance, even Anna herself felt confused, as if she had to scrape her memories to see if something forgotten might return.

But Anna truly had no memories at all, and even their ages didn’t match.

The Marchioness had appeared sixteen years ago and vanished eleven years ago. She must have spent at least five years here… Anna remembered vividly what she had been doing at that age. There was no way she couldn’t remember. After her father died, she had struggled endlessly with her mother against the constant waves of loss and depression.

“Do you still not remember? If you saw the diary you wrote, would your memory return?”

Rothbart shook something in his hand. It was the Marchioness’s diary, the starting point of all these tangled relations. He threw the diary toward Anna. For someone who had so preciously cherished the Marchioness’s belongings, it was an unusually rough gesture.

Anna barely managed to catch the diary, her fingers fumbling over the knotted leather cover. The tightly sealed diary was like Pandora’s box, but like the woman in the myth, Anna couldn’t help but open it.

The paper, which had preserved more than ten years of time, had faded. Yet even in the faint light, the writing carved into the pages was clearly visible. Though she had been anxious over whether she would be able to read it, the letters in the diary imprinted themselves unmistakably on Anna’s eyes.

***

December 2

It has already been two months since I fell into this world.

There are three moons, but the seasons seem the same, as snow falls and the cold wind blows fiercely. If I hadn’t been taken in by a noble family, I would surely have suffered terribly this winter. That’s truly fortunate.

Life in the House of Lohengrin is tolerable. Everyone shows me consideration. Marquess Albert, the acting lord, is a kind man… His son Rothbart, however, is insufferable.

At first, I secretly felt drawn to him because I had never seen anyone so handsome, but it turns out his face is all he has. Every time he sees me, he snaps at me, and I really can’t stand it. What did I ever do? It’s not like I wanted to come here.

If things had gone as they should, right now I would be taking the college entrance exam and filling out university applications…

I wonder if Mother is doing well. With Father gone not long ago, and now with me disappearing, she must be terribly worried.

I don’t care if I have to retake a year, I just want to go back.

Somehow.

First Year, March 12

I fought with Rothbart. He must be three years older than me, but what good is age if he acts so arrogant? He keeps sneering that he has no intention of having children with me, but I feel the same way.

How on earth did he get such an idea?

First Year, July 6

So the reason I came to this world was to be Rothbart’s partner?

And it was Marquess Albert, Rothbart’s father, who summoned me. There’s no one I can trust. To be Rothbart’s partner, it’s unbearable. Send me back.

First Year, July 8

If it was Marquess Albert who summoned me, then he might also know how I can return. One must hold on to hope. I should ask Madame Dova when I might be able to meet him.

First Year, July 9

As I thought, he knew the answer. But there was a condition. He said he would only tell me if I married Rothbart. Marry Rothbart? Really? But Rothbart would refuse anyway.