The rain seemed to have its own melody, a loud and strong music that didn't seem like it would end anytime soon.
She could hear the drops falling and hitting the glass, but everything was muffled; any sound seemed muted, as if she were underwater trying to hear a beat from outside.
Looking around now, less confused, though with the same pain, she could notice things she hadn't seen before.
On the wall beside the door, there were several bookshelves that practically occupied the entire wall. In front of these shelves, there was an elegant desk, with a clutter of papers and documents piled on top of it.
In the middle of the room, there was a beautiful unlit gold chandelier. On the wall opposite the bed, there was a lit fireplace with a lovely open iron guard. There were flower designs made of iron on the doors of the open guard.
Opening the balcony doors, she looked outside and noticed that the incomplete painting was no longer on the easel, as it had been replaced by a new painting.
She then looked around the bed, noticing a vase of chrysanthemums on one of the nightstands beside the bed. Next to the vase was the book that the little cake had given her.
Akane traced her fingers over the cover of the book; it was quite heavy, and with a quick glance, she saw that it had more than 200 pages.
Branches with golden flowers decorated the dark leather cover, with a blue color adorning the tips of the petals. The spine of the book was decorated with red spider lily flowers.
Maybe she should read the book?
She held the book in her hands as best she could and got out of bed, ignoring the protests. The curtains were closed, but even though the noise was muffled, she could still hear, albeit faintly, the rain drops that continued to fall like a waterfall against the windows.
She went to the glass door of the balcony. Something was keeping her from her beloved sleep and giving way to a feeling she didn't understand, so she might at least try to see if there was something useful in the little cake's book.
And that was irritatingly not irritating for her. Maybe that doesn't make sense, but when did anything here make sense, dear reader?
However, time seemed to stop as soon as she reached the glass door; her breath hitched, and her heart painfully sped up.
There was a shadow, someone was on her balcony.
Someone with long white hair.
Despite the strangely beautiful scene.
Everything seemed to stop.
And all the musicality that had once existed in the rain disappeared.
This figure seemed to exist against the laws of time and reality.
Here in front of her was someone from whom life seemed to flee.
A stranger to time.
A stranger to life.
A stranger to reality.
But a family to death.
As soon as she blinked, the shadow of someone was gone and she had forgotten everything she had thought.
But a few seconds had to pass before she released the breath she had been holding due to the protests of her lungs.
Slowly, she opened the door and silently looked around. The incomplete painting of herself that had been on the easel had disappeared; in its place was another painting, but with only a few brushstrokes of paint. Somehow, it was obvious that the painting was also about her.
She hadn't realized it until that moment, but apart from the sound of the rain, everything was too quiet. Even the rain seemed to try to stay as quiet as possible, as if it feared or respected something.
She quickly dismissed these thoughts. If she died, it was better that her bastard husband avenged her. Besides, it was unnecessary for her to worry about it; after all, considering that her maids managed to lift the little cake as if it were nothing, she didn't want to know how strong those assigned to protect her were.
There's no way she could be killed inside her damn husband's house, so she could give that credit to the idiot; at least he was good for something.
She observed the night sky for a while. The seven moons were in front of her, forming a straight line. But they, along with the stars, seemed to shine more faintly and moved slowly toward the horizon, as if they feared disturbing someone. She scoffed at that.
Sitting lazily in the comfortable chair, she opened the book and went straight to the beginning of the first chapter. For some reason, she felt nostalgic when she saw the illustration of a huge white dragon atop a mountain, watching a black-haired elf sitting by a campfire with a human man.
So she began to read, "Chapter 1: The Legend of How the Aikah Family Began."