A Fractured Encounter

"Father, it hurts," I could barely speak, my grip on his sleeves tightening as I hid myself behind him.

"Bernice, what happened?" His voice sounded worried, but I continued looking at him, peeking from behind. Yes, it's him – Alexavier Agnes, my husband, the young Duke of North.

"Father, let's go. I'm not feeling well," I stuttered, but before we could move away...

"Marquis Kael, what brought you to the temple?" He noticed us.

"Oh, Duke!" Dad seemed to have expected him.

"Oh, Lady Bernice is also here," he remarked, though his expression remained unchanged – the same poker face I'd grown accustomed to after months of our marriage.

"Greetings, Lady Bernice," he greeted me, but I couldn't even utter a word. The pain from my past experiences was still vivid in my memory.

The first night haunted me. Darkness engulfed everything. The mansion was eerily silent. No one informed me that he wouldn't be coming. There was no explanation. A week passed, and I waited, foolishly hoping for his presence.

"Bernice, this isn't what I taught you!" Father's voice broke my thoughts, but I struggled to form words.

"I-it w-was n-nice t-to m-meet y-you, Y-young D-duke A-Alexavier," my words barely came out coherently.

"Bernice, what's happening to you?" Father inquired, his concern evident.

"Lady, do you feel unwell? Shall I take you to the doctor?" He reached out to touch me.

"Don't touch me!" I shouted vehemently, stepping back. I trembled, feeling like I was trapped in an icy cage, slowly suffocating.

"Bernice!" Father's voice grew even louder, his tone a mix of concern and frustration. I couldn't distinguish between his shouting and his annoyance with my behavior.

I didn't know; all I knew was that I couldn't overcome my trauma.

"F-father, I'm going back to the carriage. You can join after your conversation," I announced and sprinted toward the carriage. I couldn't bear to be there for even a moment longer. It was stifling. His presence reminded me of the night I cried in a room that seemed painted in the same hue as his eyes.

Memories flooded back – throwing my jewelry, wailing, screaming like an animal – but no one heard, no one comforted, no one held me. I was utterly alone.

"Madam," I remembered how he addressed me with no hint of emotion.

"How dare he ask if I'm okay now, after not giving a damn about his legally wedded wife before? Suddenly, he's concerned when he sees me? Don't mock me, Duke." I spoke to myself for a while, anger and frustration welling up.

After five minutes, Father entered the carriage.

I avoided looking at him and wiped away all traces of tears.

"Bernice," he called softly.

"Yes, Father," I responded.

"You...now...

I knew he was struggling to find the right words.

"I know what you're trying to ask. But I won't explain. I won't say it was unintentional."

Yes, it was unintentional, yet it was intentional.

"I wasn't myself."

"He was terrifying."

I clutched my dress, trying to explain.

Inside, I knew that he wasn't terrifying, despite my words.

"He looks so cold."

Yes, he does.

"So, I don't want to be there. I don't want him to touch me, even if he's concerned."

"Bernice," Father said, his voice heavy with concern.

I didn't answer.

"I don't know what's happening to you, but you've changed. I won't ask for the reason, but I want to know why you hate him when you used to cut newspaper articles about his victories and keep them in your cupboard."

"You admired him a lot, so why did you suddenly change your mind and pick up the sword?"

He's worried, and I'm about to hurt him.

"Father, do you not like the idea of me being your successor?" It was my first attempt to break him.

"Bernice, it's not..."

"It's fine, Father. If you're uncomfortable, I won't attend the successor classes. I won't go against your wishes. I won't compete with Excalibur. I won't touch the sword, and I'll do as you say. Happy?" It pained me to say this, but if I didn't, he'd force me to answer questions I couldn't reveal.

"Bernice, I never thought..." He trailed off.

After this conversation, we maintained silence until we reached our destination. I felt guilty for hurting him, but it seemed better for everyone. He wouldn't mention my marriage, which was what I wanted the most.

"Lord, we've arrived," the driver announced.

We exited the carriage.

As Father went to take Excalibur inside, I stopped him.

"Father," I said, making him look at me.

"I'm sorry for hurting you." Guilt weighed on me.

I couldn't even bring myself to meet his gaze, but I felt his hand rest gently on my head.

"It's okay, as long as you're content," he assured.

Could I really be selfish? I wasn't sure. But if I indulged my own desires, I might harm my younger brother. He might come to resent me. He might feel worthless if I followed my own path. Was this truly what I wanted?

I remained confused, wrestling with so many questions.

There's so much left for me to do, yet I'm unsure of where to begin. I'm grappling with my past, with my present, with my family, and even with myself. Now, this god has begun to appear before me, not as a divine being but as a mere human, showing up whenever he pleases. He's not just appearing; he's also trying to burden me with responsibilities I don't desire. He claimed that death was my destiny, yet now he's attempting to alter fate. Why? Why are so many questions burdening me? Is it because the timeline has shifted? Because I've done something that challenges the world's order? No, it can't be. I've only returned. Everything else can unfold as it will. I merely want to survive. Is that so wrong?

I simply want to live. I yearn to live life on my own terms. This is something I won't allow anyone, not even a god, to take away from me.