The Sickly Prince and His Knife-Wielding Wife

He devoted his lifetime to her, and she loved him for an eternity. — “Your Highness, marry me! You can live as a house-husband, I’ll provide you with wealth, food, and whatever you need. Just write your name on this contract!“ After a moment, she quickly added, “And! Swear on your lower bits that you’ll take the medication I prescribe you!” Ophelia Lenore had been the first and last wife of the Fourth Prince, a skilled surgeon in the 28th century, and now she was the Fourth Prince’s wife once more. Ever since childhood, Ophelia only dreamt of one thing, and one thing only—a boy who gradually turned into a man as she grew up. In all her dreams, she dreamt of a lofty man donned in ancient garments. He gazed at her with unspeakable love, and his gentle touches were fleeting like the wind. The night of her 24th birthday, Ophelia dreamt of him once more. Unlike all previous times, he laid in his bed, his body terrifyingly cold. “Helia, would you remarry after my death?” He whispered, his hands running over her face, tracing her features. His eyes were nearly translucent, and he had already lost all sight. “Nevermind, you don’t have to answer—I’m afraid that I might get jealous.” “I wouldn’t!” Ophelia defiantly replied, her voice cracking. Though she didn’t know him, a wave of inexplicable sadness rushed over her. Her eyes moistened with tears, and her nostrils suddenly became stuffy. “I’d- I’d become a nun!” “…A nun?” He hoarsely laughed, brushing her tears away with his hand, “Don’t cry for me, I might die from sadness instead if you do.” Ophelia weakly smiled at him and opted for silence as she’d burst into tears if she spoke another word. She then leaned into the man’s embrace; it was unknown when, but after closing her eyes, she shortly fell asleep. Upon reopening her eyes, Ophelia realized that she was donned in a white wedding gown, and before her stood a handsome man donned in a black suit. He lovingly smiled at her and asked, “What’s the matter, Helia?”