* * *

The northern shopping district was just as crowded as the one in the capital.

It seemed that in addition to the locals braving the cold to enjoy the festival, there were also tourists here to witness Freya’s sacrificial ritual in two days.

Somehow, imagining this peaceful square turning into a battleground by tomorrow made me feel oddly uneasy.

As the image of children and the elderly indiscriminately slaughtered resurfaced, I clenched my fists.

‘If I knew it would turn out like this, I wouldn’t have written such a story.’

In the background was an elaborate ice sculpture, with people tirelessly sweeping and polishing the snow around it.

Children, seemingly unaffected by the cold, dashed around in light jackets, their laughter bright and carefree, tugging at my heart.

Lost in these thoughts, I stumbled slightly.

Already, it was difficult to walk because of my thick clothes, and the throngs of people made it nearly impossible to stay focused.

Trapped among the broad-shouldered Northerners, I was suddenly pulled by a strong hand.

Before I knew it, I was at Jerome’s side.

Holding my wrist, he walked ahead without a word, then said in a cheerful tone, “Jeanne, did you bring any emergency rations?”

Startled by the question, I blinked. By “emergency rations,” he probably meant Bermut.

Judging from how he remembered him as emergency rations rather than by name, it didn’t seem to be out of fondness.

I responded, still puzzled.

“No, I left him at home since he was fussing about how he couldn’t stand the cold. Why?”

I glanced at Jerome after answering.

Maybe it was just my imagination, but he seemed a bit down since we’d reached Freya’s estate.

Just as I was about to ask if he missed Bermut, he pulled me forward again.

Finally out of the crowd, we headed to a dessert stall selling lacmolly.

The staff, dressed in fluffy wool outfits like little sheep, offered samples.

“Please try some! These lacmollies are fresh, warm, and soft.”

A staff member at the stand kindly offered a sample, and I took a cautious bite.

Perhaps it was because this was the home of lacmolly, but it was much sweeter and fluffier than what I’d tried before.

As I savored the taste, Jerome burst out laughing.

“Don’t just laugh—try it. It’s definitely different.”

“Here?”

“Not the one in my mouth!”

I wouldn’t fall for that twice.

I brushed off Jerome’s hand as he instinctively reached for my neck.

Seeing the beautifully wrapped lacmolly gift boxes made me think of everyone who’d helped us recently.

Noticing that I might be a well-paying customer, the stall owner immediately asked with a slight bow.

“How many boxes would you like packed?”

Pointing at one of the boxes in front, I nodded, and the owner’s face turned indifferent.

I stopped him as he started packing just one.

“No, I’ll take all of them, except this one—I’ll eat this on the way.”

After receiving a warm farewell from the owner, now back to groveling, I strolled through the street, nibbling on the lacmolly.

It felt like a real break for the first time in a while.

“It’s actually freezing here, though. The cold must be why dessert culture is so developed in the North—got to have something sweet to fight off the gloom. Aren’t you cold?”

Unlike me, who was already sniffling, Jerome didn’t seem bothered by the chill.

His hand had been warm earlier when we were holding hands, so maybe he naturally had a higher body temperature.

As he brushed the snow off my hood, he said quietly, “It’s cold, but I’m happy.”

“Why?”

“This year, I get to spend my birthday with my wife.”

His unexpected words slowed my steps.

Jerome also stopped when he saw me stand still, staring in surprise as the lacmolly fell from my mouth to the ground.

“Wait, today’s your birthday?”

“Didn’t I tell you?”

“No, you didn’t. If you had, I’d have prepared a gift for you.”

“Didn’t you already give me one yesterday in the carriage?”

His teasing remark made my face burn.

The words, “Was that a gift? You basically forced it out of me,” almost slipped out, but I held back, sighing as I started walking again.

‘Well, if he’s okay with that, then I guess it doesn’t matter.’

Just as I was struggling to suppress a strangely nagging feeling, a group of musicians passed by carrying their instruments.

Watching them chat among themselves, my eyes widened as I remembered a forgotten part of the original story.

‘That’s right….’

The day before the Witch of Sacre was executed, something unusual happened in the Empire’s Aether Prison, which mainly held political prisoners.

When the musicians began to play, the prisoners started gathering one by one near the bars to listen.

The melody was beautiful, something rarely heard in the dim, dank underground prison.

“This song… it’s ‘The Winter Soldier’s Waltz.’”

An old man, who had only a few days left to live, smiled as he listened.

Thanks to the Witch of Sacre, the condemned prisoners were granted the rare chance to hear such a lovely performance.

The old man, showing his yellowed teeth, asked curiously.

“You there, young one, why did you choose music over a feast? If it were me, I would’ve stuffed myself with roast turkey.”

Jeanne, leaning against the wall and listening to the music, scowled, thinking it was a pointless question.

“You sure ask a lot for someone who’s about to die. And who gave you permission to talk down to me? Do you know me?”

“Haha, it just seemed like an unusual choice. Normally, people wouldn’t choose a lullaby for children as a death song, would they?”

Though Jeanne had snapped back with a rude tone, the old man didn’t seem to mind, leaving Jeanne at a loss for words.

Glancing over at the man waiting for an answer, Jeanne replied tersely.

“It was a song some guy liked. He said his mother used to sing it to him as a lullaby.”

“Oh, that guy. Where is he now?”

“I killed him.”

“Killed him? Well, then I suppose you’re headed for hell.”

Jeanne gave a bitter laugh, burying her face in her knees, then gazed blankly through the bars at the cold light of the moon.

Strangely, on the day before her execution, Jeanne wanted to listen to the song Jerome had loved rather than eat a feast.

‘If only I hadn’t loved Carlisle, could I have lived? If I hadn’t hated Luke. No, if I had never come to House Efilia in search of my mother’s love….’

Meaningless thoughts chained together. Jeanne bit down on her lower lip hard enough to draw blood, then let out a wild laugh.

After a while, she wiped her eyes.

‘No, but even so, I’m not afraid of hell.’

The waltz finally reached its climax. Jeanne, who had been listening quietly, closed her eyes with a calm expression.

‘Because in hell, you’ll surely be there too.’

---

Watching the musicians disappear, I grabbed Jerome’s arm and said urgently, “Jerome, wait here a moment.”

Jerome looked at me, then nodded slightly.

Letting go of his arm, I hurried after the musicians.

As soon as I thought I might lose them, I quickened my steps.

Yes, I wanted to give Jerome a proper gift—a gift that only Jeanne could give.

✽ ✽ ✽

Even as the snowfall gradually intensified, Jerome stood calmly, waiting for Jeanne.

He wasn’t exactly warm, but it still felt better than the icy, lightless prison he’d endured underground.

Gazing up at the dull sky, Jerome held onto the memory of Jeanne’s lingering warmth in his hand.

“Why that expression, Jerome?”

At the sound of a young girl’s voice, Jerome lifted his head slowly.

A girl with an innocent face gave him a peculiar smile.

Studying her quietly, Jerome finally spoke.

“Today, you’ve taken on the form of an adorable girl. Aren’t you cold?”

“There’s no way I’d be. This is just an annoying shell, that’s all.”

“I see.”

The girl raised an eyebrow as she watched Jerome nod without objection.

For some reason, he appeared weary.

She swiped an apple from an elderly woman’s basket as she passed by and took a large bite, swallowing without even chewing.

“Judging by that look, I’d say you’re already bored with that woman.”

“…….”

“Perfect timing, really, since one of my brothers seems to be nearby. This is definitely a good opportunity.”

The apple Mephisto had bitten into began to turn black, rotting away.

Hours earlier, when Jerome arrived at Freyja’s manor, he felt an overwhelming and sinister energy he’d never experienced before.

Surrounding the mansion was a chilling, eerie demonic force.

Mephisto’s delight at the presence of his sibling was obvious, and Jerome shook his head at the sight.

“Mephisto, I’m not your ally.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You can’t influence my decisions. I’ll choose whatever’s more entertaining for me. Whether that means taking down your brother or getting rid of Jeanne, I’ll decide.”

Jerome finished speaking with a calm smile.

Mephisto, looking at Jerome with distaste, tossed the rotten apple aside.

“Saying that with a face that looks bored to death.”

“Do I?”

“You’re such a fool. You’ve already seen the truth I gifted you. After that, could you really blend into that crowd? Find any meaning in an ordinary life?”

Jerome didn’t respond to Mephisto’s mocking words.

He knew Mephisto was right.

Amid the cheerful crowds anticipating the Starlight Festival, Jerome felt a vast emptiness.

The more Jeanne found joy in simple things like dessert, the more he felt like an outsider, unable to share in such ordinary pleasures.

Mephisto approached Jerome from behind, hands clasped, whispering in his young voice.

“It’s time to make up your mind.”

“…….”

“You can only find joy in breaking things, in destruction. After all, you’ve seen the truth—the truth that nothing really holds meaning.”

Jerome looked up blankly, but Mephisto had already vanished.

Exhaling a puff of white breath, Jerome folded his arms and rose to his feet.

Just as he started moving to search for the still-absent Jeanne, a familiar melody drifted through the air.

Jerome turned his head in surprise.

“This…?”

* * *