EYRTHMB 07

7. A Funeral on My Birthday
2023.11.07

Hoo.

Helena took a short, deep breath and knocked on the door.

Normally, a servant or butler would have come to guide her from the entrance. But there was no one to greet her.

“…That’s strange.”

It wasn’t an especially grand house, but ever since she became the Grand Duchess, some effort had been made.

A proper mansion had been built to replace the old, crumbling house, servants had been employed, and horses had been sent along with people to help run the household.

Yet now, the mansion was eerily quiet, as if everyone who should be there had simply vanished.

“Is anyone here? It’s Helena… could you—”

She was about to knock again when the door clicked and the handle turned.

“…Helena?”

The door opened just a sliver. A familiar voice flowed out, and after a few seconds, a woman emerged.

It was Matilda Owen, Countess Owen.

“How have you been, Mother?”

Matilda straightened her back after bending to inspect the unexpected visitor.

She looked Helena over from head to toe as if searching for a flaw on a piece of merchandise, showing no effort to hide her displeasure.

“What brings you here without warning? And what on earth are you wearing?”

Her sharp voice stabbed at Helena’s chest even more than her narrowed eyes.

Matilda glared around quickly, then roughly grabbed Helena’s arm.

“Come in first.”

Helena followed her inside.

With every step she took, the strong smell of alcohol assaulted her nose. A familiar sense of unease wrapped around her ankles, but she continued walking.

The mansion at the end of that path utterly betrayed her expectations.

Bottles were scattered across tables. The servants Matilda had hired were nowhere to be seen. Dust had accumulated in every corner, and some furniture was even broken.

Despite it being broad daylight, the curtains were drawn, casting the interior in shadow.

As Helena looked around, Matilda snapped at her.

“What kind of Grand Duchess dresses like that? Not a single proper accessory on you.”

“-Hic.”

Before Helena could even respond, intermittent hiccups escaped from behind her.

Reflexively, she turned, and what she thought was a messy pile stirred.

A man, with bandages wrapped around his head, slowly rose among the rows of bottles.

“Oh, our beloved daughter has come.”

The alcohol smell intensified, giving her a headache.

He was her family, the only person in the world with shared blood—but why did the word “beloved” feel so hollow, so empty?

Helena forced herself to speak, despite the weight in her chest.

“…Father.”

He, like Matilda, scanned her appearance and muttered through slurred words.

“Uh… do you have any money? Or even some jewelry from the Duke as a gift, anything… It’s been years since we’ve seen family—you didn’t come empty-handed, I hope.”

Her stepbrother, Eric, must have heard the voices downstairs. He came down the stairs, resting his arm on the railing, smirking.

“Long time no see, Helen.”

His eyes above the unkempt beard were sunken and dull. Every time he opened his mouth, the smell of stale cigarettes poured out.

His face, which was somewhat bearable before, bore new bruises from some recent scuffle. Dark marks dotted his eyelids and nose; bandages wrapped his limbs, and his lips were chapped and red.

Yet his rotten mindset remained intact.

“Perfect timing. About the money due next month—can you give it now? I have some urgent need for it.”

Helena swallowed her anger. Even in the past, they asked for money as a matter of course, but never this shamelessly.

In the past, their pride stopped them from clinging desperately, like beggars. Matilda had always behaved as if someone was chasing her, even at the door.

A horrifying thought struck her.

‘Could it be…?’

They were diligent enough to send her monthly allowance. At least they remained within the pretense of family.

Yet if they could barely pay their servants properly and had them leave, there was only one explanation.

“You’ve been gambling again, haven’t you?”

Her head throbbed painfully. Dizziness set in.

“After letting my brother die like that, you still…?”

“Why do you think he died because of us?!”

Matilda yelled, hissing. Helena, unable to contain her own rage, shouted back.

“While you fiddled with worthless papers, Basil never got a proper dose of medicine and died!”

“He was always frail! Even all the medicine wouldn’t have helped! You can’t pin it on us!”

“You shouldn’t have hidden the truth from the start! Did Basil… did Basil and I ever truly belong to this family?”

“We were just trying to protect you from shock! Do you think that by questioning us, the dead would come back?”

In her first life, Helena realized too late that Basil was dying.

Even with a doctor in place and a promise to provide full care if the money came regularly, she had held back her desires. She trusted their greed.

Having been married off so young, she felt too guilty to show that she was eating and living better than Basil.

She also feared that if she fell out of Eugene’s favor, even the medicine might not arrive. He wanted her to abandon habits unfit for a Grand Duchess.

⌜Evergeil is now your responsibility. Please act according to your position, Helena.⌟

She swallowed the thought that Basil was not a habit but a person, and gradually stopped visiting him.

Then came the winter when the snow fell unusually early.

‘You were already gone.’

Helena held Basil’s funeral on her own birthday.

Year after year, repeated by the loop of reincarnation, she prayed, but nothing changed.

Even when she brought him to Evergeil to live together, even when he was sent to a hospital for proper care…

⌜I’m sorry, sister.⌟

As if it had to be that day, as if cursed, Basil left without fail every birthday.

So she had practiced letting go as a habit. Even this small act of relinquishment allowed her to spend a little more time by Basil’s side as time rewound.

It was the only thing she was grateful for during the cursed repetitions.

But even this meager gratitude was painful. This life, she awoke only after Basil had already left. He would have been neglected just as in the first life.

And yet life continued to offer no ease until the very end.

Helena ran frantically to Basil’s room, following her uneasy instincts. The cold air hit her as soon as she opened the door.

“Ugh.”

The room was empty. Spotlessly clean, as if it had always been vacant.

The navy suit she’d bought for his sixteenth birthday, the canvas and art tools to keep him occupied, the bedding that still carried his scent—nothing remained.

Helena collapsed, as if facing a ruin. Matilda’s shadow loomed behind her.

“Don’t think too sentimentally. Holding onto a dead person’s things only brings misfortune. Where’s the money anyway?”

Money, money. She felt sick to her stomach. She clutched the doorframe and stood with trembling legs.

“Are you even human?”

“What?”

“Even animals cherish their offspring. Even if all they have are thorns, they still nurture their young.”

“You’ve really lost your mind, living alone and now seeing nothing!”

Turning to face Matilda, Helena felt bile rise. She could no longer hold it in.

She spat out words like a final act of defiance.

“You may have given up on being human, but you shouldn’t be worse than beasts! You spent your whole life mooching off that bastard, yet your voice carries so loudly. But what can you do? Soon, you won’t have anything to mooch on.”

“W-what?!”

“Instead of shuffling cards, you should figure out which grave you’re going to starve at first.”

Matilda hesitated for a moment, her face turning red and blue. Count Owen and Eric, who had been watching, also stared at Helena, their sunken eyes reddened.

Even their gazes revealed their petty nature.

Helena exhaled in disbelief. Somehow, even that worried her.

“How low can you sink?”

“Say that again. Did you just say you won’t send money anymore? Who do you think got you into Evergeil?”

“Honestly… if you have even a shred of conscience, you couldn’t do this!”

“How dare you lecture your parents!”

Snap!

A sharp crack echoed. Her vision spun. Her cheek stung.

Was it the sound of her own flesh? Her eyes burned.

“Parents. Parents.”

Helena couldn’t even reach to touch her swollen cheek. The taste of blood filled her mouth.

“You stole my food, filled your own belly first, forced me to read cues before letters, never gave me a proper outfit, only stinking rags, and you call yourselves parents?”

She pressed her burning eyes, unwilling to show weakness in front of these people.

But she whispered each word like a curse:

“If these are parents, it would have been better if they never existed.”

“You still haven’t learned…!”

This time Count Owen raised his hand. Helena glared, refusing to blink, knowing tears would fall if she did.

Mother, father, brother—all looked at her with twisted faces, like insects.

Acknowledging it, she couldn’t help but laugh. A soft, deflated chuckle.

“Because they’re the type who’d crawl out of graves for money, because hunger made them sharp-tongued. I believed that if they had enough, at least they’d be human. You see, after rubbing your belly a little, you vanished.”

Helena continued in a voice that was hard to tell if it was laughing or crying:

“To think I believed such trash could even act like a family.”