Chapter 50. The Same Voice
"Why should I trust someone who abandoned me? If they left, that's the end of it. What am I supposed to believe now?"
Evie asked, her voice tinged with incredulousness, as though she couldn’t comprehend the absurdity of feeding a lion mere straw.
Her transparent voice filled with doubt cast a shadow once more over Zion's heart.
Yet, all he could reveal was his wavering gaze, which the ever-present darkness around them concealed.
Thus, Evie realized nothing, and Zion was left to die alone, buried under secrets yet again.
"…I must have said something ridiculous."
Zion eventually murmured, breaking the uneasy silence.
"Trusting a human who left me carelessly."
He added, his tone as indifferent and dry as ever.
"The hypocrite who pretended to be a good person and then disappeared, of course, shouldn't be trusted."
He concluded, leading Evie to assume Zion agreed with her sentiments.
"It’s impossible to trust such a secretive person whom you lived with but never truly saw."
She admitted, suddenly realizing an oddness in Zion's successive words.
"Knowing better, shouldn’t they simply fade away instead of causing unnecessary trouble that only hinders us further?"
"I… I didn’t mean to say that so harshly…"
Evie stuttered, startled by the Count's peculiar disposition as he critiqued the astrologer meticulously.
At first, she suspected sarcasm, but upon listening closely, she realized he neither exuded anger nor anything resembling mockery.
Nor was he jesting.
In fact, his demeanor was more like that of a monk confessing a sin—calm, sincere, and even somewhat humbly subdued.
Evie found it bewildering that he was reproaching someone else in such a manner.
During her confusion, Zion firmly struck another nail in.
"Indeed, if it weren't for that person, we would never have been entangled unnecessarily like this. It might have been better not to meet at all, given they are ultimately only a hindrance."
"Wait a moment, Count. Don’t make such rash conclusions."
Evie retorted, unable to hold back any longer.
Zion then turned to Evie, questioning her belief with a weary voice.
"Am I wrong?"
"You are wrong. The term ‘hindrance’ and saying it would've been better never to meet—those are both wrong."
"And why is that?"
"Because I don't think that way. Meeting that person was the luckiest event in my life, the singular miracle that happened to me!"
Evie firmly answered Zion’s inquiry, her bold statement leaving her shocked into covering her mouth in embarrassment.
Even in the darkness, Zion assumed Evie's face must have flushed crimson with emotion.
He watched her, visibly embarrassed, and yet prompted her further.
"But you said you didn’t believe."
"I don't believe. But that's separate from cherishing someone."
"How can those be separate?"
He pondered.
"While cherishing him, he left me, which is indeed a fact, but he also left something immeasurable within me."
Evie consciously stated, discovering newfound earnestness in her words.
Just then, it was as if the curse revealed her deeply personal thoughts, overwhelming her like never before.
"What exactly did that person give you?"
Despite previously warning to avoid personal inquiries, Zion seemed to forget and asked rudely, leaving Evie unable to resist responding.
"He stayed by my side when I was all alone. When the world seemed to function without me, when even I couldn’t believe in my own existence, he found me. He cherished me without reason when I was needless and useless, making me grateful for being born. He taught me that this world isn’t as hostile as I thought."
Continuing, Evie conveyed confessions she had never voiced to anyone before, her knotted emotions unraveling unexpectedly.
She felt tears threatening to spill, not out of anger or embarrassment, but because the emotions were oddly sad and overwhelming.
Even though it was her own heart she expressed, articulating it made the meaning unbearably vivid and painful.
"Until then, the world I lived in had no hope or help. It was a cruel world, reserved cruelly just for me, yet he came and changed it. He introduced a world where miracles and redemption exist, to me, specifically. So, if I hadn’t met him...”
Her voice faltered, constrained by her throat.
Without the curse compelling her truthfully, Evie would have already given up speaking long ago.
But the curse that compelled her to speak the truth made her reluctant lips confess at last.
"I probably wouldn't have wanted to keep living."
As she finally managed to finish her confession, Evie quickly glanced upwards to prevent the pooling tears from falling.
From a tender age, she had been alone each day, dedicating herself entirely just to survive another day.
Her world was harsh and exhausting, a perpetual struggle just to maintain its foundations.
A desolate, malicious world that was overly generous to everyone but her, functioning smoothly as long as she wasn’t involved—cold and ruthless.
'Yet, one day, he appeared and changed my world, not just enveloping it but enlightening it with new truths.'
'That this world offers kindness even to me.'
A fact she could never have believed until then.
This kindness was her salvation, meeting him was still an incomprehensible miracle.
Yet, claiming she was better off never knowing him was absurd.
Evie, having successfully stifled her tears, inhaled deeply, harboring many grievances against the Count.
She was angry at him for speaking so carelessly on matters he didn't comprehend, and for prying into her heart.
Thus, she turned towards him with a resentful expression.
Yet, the Count was already watching her, silently, placidly.
Even amid the darkness, she perceived his gaze locked onto her.
His gaze was intense, which gave Evie a slight startle.
For some reason, she felt like a rabbit confronted by a lion.
Undeniably, she felt it was unjust.
Firmly resolved, she opened her mouth to protest, but the Count suddenly stepped closer, shortening the distance between them.
When he placed one hand on the bench backrest and leaned in, the space between them was enveloped too easily.
As his shadow spread like a curtain, Evie's voice failed her.
His broad shoulders oppressed her gaze.
Just a slight closer, Evie felt trapped or pressed beneath his presence.
And as he reached towards her, it became more than just a feeling—an inevitability.
Evie instinctively caught her breath in surprise as his hand approached without hesitation.
Just then, as she intended to ask the Count something, his large hand passed by her body entirely.
His hand instead landed on the snack basket beside her.
As he laid his arm across Evie's knee, the Count retrieved a bottle of liquor from the basket before returning to his place.
Caught off guard, Evie found herself dumbfounded and stared at the Count.
Unbothered by her gaze, he ignored her and drank deep from the bottle.
"Ah! If you drink directly from the bottle, what am I supposed to do?”
Evie exclaimed.
In response, the Count pointedly gestured at her still ample glass.
"One glass should last you till morning."
"No, it won't!"
Indignant at his impudence, Evie defiantly drank from her glass.
But it was only a show of bravery until the wine reached her mouth.
After that, she was unable to swallow and stood frozen.
So many reasons not to swallow the alcohol were evident—the strong taste, anticipated discomfort, dizziness to follow, and the subsequent day's suffering.
Evie was resilient against adversity but inevitably avoided unnecessary pain.
Seeing her struggle with states of distress, the Count clicked his tongue gave her a piece of advise.
"I won’t look; feel free to spit it out."
Hearing this, it was even more impossible to back down.
Finally, Evie, glaring at him, reluctantly swallowed the liquor in a gulp.
“Stubbornness runs deep…”
The Count clicked his tongue again at this scene.
So Evie turned away with a huff.
Thus, Zion felt even more restless, witnessing Evie's tenacity.
Evie Ariate was insufferable.
Yet still charming.
As though she deliberately acted to melt away one’s resolve effortlessly.
Like earlier―while Evie spoke sincerely, barely holding back tears while staring at the sky, trying to calm her heart.
Zion found himself caught staring at her, nearly making a grave mistake.
He reached out impulsively, not knowing whether to pat her head or do something else entirely.
Whatever the intent, he acted on impulse and stretched his hand toward her.
Evie’s tensed breath brought him back to his senses.
Making a quick, conscious decision, he reached for the wine bottle instead, a choice he regarded as the wisest of his lifetime.
Grasping the bottle unexpectedly, Zion swallowed his remorse along with the wine.
The earlier scattered emotions stirred within him, blossoming like rain-soaked leaves, felt far too pleasant and therefore worrisome.
He still desired to resist falling for Evie Ariate.
As dawn approached, Evie remained in the hydrangea garden, having dozed off with her forehead resting on her knees.
Her shoulders shivered in the brisk air.
As Evie awoke briefly, she considered between enduring the cold or succumbing back to sleep.
"If you're cold, why not head inside?"
Came the Count's voice beside her, curt and brittle—a voice far from gentle.
Her ears open comprehensively, Evie pretended not to hear, laziness prevailing.
“Oh, give it a rest...”
As Evie feigned sleep, the Count hissed in irritation, inciting annoyance within Evie even in her sleepy stupor.
He could just leave, so why exhibit annoyance—who asked him to stay?
While Evie grumbled internally, something fell softly onto her shoulders.
It felt like a large blanket.
Smelling the familiar scent, Evie realized it was the Count's coat.
His garment felt warm as though left hanging by the fireplace. Unconsciously, Evie sighed in relief.
She had always been sensitive to the cold but cherished warmth.
However, she seldom had chances to feel warm physical contact as her butler was as cold-blooded as herself, and due to her fear of animals, cuddling a dog or a cat was unimaginable.
Thus, she found no dislike for the Count's coat around her.
Though grudges against him kept piling, this coziness was welcomed.
'Oh, right, Uncle was always warm too. Holding his hand was perpetually delightful.'
As these thoughts lazily drifted by, Evie nestled deeper and tilted her head for better rest.
Then, she sensed a firm arm slipping beneath her back and knees.
Though careful in approach, Evie arched irritably, trying to prevent the situation from escalating.
Ugh, what is he doing?
Who asked to be touched...
Sensing Zion's intent to lift her, Evie tried shoving him away.
Her irritation halted as a soothing voice came through.
"It's alright, just sleep."
A gentle coaxing, reminiscent of soothing a child’s slumber, completely incongruent with the Count's usually abrasive tone.
Evie, initially intending to resist, found herself lulled and inadvertently froze in place.
Was it just an illusion?
For a moment there, his voice sounded exactly the same as Uncle's.
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