Hilsbeth, who couldn't distinguish between day and night for three days, looked up to see Panthonia entering the room.
"There's no food today," Panthonia said. "I'm planning to let you go."
Hilsbeth didn't say anything until he approached and put his hand on the knot, then she spoke, "Let me... go?"
"There's no need to keep you here anymore."
He untied the rope and held it in his hand. "Stand up," he said, "and move around a bit."
She slowly twisted her body, letting her legs down from the edge of the bed until her feet touched the ground. She had been wearing shoes, but somehow she had lost them. She wiggled her toes for a while, then supported herself with her palms to stand up. She pushed her hair aside from her forehead, and her body swayed slightly from side to side. She moved her ankles, found her shoes, and slipped her feet into them.
Like a restless fish suddenly jumping out of a basket, Hilsbeth suddenly pushed against Panthonia's chest.
"Idiot, you..."
Panthonia grabbed her wrist.
"I'm planning to let you go, and you start making trouble."
"Yeah, so what."
She stared into his eyes, seeming even more spirited than she had three days ago. Perhaps even if he threatened her with a knife now, she wouldn't weaken her stubbornness, Panthonia thought. To avoid detection by Duke Koen, he couldn't punish her in any way that would leave a trace, so he decided to use a more effective method to quiet her down.
"Want to know why I'm letting you go?"
"Aren't you afraid I'll talk? Aren't you afraid everyone around will find out you're a fake gentleman? Aren't you afraid..."
"Aretta's likely not a suicide."
"... What?"
"It can be inferred that she was killed by someone from Salvaney."
Just as Panthonia had expected, Hilsbeth immediately stopped making trouble. She looked at him, her eyes softening while flickering with a hint of anxiety.
"The original assumption was that she cut her wrists, wrote with blood on the wall, then hung herself. My colleagues and I re-examined the scene and the blood on the body, and found two things. First, she lost a lot of blood, which, though not necessarily fatal, certainly depleted most of her strength, enough to make her delirious. In this state, she couldn't possibly tie such a tight knot. Even if the noose was hung before cutting her wrists, it doesn't explain why there was no blood on it."
Hilsbeth furrowed her brow, shook her head slightly, as if she needed some time to digest this information.
"So... what about those blood words... what do they mean?"
"That's exactly it, those words led me to infer that the killer was from Salvaney. 'I'm forever yours,' this 'you' actually refers to Aretta's deceased husband. The killer murdered her, wrote down this sentence on her behalf, indicating that she can never escape from this family. Even in death, she belongs to Salvaney's brother."
Hilsbeth sat back on the bed, lowered her head, pressed her eyes with the palm of her hand, then scratched the mosquito-bitten right elbow with her nails.
"Whatever. Say what you want. It's all the same. You... you killed her like this, without consequences. I don't care who it is. It's all the same."
"Don't sit. I'm taking you out," Panthonia said.
"Where to?"
"I'll take you to the main road, and then it's up to you. But I suggest you go home, clean yourself up, and do what you've been doing at the hotel at night. It's better for you."
"...Why? What's the point?"
Panthonia was starting to lose patience. He pulled her up.
"I've said what needed to be said. I'm not obligated to think about your future. You're acting up now, but I guarantee you'll shiver in fear tonight when you're alone at home, afraid that Salvaney's people might come for you. My only advice is to shut up, except when you're singing for your supper. Or you can wait for that boy to come knocking again next time, and accept his necklace; just don't scheme further, his father won't allow it."
They didn't speak further; he led her out of the house.
That night, Hilsbeth returned to the hotel, not only enduring a scolding from the boss but also facing a punishment of not getting paid for three days of singing. On stage, she felt she had missed several notes, but it seemed that none of the guests noticed. The thin nobleman youth didn't show up. Thinking that he might be the only one who could tell if she was off-key, Hilsbeth suddenly felt a bit guilty for refusing his gift that day.
That string of diamond necklaces was something she had never seen before, whether before or after becoming a refugee. The so-called insecurity of wearing it wasn't true, or at least not the only reason; she had no idea how to react at the time. Perhaps the young man, just a few years younger than her, seemed very shy, even though he tried to stand up straight and raise his chin, but there was one overly deliberate detail that revealed his inner thoughts: to appear dignified in front of her, he disguised the clearly affectionate gift as a high-profile favor from a nobleman to a favored young lady, and he tried not to blink when avoiding eye contact with her. At the same time, he was clearly lacking in confidence, as if he knew very well that, compared to the attractiveness of the herons, he was far inferior to the diamond necklace in her hand.
The necklace. Encrusted with many diamonds. Dazzling couldn't even begin to describe it. When she was very young, Hilsbeth thought it would be great if there were ten thousand fireworks, she could watch them all night until the sun rose and covered the brilliance of the fireworks. Now, what she saw in front of her was exactly those ten thousand fireworks.
Accept it, find a way to dismantle it, and sell it bead by bead. This should work. Relying on this, she could move to a place outside the Queen's district – and more. But, Hilsbeth could only imagine this short-term goal.
What's wrong with that? Isn't this what she and Aretta had always longed for?
"Let me tell you something," she remembered Aretta saying to her, "I finally met a good man."
—Is he really that good?
"I'm not lying to you. I wish I had met him five years earlier."
—What are your plans for the future?
"He promised to take me away. Away from Stormwind, he said. To a place where Salvaney can't find us."
—Is that too risky?
"It's better than staying here forever. The risk is definitely worth it! Hilsbeth, I know, my good days are finally coming."
If Hilsbeth had never felt jealous of Aretta at the time, it would have been a lie. But later, a conversation pushed them both to another emotional extreme.
"He... he has other women. I don't know what to do, Hilsbeth..."
—How can he do that? What about his promise to you?
"He said he would find a way to get me out. But... can I trust him? And what's the point of that? Without him by my side..."
—No, think positively, Aretta. Hold him to that promise. Let the rest be. It might be a little late to bring it up now, but I've always thought there might be something wrong with this person.
"Think positively? There's nothing positive anymore. It's all my fault. Since I married into that family. He doesn't want a woman from the Salvaney family, it's not his fault. There's no hope. I'd rather die. Better to die."
—Don't talk nonsense! He can't treat you like this, Aretta. Don't say these things, I don't want to hear it.
When Hilsbeth faced Panthonia that night, she said something about Aretta's suicidal thoughts, and no matter how she tried to persuade her, she couldn't stop her. That was half true. Because after failing to convince her, she said one last thing to Aretta:
"Fine, do as you wish. Arguing endlessly with you will drive me insane. You're always torturing yourself, so if you want to die, just go ahead. I can't stop you anyway."
The slight jealousy towards her friend's earlier claim of "finding the perfect man and leaving" finally condensed, lay dormant, and compressed into this sentence. She understood that in everyday life, people often mention death or killing during arguments, but saying these words to a friend who truly showed signs of suicide was a completely different matter.
When she first heard about Aretta's suicide, she almost cried all night, without a shred of doubt that she should bear the main responsibility. Later, facing Panthonia, she almost immediately and unreservedly shifted her guilt onto this man, and the three days of confinement further reinforced her belief – gradually erasing from memory the belief that she had expressed those words. – It's all this despicable ingrate's fault! And I warned her! – But today, hearing Panthonia's speculation about the killer, Hilsbeth's already fragile belief immediately vanished without a trace. You, you, and you, it's you who killed Aretta; and I have a share in it too. Now she couldn't leave the Queen's district, and I...
So, late into the night, when Hilsbeth lay alone on her bed at home, she began to feel afraid – just as Panthonia had predicted. She was afraid of estimating how much blame she had to bear for Aretta's death, afraid that the rejected noble youth might harbor thoughts of revenge, afraid that Salvaney's people might intercept her outside the hotel after the performance. Afraid... afraid... afraid... afraid...
She tossed and turned and couldn't sleep, and after a turn, she saw Aretta standing by her bed. The image lasted only a second, but she clearly saw the marks on her neck, the cuts on her wrists, and her sorrowful face. Only in such a second, Hilsbeth was not afraid at all; she carefully looked into the eyes of her deceased friend, searching for an answer to a question:
Forgive me, please?
The next night, when Hilsbeth was singing at the hotel, Phipin didn't come, but Panthonia appeared in the audience again. After the performance, Hilsbeth stayed in the dressing room for five minutes longer than usual, then went home alone.