The woman's eyes began to shine, and her face was a picture of weighted emotion, framed by tufts of bright blue hair. For an instant, I felt something strange, not from the tyrant's memory. Guilt? Compassion? I did not know. I knew that she was going to cry and that I hated it.
I wanted to reach out for her, to say a kind word, to soothe. But I restrained myself.
Nope. I couldn't. Not here, not now. I had no idea who she was to me—rather, to him. If I broke character, it may lead to suspicion, and the last thing I needed was suspicions against me.
She took one wavering step forward, her voice hiccups as she talked. The words spilled out in almost incomprehensible tones.
"Why won't you give me my freedom like you said you would?
I blinked, confused. "What are you talking about?" I said, trying to keep my voice level, even though, actually, I had no idea what she meant.
Her expression darkened. "The promise you made," she said, her voice rising. "You said if I agreed to be your wife for one year, you'd let me go. You swore it!
Her words slapped me like an open-handed blow. My mind racing, I tried to remember anything that could explain this, but nothing came. The memories I'd inherited were partial, focused on the empire's politics and its descent into chaos. There was nothing about her, nothing about any promises.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I said, clicking my tongue in frustration.
Her tears began to fall in earnest, and she clenched her fists. "You're lying. You're always lying!"
I opened my mouth to respond, to say something, but a sharp, sudden pain exploded in my head.
A voice—cold, mechanical, and emotionless—echoed in my mind:
"This action will violate your existence. Your free will shall be removed."
My breath caught, and a chill ran down my spine. What the hell was that?
It wasn't a warning; it was a threat. A cold, emotionless statement of fact. I didn't even have to think about it to know what it meant. If I so much as entertained the idea of letting her go, something-something-would happen to me.
I clutched my head as the pain subsided, only to realize my mouth was moving without my consent.
"Believe me?" I spat, the words dripping with malice. "You're a fool if you think I'd ever let someone like you go so easily."
My eyes went wide with horror as the words left my lips. Those weren't mine.
The tyrant's voice, his venom, his disdain—it had forced its way out of me, unbidden.
The realization struck like a ton of bricks. Whatever had dragged me here, whatever had cast me in this frame, it was refusing to allow me my will. For whenever I strayed—to be mine—the damper seized the better of it and hauled me down again in this mold of tyranny.
Not reincarnation but prison.
I breathed out again, composing myself as I gazed at the woman. Her tears streamed down her face now, her hope finally shattered by my words. I couldn't let her see what was in me. I couldn't let anybody see.
"Leave," I said, my tone icy and dismissive. "You shouldn't have come. I didn't send for you, and I don't have time for your stupid questions.
She flinched at my sharp tone, then turned and hurried out of the chamber, her sobs ringing in the hall.
The minute the door was closed behind her, I slumped back in the throne, my hands shaking.
"What am I, damn it?" I muttered to nobody.
I stared at my hands—hands that weren't mine, hands that had likely signed death warrants and ruined lives. My mind reeled. Why did I care about her? Why had I felt the urge to help? That wasn't who I was now. That wasn't who he was.
But it was who I had been.
A tired salaryman who worked himself into the ground, yet still held doors open for strangers, still gave spare change to beggars on the street. That man wouldn't have crushed a woman's hope with words like a hammer.
And yet, here I was, sitting on a throne of lies and cruelty, spitting venom at someone who so obviously needed kindness.
Was this the tyrant's influence? Was I becoming him? Or had something inside me already been broken, twisted by this new world and its rules?
I clenched my fists, anger and despair bubbling inside me. This wasn't me. I wasn't like this.
But as I sat there in the empty chamber, the cold truth settled over me like a shroud.
I wasn't a man anymore.
I was a puppet.
And the strings were held by something far more monstrous than I could ever imagine.