She placed the tray on the bedside table, a hint of confusion in her voice. “Does helping someone in need require a reason?”

  “Idiot. You shouldn’t have saved me. You’ll regret it,” the woman on the bed said with a mocking smile.

  “I’m not an idiot.” She pulled out the dining knife, cutting the bread in half before extending a piece toward the stranger. “I am Irene,” she said earnestly.

  The woman pushed her hand away. “Take it away. I’m not eating.”

  “You’re injured and weak. How can you not eat something?”

  “I said take it away!!” the woman suddenly shouted, her voice harsh and aggressive, as if the warm bread in Irene’s hand were laced with deadly poison.

  The tray was knocked over, the cup shattered on the floor, spilling water everywhere. The bread rolled to the far corner of the room, yet the dining knife, as if bewitched, landed squarely on the bed.

  Irene was startled by the stranger’s sudden outburst, while the woman on the bed panted heavily, as if the action had drained her of all her strength.

  For a long moment, Irene remained silent, as though she had come to an understanding. She neither scolded the stranger nor showed anger. Instead, she quietly picked up the scattered bread and the fallen cup.

  “Do you want to die that badly?” Irene asked tentatively after cleaning up the mess.

  “Can’t I?”

  “No, you can’t!” Irene replied firmly. “I don’t know what you’ve been through, but as long as you’re alive, there’s always a way to solve your problems.”

  The woman let out a chilling laugh. "You don’t know what I’ve been through, so what right do you have to make such judgments?! Don’t be so arrogant! You can’t possibly understand my pain!"

  Her sunken eyes, stained red with despair and rage, stared unblinkingly. Her tangled hair, lifeless as dried grass, hung around her hollow face. She laughed hysterically, yet tears streamed endlessly down her cheeks.

  Reaching out her withered hands, she clawed at her own face, leaving streaks of blood. It was as though she felt no pain at all.

  The scene filled Irene with fear. She couldn’t begin to imagine what had driven this woman into such madness. Frozen in place, she stood helplessly, unsure of what to say or do.

  "I live and die over and over again. Is this cycle the sole purpose of my existence?! Answer me!!" the woman screamed, her voice a mix of fury and despair.

  The woman’s sharp questioning struck Irene like a bolt of lightning, making her entire body tremble.

  How could she possibly have an answer?

  Before Irene could say anything, the woman suddenly hunched over, clutching herself in pain, sobbing uncontrollably.

  “...Please, calm down. Oh, right, you still haven’t told me your name,” Irene mustered her courage, attempting to communicate, but the woman seemed oblivious to her words.

  The sobbing ceased abruptly. Slowly, the woman raised her head, staring blankly at the ceiling, her face drained of all color, like that of the dead.

  "Silence, is it? So be it. I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of all of this. I won’t be your scapegoat anymore. Today, I will end this cruel cycle once and for all."

  Irene couldn’t make sense of what the woman was saying.

  A fierce gust of wind blew the bedroom curtains wide open. The fluttering fabric resembled grasping hands, reaching toward Irene. Instinctively, she backed into the corner of the room, unease flooding her as she stared at the strange woman.

  The crystal lamp on the dressing table flickered like a dying flame, its light trembling and unstable. The woman’s shadow wavered, growing and shifting like a surge of black fire that threatened to consume the entire room.

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  "I curse you, K’Tempestra Aquilara!!"

  The woman suddenly lunged, grabbing the dining knife that had fallen by the bed. A deranged smile froze on her face. "From this moment on, I condemn you to suffer as I have—to endure the same pain, the same despair, the same madness!"

  To her, death was a sweet embrace—the ultimate release.

  Irene finally realized what the woman was about to do. Without hesitation, she lunged toward the bed, reaching out in an attempt to snatch the dining knife from the woman’s grasp.

  But she was too late.

  The knife plunged into the woman’s throat. Blood spattered against the walls, soaked into the bedsheets, and dampened the curtains in crimson.

  The crystal lamp on the dressing table flickered out.

  Death claimed its devoted follower, leaving behind only a mysterious burst of light.

  In the darkness, the room was illuminated once more.

  The radiant glow swallowed Irene whole, and in an instant, the world before her eyes dissolved into endless white.

  By the time the blinding light faded, Irene was no longer herself.

  She had become an infant, lying amidst a pile of clothes, crying helplessly.

  ***

  "Katherine Lister, female, twenty-seven years old. Seventeenth time serving as a 'Substitute.' Duration of service: one thousand eight hundred and seventy-nine days. Cause of death: 'suicide.'"

  In the boundless, pale void, an elegant yet emotionless voice recited the words with cold precision. A pair of deft hands closed a thick tome, only to pick up another and methodically flip it open to the middle of a page.

  "Successor: Irene Rogers, female, twenty-nine years old. First time serving as a 'Substitute.' On the day of her appointment…"

  The woman's reading halted. She lifted her gaze, her eyes settling on the girl standing before her, facing away.

  There was no surprise in her expression, nor any joy. Beneath her still and indifferent gaze lurked a tangle of emotions—traces of expectation, traces of disdain.

  "…On the day of her appointment," the woman continued, "her time was reset. Cause unknown. She was given a new name—Nicole Shaw."

  The woman closed the book. After briefly studying the girl before her, she stood up. “Hello, Nicole.”

  Nicole’s mind was still trapped in the remnants of the visions she had just witnessed. So before she was reborn from Irene into Nicole… that was what had happened.

  Who was K’Tempestra Aquilara? What kind of power had reversed her existence, transforming her from an adult into an infant?

  There were too many questions swirling in her mind, leaving her no room to process her current situation. It wasn’t until the voice of the woman behind her sounded once more that she finally took notice of her presence.

  “Nicole.” The woman called her name softly.

  Nicole turned around and saw a middle-aged woman standing beside an antique round table, dressed in a black-and-white maid’s uniform. She was tall and slender, her demeanor composed, and her weathered face bore an air of caution and humility.

  Despite it being their first meeting, something about the woman felt strangely familiar to Nicole. She studied her with confusion before glancing around her surroundings—an endless expanse of white. It was as if everything had been stripped of its form and color, leaving behind nothing but an infinite void.

  "Who are you? Where is this place?"

  The woman seemed to have anticipated Nicole’s questions. She extended a hand, gently brushing her fingers over the thick tomes stacked upon the table, then stepped forward.

  Where the tip of her foot touched, ripples spread outward, and for the first time, the white emptiness was stained with color and texture, bringing form back to the void.

  Though the change was limited to the space around her feet, it was enough for Nicole to see what lay beneath—the smooth, polished surface of stone tiles.

  “This is the Library,” the woman said. “I am the head maid in service of the Librarian.” She gave a slight bow toward Nicole. “My name is Alice.”

  “...L-Library?” Nicole was stunned by the response.

  The woman’s attire certainly fit the image of a maid, but the endless white void surrounding them looked nothing like a library.

  Unconsciously, Nicole took a step back.

  Suddenly, a brilliant light burst forth from the foot she had stepped back with. Like a tidal wave, it shattered the void of white, washing the world in color once more.

  In an instant, a gentle breeze brushed against her face, carrying the fresh scent of grass. Leaves and foliage rustled softly, whispering like a quiet melody.

  Nicole found herself standing at the center of a lush meadow. Nearby, Alice remained by the round table, now positioned beneath a gazebo.

  "You’re telling me this is a library?" Nicole asked in disbelief.

  This was clearly a garden.

  She looked around, seeing nothing but blooming flowers, neatly trimmed hedges, and carefully laid stone pathways.

  Alice remained silent, her gaze shifting toward a secluded pathway.

  Nicole followed her line of sight. Curved garden plants formed a series of arched trellises over the path, making it resemble a tunnel.

  She couldn’t see where the path led, so she tilted her head upward instead.

  Amidst the swirling mist above, the outlines of ancient stone walls, windows, and climbing vines creeping along the frames came into view.

  It was a building so tall that its peak was lost in the clouds. Nicole had never seen such a magnificent structure—calling it a castle wouldn’t be an exaggeration.

  And yet, the head maid Alice called this place a library?

  “To be precise, this is the library’s garden,” Alice finally corrected herself.

  “I must be dreaming…” Nicole murmured.

  Suddenly, a loud, chattering voice rang out beside the gazebo. “Not a dream! Not a dream!”

  Nicole turned her head in surprise. At some point, a red-and-blue macaw had landed on the head maid’s shoulder, awkwardly repeating human speech in a stiff, mechanical tone.

  “Library! Library!” it squawked insistently.