Empress of Self-Ruin

Chapter 13: Never Regret Thy Fall, O Icarus of the Fearless Flight

The palace was not the place I remembered it to be before the regression.

I came up with this conclusion as I stood in front of my palace in my pristine white dress, waiting for my carriage.

It looked just like any other day; the sunlight streamed warm and unhurried through the trees, and the fountain babbled rhythmically like background music. But where once these same stone walls and sceneries had been the foundation of everything safe and grand in my world, all I could see was death. It was as though every time I closed my eyes or stared for a little while longer than necessary, I was back there. Back with the horror and the screams and the threat of pain so agonizing you would beg death to take you—

"Your Majesty, the carriage is coming." Mary's voice immediately snapped me back to my reverie.

Following her gaze, my eyes landed on the enormous carriage coming our way. Even if one ignored the imperial crest on each side, its pure white color with gold accents gave off an extraordinary aura even at first glance. It was massive, beautiful, and as dazzling as a god's chariot in mythology—a carriage Arsen specifically made for me to suit my taste.

I didn't notice I was glaring at it until Mary called cautiously, "Your Majesty, are you unwell?"

"No. I'm perfectly well," I replied.

Hearing that, she let out a relieved breath before asking again, "Should we get going now, Your Majesty?"

"Yes. Thank you, Mary."

I let her lead me to the carriage, and the imperial knights followed closely behind, escorting us. I entered first with the help of one of the knights.

"To Graniel Royal Library," Mary informed the coachman. She then followed me inside, taking the place opposite me.

I could hear the buzzing of the protection magic engulfing the carriage as we started to move. Arsen had insisted on installing more protection magic than what was usually necessary when he gifted me the carriage. I guess his parents' accident gave him some sort of trauma.

I settled in my seat, eyes focusing on the window. But I wasn't staring at the scenery. I was staring at my own reflection through the glass.

Gaunt. Haunted. Grey.

I look fucking ill.

I had fallen into the habit of working myself to exhaustion ever since that catastrophic trial. Though I always prided myself on my ability to understand my body well enough to determine what I could handle and what I couldn't, when the nightmares kept following me everywhere, I found myself not wanting to sleep at all for fear of what was waiting for me in my dreams.

Sometimes, it was the same gruesome events I had already faced, reliving those same moments over and over again. Other times, it wasn't so much the memory that haunted me. It was what came next. The horror my mind fabricated. Events that weren't real, but easily could have happened in the future. So it was easier to just not sleep than fight the demons while awake and when sleeping.

And fuck—I hate this. I hate how weak I am.

I envied those heroines in novels who could cope and adjust to everything incredibly quickly—it was honestly unfair.

What was it that they usually did in this situation? Was it either asking for divorce or running away?

Yeah, yeah, then for some reason, the male lead would suddenly realize how much he actually loves the heroine because she's interesting now—chase her, and do everything in his power to get her back. Then they would end up together eventually and live happily ever after, the end, I thought sarcastically.