Irene Decided to Die - Chapter 1
She’s in Pain.
As her fingertips, marked by torture, touched the cold stone wall, pain surged through her. The blood that had been clinging to her fingers stained the stone wall red.
The vivid memories of the pain still sent shivers down her spine. They had stabbed needles under her fingernails, and when there was nowhere else to pierce, she gnawed at her nails.
She had been whipped with thorned lashes and slashed with knives. She begged for mercy, but no one listened.
‘How long have I been shedding blood?’
Several days seemed to pass, and nights turned into days, but she couldn’t recall the details. All that remained were resentment, darkness, and the horrific pain that clung to her like a tail.
After enduring such a long period, even the resilience that had sustained her had died out.
Dragging her feet, she continued to crawl. Her weakened body struggled with each step, and her breath grew labored after walking only a short distance.
“Cough, cough.”
Her body convulsed violently with a fit of intense coughing. After a moment, she touched her lips and found them moist with red blood.
Her body was already so broken that it wouldn’t have mattered if it gave out completely. Still, she couldn’t give up and stop here.
‘It was never mine to begin with.’
She didn’t know why she had become a candidate for saintliness, but it must have been some mistake without a doubt. Otherwise, there’s no way someone cursed with tainted colors like her could become a candidate for saintliness.
‘They said it was certain at the temple.’
Irene couldn’t trust the temple. How could she, when she was hated by everyone like this? How could she believe in anything?
Even as she thought, she continued to crawl up the stairs of the tall stone tower. And finally, she reached the end.
Fortunately, the door to the top of the tower was open. She closed her eyes for a moment and felt the breeze blowing in.
The warm breeze and the bright sunlight, which she hadn’t felt in a long time, seemed to be blessed by the world.
It was the day the saint was to be chosen.
“I can finally end it.”
Irene smiled, lifting the corners of her mouth for the first time in a while.
Sitting on the railing that reached up to her waist, she looked out at the temple, visible even from afar.
By now, another saint candidate, Ramiel, would be waiting for the ordainment ceremony with the world’s kings.
There was a time when she had wanted that attention, too.
“But not anymore.”
With vacant eyes, she gazed at the distant sky for a moment before bowing her head. She vaguely heard someone’s voice, but her broken body couldn’t even comprehend it properly.
“Oh, Goddess, this life of nothing but pain. I will end it now.”
There would be no more pain now. That was Irene’s final memory.
* * *
The world was sustained by the protection of the Goddess, and her representatives were called saints.
In a world where existence relied on the presence of saints, her existence was revered and cherished by all.
However, no matter how much of a saint one may be, immortality was not granted, so eventually, they will face death.
Thus, when a saint passed away, inevitably, two new saint candidates were chosen, and after a year passed, the Goddess descended and appointed one of them as her representative.
This time, there were also two saint candidates.
One was Ramiel, the eldest daughter of the Maras Ducal House in the south. The other was Irene, the eldest daughter of the Rostelle Ducal House in the north.
Both came from prestigious families, but people were speculating about who would become the saint.
“A low orphan, born in poverty, as a saint? This is absurd. I can’t believe it. I don’t know how she even became a candidate.”
“That’s right. And look at her black hair and red eyes. It’s an ominous symbol.”
“This time, I cannot understand the will of the Goddess.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
Ramiel, with her gentle and saintly appearance, was everything opposite to Irene.
Everyone believed that Ramiel would become the saint, while Irene was seen as nothing more than a pawn to elevate Ramiel’s status.
So, when Irene was accused of being Ramiel’s assassin, no one came to her defense. Not even her own family, whom she trusted.
“I brought you here to repay your sins, but you have nothing to offer. And on top of that, assassination. It’s a disgrace to our family!”
Her father, with a cold face, shouted, while her brother beside him glared at her with disdain.
“How could you even think of harming such a kind child?”
To him, what mattered most was not his own sister, Irene, but Ramiel.
“No, why would I…!”
Irene desperately tried to explain, but her family only sent her looks of disdain. If her own family treated her like this, how would others react?
There was no one to trust. Even the four kings who ruled the world were the same.
The burning flames. The King of the South, Shah-Naz.
The cold knowledge. The King of the East, Garan.
The gentle breeze. The King of the West, Sage.
The icy cold. The King of the North, Burt.
No one believed Irene. Instead, they seized her and subjected her to torture in the Tower of Death.
“Torture her until she confesses of the truth!”
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