Possession and Predicaments

Gasp—Pant—

Her legs felt unsteady.

Her heart hammered in her chest.

In an instant, a swarm of dark emotions, like parasitic insects, crawled into her heart, consuming it entirely.

It felt as though she was plunging back into the depths, drowning all over again.

Gasp—Pant—

The Queen stood in the sunlight.

Turning back in the sun’s embrace, she gazed at Marta, still shrouded in shadow, her expression a mix of curiosity and subtle concern.

Then, stepping through the golden light, she returned to the cool embrace of the shadows.

A soft, tender hand gently cupped Marta’s, prompting her to grip it back with surprising force. The Queen flinched, startled. ‘Yes, my Queen, you are so fragile. Why won’t you let me protect you? Your world should belong only to me!’

Gasp—

Pant—

Only by holding the Queen’s hand could Marta finally breathe again.

Ophelia had already started to jog away, but glancing back, she saw Marta rooted to the spot. Marta’s face was enveloped in shadow, and the ‘Nurture Value’ displayed on Ophelia’s internal system had inexplicably dissolved into garbled code.

Concerned, Ophelia walked back towards her.

She found Marta’s eyes vacant, as though she couldn’t breathe, her entire demeanor sickly. Ophelia reached out and took Marta’s hand.

Marta’s grip tightened immediately, almost crushing Ophelia’s hand.

The force was immense, causing Ophelia’s hand to ache sharply. Marta took a deep, shuddering breath, and the veins in her pale neck visibly throbbed.

Slowly, she seemed to regain her composure.

“What’s wrong, Marta? Are you feeling unwell?”

‘The novel hadn’t mentioned Marta suffering from any physical ailments, had it?’

“My Queen,”

Marta uttered, her voice rough and strained.

“Are you… are you going to seek out other women?”

Ophelia paused, taken aback, before deciding to answer truthfully:

“Other women? Marta, what a peculiar thing to say! We’re simply going to rescue a poor girl—”

Her words were cut short before she could finish.

“A poor girl, huh? My Queen, do you intend to keep her by your side?”

Ophelia thought for a moment.

She realized she had indeed acted on a sudden surge of enthusiasm, without thoroughly considering where to take this protagonist. Yet, upon reflection, keeping her close for the time being seemed the wisest course. After all, in the novel, noble young ladies whose engagements were broken often found their reputations utterly ruined.

Keeping her by her side, perhaps as an assistant, would be perfect. Hadn’t Ophelia just begun to shoulder the responsibilities of governing the kingdom? This could be an opportune moment to put her to good use!

Ophelia felt immensely pleased with this sudden, yet brilliant, idea.

“Precisely, Marta. You see, I’m in dire need of an assistant to help me manage state affairs. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have that poor girl join me?”

“But I can help you too!”

To Ophelia’s surprise, Marta responded with a low, guttural growl.

“I am perfectly capable of helping you accomplish everything! Why must you rely on others? Why save others? Am I not enough for you, my Queen?”

Marta lifted her gaze, and the intensity in her eyes startled Ophelia. She had never imagined Marta could possess such a look—it was utterly unlike the pure and righteous holy knight described in the novel.

The hand gripping hers tightened with immense force, causing Ophelia considerable pain.

“Ouch… that hurts,”

she couldn’t help but cry out.

Though mortified, Ophelia truly felt an intense agony, so sharp that two tears welled up and spilled from the corners of her eyes.

As if jolted awake from a nightmare, Marta abruptly released her grip and instinctively recoiled two steps.

The spot Marta had clutched was now a vivid red, imprinted with the distinct marks of four fingers.

“I…” Marta stammered, appearing utterly bewildered. She met Ophelia’s gaze for a fleeting moment before quickly averting her eyes, unable to hold the direct contact.

Beyond the fleeting sting of pain, Ophelia actually felt nothing amiss.

She recalled an old forum post she had once stumbled upon, which discussed how many girls harbored a possessive streak towards their closest friends. It appeared Marta was no exception.

‘Oh, so she secretly regards me as her best friend,’ Ophelia mused. ‘Honestly, Marta, you can cling to me as much as you like! Besides a little shyness, I truly don’t mind at all~’

Right, that post also suggested that if best friends ever quarreled, a simple hug would resolve everything.

Without further ado, Ophelia embraced Marta.

Marta instantly became flustered, her hands flailing awkwardly in the air. Her usually valiant and composed face flushed a deep red, revealing an expression of utter bewilderment, unsure of how to react:

“My… My Queen?”

Ophelia, suppressing a wave of embarrassment, gently stroked Marta’s hair, much like one might soothe a pet. In her embrace, Marta seemed to gradually calm.

“Marta, you are incredibly important to me.”

“I merely wish to rescue that girl, but to me, Marta, you are the one who has always protected me, aren’t you? Even if that girl joins us, Marta, you will remain utterly unique to me, won’t you?”

“So, Marta, please forgive this small indulgence of mine. Will you protect me again today?”

Ophelia’s embrace carried the scent of sunshine, and within it, Marta gradually found her peace.

‘Oh, right,’ Marta thought. ‘What is there to be afraid of?’

‘Even if that person stays by the Queen’s side, she could never usurp my position. All I need to do is ensure that person proves utterly incompetent, and the Queen will eventually realize that I am the only one she can truly rely on.’

She took a deep breath.

‘Hmm, Marta,’ she admonished herself, ‘this is completely unacceptable. How could you lose your composure like that? You even hurt the Queen.’

‘On another note, does the Queen truly comprehend my feelings for her? Were her words yesterday merely an unconscious utterance in a professional context, or has she long since seen into the depths of my heart? Could it be that the Queen is a manipulative woman, adept at exploiting others’ affections?’

‘Even if she is a wicked woman, it matters not. As long as I ensure I am the only piece on her chessboard, she will ultimately have no choice but to rely solely on me.’

A faint, subtle curve touched the corners of Marta’s lips.

‘Indeed,’ she thought. ‘What is there to fear or worry about? While I cannot currently prevent the Queen from doing what she wishes, I can certainly ensure that I am the *only* person she can truly depend on!’

With renewed resolve, she straightened her posture.

“My sincerest apologies, My Queen. I was quite out of line just now. Henceforth, your loyal subordinate will remain steadfastly by your side, always protecting you.”

“Let us proceed. Allow your subordinate the honor of once again basking in the radiance of Your Majesty’s glory today.”

Ophelia’s heart settled instantly. She had, in truth, been feeling quite anxious moments before, due to Marta’s ‘Nurture Value’ stubbornly displaying as a long string of garbled code.

Now, however, all was well; the garbled code had reverted to a numerical display, and even increased! It now read 85.

‘System, you really need to check your panel more thoroughly! There’s definitely a bug!’

Now that Marta had reverted to her standard, composed knightly demeanor, Ophelia’s heart was set at ease. Clearly, Marta was fine! This meant Ophelia was free to encounter and nurture another protagonist!

****

Emily gazed at her reflection in the mirror.

She didn’t believe herself to be ugly: black hair, violet eyes, a modest yet luxurious gown, and perfectly pale, delicate feet, still flawless within her high-heeled sandals. Aside from the somewhat disappointing size of her bust, Emily considered herself rather attractive, surely appealing to men.

Yet, her fiancé, Eli, seemed to keep her at arm’s length, almost shunning her.

Emily understood precisely why she was disliked. She had, after all, repeatedly advised Eli not to frequent nightclubs while still bound by their engagement, and implored him to focus more on state affairs, rather than indulging daily in frivolous pursuits and sensual pleasures.

Thus, she had become an object of his disdain.

Emily drew a deep breath.

Another social ball loomed. She would again have to face those she disliked, and who, in turn, despised her. She would again have to stifle her true self, meticulously portraying the image of a flawless, perfect noblewoman—

It felt like drowning in an endless sea.