Sometimes, there are memories that form part of your imagination. They're so elusive that you can't be sure if they're real, but they seem to hold subtle significance that you're not willing to just let go.
Alessandro was propped up against a big, fluffy pillow. One week. It's been a week since he gained back his consciousness, and the first time he was able to sit up on his own. He still wasn't strong enough to leave his bedroom, but at least he could now walk around the room unaided. His raven black hair fell to his waist, and his sapphire blue eyes were somber. There was just something about nearly getting killed that deprived him of his usual air of self-confidence. Almost dying in a war was one thing – but managing to survive a murder attempt was another.
Since he woke up, he had been replaying in his mind his last hour in the battlefield, the moments that led up to him getting struck with a sword to his chest. The image was so clear that he could visualize it almost as if it's happening right in front of him, over and over. Just thinking about it made his wound throb even more. For some reason, he couldn't shake off the feeling that the man who tried to kill him had a personal grudge against him – and that it may have been someone he knew.
There was another incident that had occupied his mind in the past few days. It was a lot less urgent, but it piqued his curiosity enough that he wanted to know what really happened. A woman. He heard a woman's voice. He didn't see her, and he couldn't remember what she said. But he was almost sure that she had called out to him, and it was her voice that rescued him from the brink of death.
"Sire, I brought your breakfast." He lifted his head to see Rocco carrying a tray laden with food. His butler was tall and had curly brown hair, which was a dire contrast to his straight laced personality.
Alessandro felt queasy at the sight of so much food, and he tried to fight the urge to throw up as Rocco settled the tray in front of him. "I still can't hold it down," he begrudgingly admitted. "Just get me some clear soup." He hated showing signs of weakness to anyone, but Rocco was one of the few people privy to it. His personal butler had been serving him for over 15 years, and he had proven to Alessandro on countless occasions that he can be trusted.
"But Sire," Rocco protested. "You've barely eaten anything for a week now. You need at least a proper meal."
"I'll try to have a decent lunch," Alessandro amended. "But soup is enough in the morning." Rocco reluctantly nodded and started to retrieve the tray. He was about to leave when Alessandro called him back.
"Was there a woman here when I was unconscious?" Alessandro finally voiced out the question that had been nagging him for days.
"What do you mean, Your Majesty?" Rocco looked at him curiously.
"I heard a woman's voice." At this, Rocco's expression became concerned. 'Perhaps,' Alessandro thought, 'he's suspecting me of hearing imaginary things.'
But Rocco, loyal servant that he was, still addressed Alessandro's question. "As per your orders, Your Majesty, no woman was allowed in your quarters since you returned from the war," he explained respectfully. "Even the maids were permitted no further than the door, and only the imperial doctor and I attended to you."
Alessandro nodded, accepting it as fact. Waiving his hand briefly, he dismissed Rocco, and with a weary sigh he closed his eyes and leaned against the pillow again. He didn't find any reason for his butler to lie. Maybe his injury did cause him to conjure up strange things. For all he knew, he may never have heard a woman's voice to begin with.
Hours later, the setting sun cast lengthy shadows across Alessandro's bedroom. It was elaborately decorated as befitting the monarch of a flourishing empire, with plush chairs gilded in pure gold and ceramic plates and bowls on top of low drawers. Rocco had already lighted about half of the candles in the room, and their warm glow made for a relaxing atmosphere.
His butler was back again, this time bringing with him supper. Alessandro had ordered for a small portion of salad, steamed chicken without any seasoning, and bread. Since he got through lunch without any issue, he figured he'd be fine with this much too. He was just about to help himself to salad when suddenly he heard a woman's voice.
'Oh, I forgot to wash this handkerchief. Now what do I do with it?'
Alessandro sat up straight and dropped his fork, his attention immediately arrested. "Did you hear that?" he demanded.
"Hear what, Your Majesty?" Rocco paused in the middle of folding some cloth napkins and came over to stand by the bed.
"A woman's voice! I just heard her."
Rocco gave him that look of concern again. "I didn't hear anything, Your Majesty."
"I know what I heard," Alessandro pounded his fist on the tray, causing the utensils to rattle. He was certain of it now, and it was frustrating that Rocco didn't seem to hear her – and worse, that his butler was pegging him as delusional.
"Would you like me to summon the imperial doctor, Your Majesty?" Rocco tentatively prodded.
"I don't need him at the moment," Alessandro replied, irked beyond measure by then. "You can go."
"Yes, Sire." Rocco bowed, casting him one last anxious look before leaving the room.
Alessandro set the tray on the bedside table, his appetite completely deserting him. He had almost conceded to the notion that the woman's voice was nothing more than a product of his imagination, brought about by the life-threatening injury he got. But now he knew that wasn't the case. He closed his eyes, the darkness magnifying the stillness of the room, and he focused on catching every sound. Try as he might, though, he didn't hear the woman's voice again that night.
*****
I was plopped on my bed, leaning against the window sill. The breeze was softly blowing and everything was silent. This was my favorite time, when I had finished the long, long list of my chores for the day and I could finally have some time to relax in my room. Or, if I was being completely honest, crawl back to my room would be a more appropriate term. That's definitely what I felt like doing after hours of manual labor.
In the two weeks since I arrived in the palace, I had primarily been delegated to polishing the hallways or doing the laundry. I learned that other servants were assigned in the garden or in the kitchen, but so far Madame Leone didn't seem to have the slightest intention of putting me in either of those more prestigious positions. I sighed tiredly. I had always thought that working in Seoul was hard, what with the crowded subways and mandatory overtime. But as I unfortunately discovered, being a scullery maid was synonymous to being at the bottom of the food chain. It was so difficult for me that it made working in Seoul seem almost like a fairytale.
At the thought of Seoul, I felt myself tear up. I missed my apartment, I missed all the modern conveniences that I had so easily taken for granted. I even missed celebrating my birthday. I wondered if Bong-su tried to call me after his company drinking event. 'I can't afford a pity party,' I coached myself, hastily wiping my eyes before more tears spilled. Whatever the magical forces that had brought me here, I was now at Luxentfort Empire, and I had to make the most out of it – if I wanted to make it out of here alive.
To keep from getting more depressed, I tried to distract myself with something else, and picked up the bloody handkerchief on the bed. I found it about a week ago and mindlessly stashed it under my pillow, forgetting about it. It was only tonight when I was changing my sheets that I saw it again, and I realized that I hadn't washed it yet. It was so soft to the touch and, aside from the bloody stain, felt very luxurious. I was sure it couldn't have belonged to any of the servants. So whose handkerchief was it?
*****
'I can't believe my breasts are getting smaller,' I moaned, holding my chest forlornly. I was dressing for work the next morning and noticed that my uniform was a few inches loose. I guess that was expected, given the intense physical activities I was involved in every day. But I didn't expect my breasts to shrink alongside my waist.
I never had to worry about that in Seoul. I had tried several times to go on a diet, but in between crispy fried chicken and beer, my attempts were never really successful. As a result, I wasn't too happy with my waistline, but I was definitely OK with my bust size. It seemed that I would have the opposite problem here. I let out a sigh and continued to dress.
'I can't believe my breasts are getting smaller.' Alessandro heard the words and choked on his morning coffee, spilling the drink all over the front of his shirt.
"Your Majesty, are you all right?" Rocco asked, hurrying over to Alessandro's bedside and handing him a towel.
"I'm fine," Alessandro said, trying to keep a straight face despite his embarrassment. 'What kind of woman is so brazen?' he thought.
"You didn't hear that, did you?" he clarified, just to make sure.
"Hear what, Your Majesty?" Rocco asked curiously.
Alessandro shook his head and continued wiping the coffee from his shirt. After a while, he thought of something, and he decided to give it a try. "Can you… hear me?" he tentatively asked.
"Yes, very well, You're Majesty."
"Not you!" Alessandro snapped.
"Then who are you speaking to, Sire?" Rocco looked at him bemusedly.
"The girl."
At his answer, Rocco stared at him like he had just sprouted horns. "Sire, there's only the two of us now in the room."
"Never mind that," Alessandro said dismissively. "Get me a new shirt."
Rocco bowed and left the room, giving Alessandro time to piece together what he could make of this mystery. He was definitely able to hear her now, but other people – at least Rocco in the last two instances – couldn't, and she also couldn't seem to hear him. So it was a one-way conversation, then. He remembered her statement last night about failing to wash a handkerchief, and this morning about her small breasts. He stifled a laugh. He had a feeling his days would be getting a lot more interesting moving forward.