Bright red blood was flowing incessantly from between his tightly closed lips, like a dam overflowing, staining his black servant’s uniform. The sight was so surreal, like something out of a movie or a dream, that I found it hard to distinguish reality. It was impossible to believe this was a dream.

“Zachary!!”

I screamed in panic, grabbing his face.

Had he hurt the inside of his mouth? I tried to part his lips to check, but the blood kept gushing out, making it impossible to do anything. The blood continued to flow as if it were being wrung out of his body, pouring out at an unbelievably fast rate in such a short time.

“Just wait, stay like this. I’ll wipe it off. Ah…”

I hurriedly pulled a handkerchief from my pocket, trying to wipe his blood, but it wasn’t easy. My frantic actions were clumsy, lacking any gentleness.

Despite my rough handling, which would normally be unpleasant, Zachary remained motionless, simply letting me tend to his face. His impassive, continuous bleeding left me bewildered.

Why was this happening all of a sudden? Throughout the days we spent together, Zachary had never shown such a state. Therefore, it couldn’t be a side effect of the spell cast by the Duke.

‘Why is this happening? Has there been some change I’m unaware of?’

I wondered. Zachary had been calm until now, and his sudden change…

“Can you tell me anything? A greeting like before, or any other word… I want to talk with you.”

...Could it be because of me? Was it my request for him to speak that caused this? Had Zachary tried to say something to me and ended up like this?

‘Is it so painful for him to speak?’

I truly didn’t know. I had thought we might be able to converse since the day we met again, he managed to say hello with trembling hands. And now, my light-hearted wish seemed to have led to him bleeding, twisting my insides with guilt.

“Fuck.”

The swear word slipped out involuntarily. Disgust at my own ignorance overwhelmed me.

I shouldn’t have asked for a greeting, for him to speak to me. It’s such a painful task that it causes bleeding, yet I was clueless… Pathetic Oscar, did you not know? Does apologizing now, after causing such harm, make everything alright?

As I continued to wipe the blood that showed no sign of stopping, my nose started to sting, and my vision blurred. I barely swallowed a sigh. I hated this feeling of myself. Hated it so much I wanted to die.

Crying here, now? That’s unacceptable. Crying won’t solve anything. Yet the despair, regret, and guilt pulling me down were so overwhelming that my eyes kept welling up.

‘What should I do now?’

Think. Don’t get swept up in emotions; find a solution quickly. I tried to hold onto rationality, but my thoughts were inevitably drawn to the negative, staring at the bloody scene before me.

‘What can I, so powerless and insignificant, do?’

Zachary had greeted me the first day we met. I had hope when he expressed his will, but now, I’m not sure.

Our communication wasn’t about having an ordinary conversation. It was just through the tips of his fingers. Just writing one word with a trembling hand was putting such a strain on his body… Could I, in my ignorance, really undo this complex spell before Zachary loses his mind?

“It’s okay, it’s alright.”

Nonsense spilled from my mouth. Was I saying this to Zachary, or was it to calm my own panicked self?

I couldn’t afford to ponder such thoughts with the immediate, dreadful situation before me. Blood was still pouring out in copious amounts, and I was at a loss for how to manage it. His face was half-drenched in blood, and the room filled with a pungent, metallic smell.

“It’s, fine.”

But the most horrific thing was Zachary still trembling his hand. He’s not a fool; he must know. He must realize that by trying to express himself against the spell, he’s causing his body to expel blood uncontrollably. He must understand that if he stops trying to communicate with his hand, all this would end. But he doesn’t stop.

“……Why.”

He didn’t stop. Eventually, I couldn’t even utter empty reassurances that everything was alright.

“Don’t do it.”

I knew I should control my expression, but I couldn’t.

My heart ached. Even as I sank deeper into despair, Zachary’s attempt to communicate with me was driving me mad. Yes, he was still trying to write with his hand, despite the blood flowing so profusely.

I felt utterly lost, not knowing where to start or what to do. Whether I was saying it for him or to comfort myself, I didn’t know, but I kept repeating the same words.

“Please, stop now.”

I pleaded.

“I can see you’re trying. That’s enough for me.”

But despite my pleas, Zachary didn’t stop.

“You don’t have to try to talk to me anymore. We don’t have to converse. You don’t have to do anything… please, just stop.”

I don’t remember what I said after that. I just remember begging him repeatedly, with trembling hands soaked in blood, to stop. No matter how much I begged and reasoned with him… he desperately trembled his hand, trying to convey something.

The handkerchief, once absorbing the continual flow of blood, soon became saturated and useless.

The original color of the once-white handkerchief was unrecognizable. It seemed to vomit blood back out, now stained red. My sleeve too was soaked red with Zachary’s blood, up to the elbow.

“Ah…”

I paused wiping for just a moment, and the blood started flowing wildly again. I watched the overflowing blood blankly. Zachary’s face was now entirely red, and my mind, in stark contrast, turned blank, unable to think of anything.

‘What should I do?’

Whether it’s Zachary, who wouldn’t stop even as he bled in response to my request to speak, or myself, who had brought this innocent boy to such a state, the guilt was suffocating. All the while, the blood kept flowing between us.

The blood was oddly clear. Not dark red but vividly bright, almost like fake blood from a movie.

While I was frozen in shock, the blood not only soaked the bandage around Zachary’s neck but began to flow down his neck like rain. I wanted to say something, but as I looked at him, words failed me. My breath caught, feeling almost like being submerged underwater.

I slowly placed the handkerchief on the bed. The dark-colored blanket turned even darker from the blood seeping from the handkerchief. I got off the bed and approached Zachary.

As he sat looking forward, he lifted his gaze to me. I reached out, and instead of touching his cheek, I wrapped my hand around the back of his neck. Instead of pulling Zachary towards me, I chose to move closer to him.

I hugged Zachary’s neck tightly, and with my other hand, I grabbed his trembling hand.

My lips parted but no words came out. As I struggled to find the right words, my whole body kept trembling uncontrollably, so I forced myself to exert strength.

‘What should I say first?’

But no matter how hard I tried to hide it, my body kept shaking. As I firmly held Zachary’s arm, I felt the wetness seeping into our clothes. I knew without looking that it was his blood. I hugged him tighter to prevent his hand from trembling. Ironically, it was me who was shaking more than Zachary. As my clothes got more soaked, my body trembled even more, but I didn’t let go of Zachary.

“I’m sorry.”

The words I finally managed to utter felt pitiful and pathetic, and I wanted to bite my tongue for saying them.

Even as I spoke, I feared sounding hypocritical, but it was all I could muster.

“I was wrong.”

I wished I could turn back time. If I had known Zachary would bleed so much, I would never have asked him to speak.

“I know how much you must despise me now. But I never wanted this. I didn’t mean to torment you, I just…”

I faltered, unable to continue. I didn’t know the specifics of the spell cast upon Zachary, but I understood that his suffering was no less than the most severe torture. And all I had wanted was to free Zachary from this pain, to have a conversation with him.

“I just wanted to talk to you.”