Wizard: I Have a World of the Dead

Wallenberg, Margaret's bedroom.

The curtains were drawn tightly, blocking out all the afternoon sunlight.

Only the fire in the fireplace was burning, its orange-red light dancing on the walls, casting flickering shadows on the dark wooden furniture.

Margaret curled up alone in bed, burying her head under the covers, with only a small section of her dark brown hair showing.

This is what her deceased mother taught her.

She always remembered that her mother once told her that when she encountered something sad, she should not think about anything, but lie in bed, bury herself in the blankets, and sleep it off.

Everything will pass. Everything will be alright.

but……

I really can't do it.

When I close my eyes, all I can think about are the little things that have happened these past few days.

Our first meeting was marked by a bouquet of flowers in the woods and a smile as bright as sunshine.

She trembled in the dark prison as she watched him cleave the thorny cage open with a single sword stroke.

From exchanging greetings at breakfast to anticipating his praise of the pastries at afternoon tea...

These images are displayed every minute and every second.

She can't forget it, she can't let it go; it's already firmly imprinted on her soul.

I originally thought it was a fairy tale, the kind of happy beginning described by bards.

But...

Why can't there be a happy ending?

Her fingers gripped the corner of the blanket, her knuckles turning white. Tears seeped from the corners of her tightly closed eyes, soaking into the pillow and leaving a small, dark, damp stain.

The greatest tragedy in life is not loss.

It's about having something first, and then losing it.

She was so happy and joyful when she had it.

This is how sad and painful it is to lose something.

She didn't cry out loud, but her shoulders trembled slightly and restrainedly under the blanket.

Like a bird soaked by the rain, huddled in its nest, shrinking itself into the smallest ball, thinking that this would allow it to escape all the cold.

"Gods...please help me."

She wept silently in her heart, and with all her might, she prayed devoutly to the gods.

But she knew that meeting her had already used up all the good fortune she had in her life. Now, what price could she possibly pay to earn a response from the gods?

Despair surged up like a tide, overwhelmed her, and swallowed her whole.

"Knock knock knock".

Just then, there was a knock on the door.

Margaret didn't move. She didn't want to respond. She didn't want to see anyone. She didn't want anyone to see her like this.

But the sound coming from outside the door made her freeze.

"Margaret, may I come in?"

Yes... Father.

She sat up in bed as if by reflex, hurriedly wiped the tears from her face with her sleeve, tucked her messy hair behind her ears, straightened her wrinkled skirt, and walked over.

As she walked over, a slight doubt lingered in her mind.

Is that my father's voice?

It wasn't the stern, cold, commanding voice she remembered; instead, it was a tone she'd never heard before—unfamiliar, cautious.

It was as if they were afraid of disturbing something, or as if they were making a request.

There was too little time; she didn't have time to figure out if she had misheard or what before she reached the door.

She took a deep breath, her fingers hovered over the doorknob for a moment, and then she opened the door.

"Father…"

She tried her best to control her emotions and bow, but she was in a terrible mood, and none of her movements were standard; she even bowed with her head down.

Such an appearance is never allowed, and she could already imagine the stern reprimand she would receive from her father soon.

However, no.

A hand landed on her shoulder. Not heavily, but gently, as if afraid of hurting her. The hand lingered on her shoulder for a moment, then patted it lightly twice.

"Are you still angry, my daughter?"

angry?

I?

To the father?

Margaret was stunned.

She looked up at the man in front of her.

Baron Baron Hollenfield, her father, stood casually in the doorway, dressed in a dark robe.

His face lacked the scrutiny and calculation she was familiar with, and there was no "how much are you worth?" look.

There was something in his eyes that she had never seen before.

It wasn't harsh, it wasn't indifferent, it wasn't the kind of calm assessment that treats her as a political bargaining chip.

Rather, it is a kind of... gentleness.

Soft, as if afraid of breaking something.

That was the look in a father's eyes when he looked at his daughter.

......

That night. Wallenberg, study.

The fire in the fireplace was burning brightly, and the orange light danced on the bookshelf, illuminating the thick leather covers with flickering light.

Lin Qi sat at his desk, flipping through a magic book he had brought from the dungeon, his eyes wandering among the dense runes.

The study door was open, and the cold wind from the corridor occasionally blew in, carrying the crisp air unique to early spring nights, which mingled with the warmth of the fireplace.

"Knock knock knock".

A crisp knock sounded on the door, not loud, but particularly clear in the quiet study.

Lynch looked up and saw Margaret standing in the doorway.

She was wearing a light-colored loungewear dress, her hair loose and not styled in a neat bun as usual. A few stray hairs fell beside her face, making her face appear smaller than usual.

Her eyes were still slightly red, but her gaze was bright, so bright that it didn't seem like she had just been crying.

"May I come in?" she asked.

Lin Qi raised an eyebrow and put down the book in his hand with some confusion.

Margaret never disturbed him while he was reading, a habit she had maintained ever since she came to Wallenberg.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

Margaret did not answer. Instead, she walked in, her footsteps light, her skirt brushing gently against the stone floor.

She walked around the desk, stood in front of him, and stopped.

Then she looked up and into his eyes.

"Could you...stand up for a moment?" she asked. "Just for a little while. That'll be fine."

Lin Qi was taken aback.

Why is this girl acting so strange today?

He put down his book, stood up from his chair, and was about to ask her what was wrong—

Margaret stepped forward and hugged him tightly.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, her fingers clasped tightly together behind his back, as if she were grasping something that might disappear at any moment.

She buried her face in his chest, pressing her entire body against him without leaving a single gap.

She held him so tightly that Lin Qi could feel the subtle trembling on her arms, and he could hear her heart pounding rapidly in her chest.

Lin Qi's hand hovered in mid-air, pausing for a moment.

Then he gently lowered himself and placed his hand on her back, without applying any pressure, just resting there quietly.

The study was extremely quiet.

Only the fire in the fireplace crackled softly, and the occasional sound of the night wind rustling through the treetops drifted from afar outside the window.

Then, he heard her voice. It was soft, yet profound.

It's like it came from the soul.

"I love you."