Please Don’t Die, My Lady

Chapter 9: Doll

The healing magic finally came to an end after a long while.

Unlike the treatments I received in the organization, it didn’t feel like my body was being forcefully pieced back together.

It was a testament to how much care Sena had put into the process.

Yet, I couldn’t help but glare at her with bloodshot eyes.

Her final words had struck a nerve deep within me.

“The external wounds are healed, but everything else remains the same.

I’ll fetch some medicine, so please lie down for now.”

“Leave.”

“Your Grace—”

“Leave. Now.”

I tried to say it nicely, but she didn’t get the message.

This is why I despise the limitations of the duchess’ body.

Without the ability to throw out a sharp curse or insult, my arsenal for driving people away was significantly reduced.

As soon as Sena stepped away from my body after finishing her healing spell, I shifted to the corner of the bed, putting as much distance between us as possible.

Even to me, my behavior resembled that of a frightened animal, but what choice did I have?

I didn’t have the strength to physically push her away. My only option was to retreat.

Even as I curled up in the corner, my eyes never left her.

It was the closest thing to hostility I had displayed since arriving at the academy.

Sena met my gaze head-on, her expression not startled but filled with pity.

Those eyes.

I couldn’t bear those eyes.

“Thank you for your concern.

And for using magic on me—I’ll repay you.

But I never once asked you to do this.”

Yes, Sena Blomberg is human. So what?

If she’s human, if her actions stem from good intentions, does that mean she can disregard the other person’s wishes and act as she pleases?

I had refused her.

I had expressed my will multiple times.

But now, even people don’t listen to me anymore. What else could I do?

“You don’t have to thank me, and there’s no need to repay me.

Can’t you simply accept it as blind kindness from goodwill?”

I knew, of course.

I knew that everything I was saying was just the stubborn pride of a pathological duchess.

No one in their right mind would reject free healing magic out of sheer spite.

If anything, it was something to be grateful for—especially when even the academy infirmary charged money.

But I—

The duchess couldn’t tolerate it.

For the duchess, pride was no longer just about holding her head high; it was the last line defining her as human.

If that line crumbled, she would die as a human.

No, she would become something worse than a corpse—a puppet incapable of functioning as a person yet requiring the resources of life.

So I opened my eyes wide, trying to convey anything but pity to her.

I’d rather be hated than pitied.

“Oh, that one-sided kindness and generosity?

Fine. I understand that not appreciating unsolicited kindness makes me a terrible person.

I’ve seen people like that plenty—those who offer charity only for their own satisfaction while ignoring what the other party wants, deluding themselves into thinking they’re good people.”

“W-Wait, that’s not what I meant! You’ve misunderstood—”

“Of course, it’s not what you meant.

I know Sena isn’t like that.

But I hope you’ll keep this in mind.

If your kindness isn’t received as such, it ceases to be a good deed.

I apologize if I sound like I’m lecturing; I’m just a troublesome person.”

“Your Grace… your skin, bones, and organs—there wasn’t a single part of you that wasn’t damaged.

If left untreated, things might have spiraled out of control.”

Her tone grew more defensive, as if she felt wronged.

And rightly so—she had acted out of genuine concern.

But did she realize her concern was eating away at me?

That it had already hollowed me out, leaving nothing but a shell?

That her pity, like a parasite, had burrowed deep into my mind?

Of course not.

Nor did she need to.

“Then let me die.

That’s my choice.”

“W-What?!”

I wouldn’t stoop to the selfish act of yelling at her for not understanding me.

But this much, at least, was fine.

Because this is who I am.

I am, and the duchess is, a creature with nothing left but her life, and the only thing she can do with it is choose to throw it away—a being somewhere between a corpse and a doll.

“Why does it matter?

Are you going to tell me I don’t even have the right to choose my own death?

If so, there’s nothing left for me.”

Truthfully, even that right was something I only regained after coming to the academy.

Before that, even my life and death were at the whims of my masters—I was nothing but a puppet.

By that standard, I’m practically living a happy life now.

Because I’ve come to understand what a blessing it is to have the right to choose my end.

So expressing anger toward Sena for denying my right isn’t wrong.

My feelings are justified.

Aren’t they? Don’t you agree, duchess?

“And yet, you…”

I felt the emotions I had been suppressing clawing their way up, threatening to spill out.

They were raw, tangled, and intense—things I had kept buried deep inside.

If I let this continue, I’d vomit up everything I had held back.

“Hah.”

But the moment I saw Sena’s expression, it all cooled off like a dying flame.

Confusion, fear, curiosity, a hint of frustration—and pity.

Pity. Pity. Pity. Pity.

…That’s enough.

I don’t care anymore.

No matter what I say, to her, I’ll always be just a pitiful person.

And honestly, she’s not even wrong.

“…I’m sorry. I went too far.”

“N-No, it’s my fault. I should have asked for your permission first—”

“Of course not.

Sena, your actions were admirable.

I’m just someone with no decency who responded poorly to kindness.

Isn’t that right?”

“…Ah.”

“At least I realized it before being more impolite.

I’m sorry, Sena Blomberg.”

Sena’s face trembled as she accepted my apology, clearly shaken by the impression that she had done something terribly wrong.

But she hadn’t.

It was my fault.

I truly believed that.

How could I, a corpse, lie to a human?

I stared at her intently, signaling that I wouldn’t add anything further or argue anymore.

See?

I’m such a well-behaved doll.

What do you think?

I’m quite pretty on the outside, aren’t I?

I don’t know how she interpreted my gaze, but it seemed to make her uncomfortable.

“…I’m sorry. I’ll leave now.”

Eventually, after fidgeting for a while, she hung her head and rose from her seat.

Funny how she wouldn’t budge when I asked her to leave earlier.

Now, no matter what I say, it seems to have the opposite effect.

The thought made me laugh quietly.

If that were truly the case, life would be so much easier.

I’d just say the opposite of what I mean.

I’d be a liar, but life would be far more convenient.

Of course, the duchess would still cling to her sense of dignity, insisting on the truth even in such a situation.

The thought made me laugh again—it was oddly believable.

“Thank you. I’ll see you again next time.”

I didn’t miss the chance to offer a kind farewell, naturally smiling.

These days, even forcing a smile feels like a struggle.

As the duchess becomes more of a liar, does that mean I’m becoming more honest in contrast?

Sena gave me a troubled look before bowing her head and leaving my room.

Listening quietly to the sound of her footsteps fading away, I slowly let my body collapse onto the bed.

For some reason, I felt at peace.

It was a peculiar sensation, as if I had either let something go or locked it away completely.

The comfort brought by her healing magic likely played a part.

At this moment, I felt as though I could have a pleasant dream, so I closed my eyes.

Even though I had slept extensively earlier, sleep soon overtook me again.

I should savor it while I can.

By tomorrow, this fleeting comfort will vanish.

I’ll return to the classroom, endure the same torment, and come back battered once more.

As the frail doll that I am, I’ll inevitably fall ill again.

Honestly, it’d be easier to remain in pain continuously.

It’s harder to deal with the contrast of feeling fine and then hurting again.

Even as I felt a faint satisfaction from Sena’s magic, I lamented the emptiness I knew would follow and allowed myself to drift off into the embrace of sleep.

That night, I dreamt of Hans.

Sena’s mention of him must have stirred those memories.

I’m not sure if it was a good dream.

Since it was a memory from happier times, perhaps it was.

***

Day after day, time continued to pass.

Without any particular excitement, extraordinary events, or unbearable suffering.

Just the same cycle of being hit, cut, stabbed, and crying.

I let myself flow with the monotony of this dry, repetitive existence—a mixture of reality and delusion.

Four days.

A week.

Half a month.

Even as time sped by, Ariana never failed to prepare new tortures daily.

Some, like an iron maiden, were so absurdly intricate that they seemed beyond normal imagination, overwhelming me visually. But experiencing them firsthand, they didn’t feel all that different.

Yes, it hurts.

It hurt so much that I could do nothing but scream, unable to think or act.

But the pain was only inflicted on the duchess’ body.

As the suffering repeated, my reactions dulled. It was inevitable.

After all, they didn’t kill me.

No matter how they tortured me, they always restored me afterward.

And so—

I found myself growing accustomed to this so-called “torture.”

Maybe, at some point, I even thought:

“Maybe it’s not so bad.”

If my days continued to consist solely of physical pain, I could accept it dispassionately.

Yes, I’d cry and curse the duchess after each session, swearing I’d rather die, but it would pass quickly, leaving no lasting impression.

When nighttime came, I’d simply think, “I survived another day,” and feel relieved.

It was awful, but the sheer weight of my suffering left no room for introspection or lamenting my life.

Instead, I emptied my mind, grateful for the simple continuation of existence.

It’s a dependency, the worst way to feel alive—but what choice do I have?

Right now, this dull survival is the only thing keeping me aware of myself.

I can only adapt to the best of my ability.

“This much is fine, isn’t it?”

I no longer wish for improvement, a return to the past, or for someone to die.

I’ve stopped making those extravagant wishes.

I simply, cautiously hope that if suffering must continue, let it be the familiar pain.

Is that so unreasonable?

That’s all I ask as a mere corpse doll of a duchess.

No more people, please.

No more kindness.

No more hostility.

No more acquaintances.

No more hatred.

Isn’t that reasonable?

No more pain, please.

No more lingering pain.

No more sudden pain.

No more physical pain.

No more emotional pain.

Isn’t that reasonable?

No more events, please.

No more changes.

No more suffering.

No more salvation.

No more death.

Isn’t that reasonable?

I’ve already suffered enough, and I’ve resigned myself to enduring it indefinitely.

Is wishing for mere constancy—neither more nor less—so unreasonable?

Perhaps it is.

“Are you going to take away even this modest desire?”

That would be just like you.

I’m sure you’re laughing at me even now.

How does it feel, looking at the corpse doll you created?

Is it beautiful?

Amusing?

Or does it… excite you?

If it’s none of those, I can’t understand.

Why me, this corpse?

Why the duchess, this doll?

Why bind the two together to create this corpse doll?

What is it you’re watching now?