The Devil is the Villainess

Chapter XLVII: If Forever Doesn't Exist

Medea—no, Lycoris—awoke once more, her consciousness returning to the familiar darkness of her domain. The cold floor beneath her was unforgiving, but it was the emptiness that truly chilled her. Slowly, she pushed herself up, her movements languid and hesitant, as if the weight of reality was too much to bear. 

As she rose to her feet, she noticed the book resting on her lap, its cover closed and its secrets hidden away once more. Her fingers brushed over it lightly, almost reverently, as if it were a fragile relic of a world she could never return to.

"So, I am alone again," she murmured, her voice barely more than a whisper in the vast silence of her domain. The words hung in the air, heavy with resignation and a sorrow she could no longer deny. With a deep, weary sigh, Lycoris stood up fully, her gaze sweeping across the shadowed expanse around her. 

It was strange. Everything felt so familiar, yet there was an odd sense of displacement as if something crucial was missing. She wrapped her arms around herself, seeking warmth in the cold, empty void, but found none.

The silence was suffocating, an oppressive blanket that pressed down on her from all sides. It was a stillness that she had once relished, but now it felt unbearable, a constant reminder of the life she had left behind. 

A life filled with warmth, light, and companionship she had not realized she craved until it was too late. 

Lycoris shook her head, trying to dispel the memories that threatened to overwhelm her, but they clung to her like shadows, refusing to let go.

She couldn't stay here, not now. The thought of being trapped in this solitude was too much to endure. With a thought, she summoned her powers and teleported herself to the top of the tower, the one place in her domain where she had always felt a semblance of peace. 

It was where she would stand, gazing out over the desolate landscape, searching for her next prey with a detached indifference. But now, as she stood there once again, clutching the book to her chest, the cold wind whipping around her, it felt different—hollow, empty, and void of purpose.

Lycoris gazed out at the barren wasteland below, her eyes tracing the jagged edges of the world she had once ruled with an iron fist. It was a place of darkness, devoid of life, a reflection of the void that had taken root in her heart. The wind howled around her, its icy fingers pulling at her hair and clothes, but she barely noticed. Her mind was elsewhere, lost in the echoes of a past that seemed almost like a dream.

"Why did you make me have it," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and sorrow, "when you were going to take it away in the end?" 

The words were directed at the Deity, the enigmatic being who had set her on this path, who had given her a taste of humanity only to snatch it away just as she began to understand it.

Her thoughts swirled with a thousand unanswered questions, and her chest tightened with a pain she had thought herself incapable of feeling. 

She had been the Devil, the embodiment of darkness and sin, and yet, in that brief time as Medea, she had found something she had long thought lost—a sense of belonging, of love, of warmth. And now, all of it was gone, leaving her more desolate than ever before.

The book in her hands felt heavier now as if it contained the weight of the world she had left behind. She clutched it tighter, as though it could somehow anchor her to the life she had lost. 

But deep down, Lycoris knew that nothing could bring back what was gone. The cold wind whipped around her, a stark contrast to the warmth she had once felt in Caelus's arms, and she shivered, not from the cold, but from the emptiness that now consumed her.