The next moment, Lennox found himself standing in the familiar corridor of the northern ducal mansion.
The very one he had seen countless times in his dreams.
He wasn't surprised.
As soon as the black panther appeared—walking slowly, gracefully, just ahead of him—he said irritably:
"Get lost."
The words came out as a low growl.
Everything became clear the moment this cursed creature appeared in the setting he knew so painfully well from his nightmares.
"So this is *your* doing again."
The panther—massive, the size of a small house—lazily flicked its tail.
**(Have you forgotten? That was the price for your restored vision.)**
"Damn demon," Lennox cursed under his breath, realizing there was nothing he could do.
It was obvious now. Everything—from the strange dreams to the sudden loss of consciousness—had been the demon's handiwork. Or rather, *pawwork*.
Dragons were infamous for their ability to drag mortals into the spiritual realm without warning or consent.
**(Consider yourself lucky. In the old tales, I would have taken your firstborn.)**
The panther seemed to grin.
Though animals could not truly laugh, Lennox could have *sworn* the creature was smirking at him.
In appearance, it was a dangerous predator—mesmerizing, powerful, terrifying.
In reality, it was a demon imprisoned within a blade as black as the abyss itself.
Their connection was strange, almost symbiotic. It had lasted for over a decade. But until recently, the demon had been unable to simply *take control* of him.
Unlike the cunning butterflies who had lured Juliet into a bargain in exchange for power, Lennox had never needed demonic strength. He had needed only a sword—one that would not bend, would not rust, would not *fail* him.
And this blade, aside from its remarkable durability, possessed nothing particularly special.
No matter how tempting the demon's offers had been over the years, Lennox had invariably refused.
For that reason, the panther-demon could not seize his mind.
Until Lennox's vision had begun to fail.
**(This was a condition of our contract,)** the demon said lazily, its tail swaying through the air like smoke.
**You give me control over your mind whenever I demand it.**
"You said *once*."
**I am impatient.**
"Continuously forcing nightmares on me—doesn't that violate the contract's terms?"
**I've merely borrowed your body briefly to show you something. When it's finished, I'll release you. So don't get worked up, subordinate.**
Lennox clenched his jaw.
He knew that with so many skilled knights nearby, Juliet would be safe. But the feeling of unease gnawed at him regardless.
**Your girl is fine.**
The demon's voice was calm, almost bored—but Lennox felt as though someone were reading his thoughts, and it *irritated* him beyond measure.
"Damn you. Whatever you're planning, do it quickly."
He should have been more careful with the demon. But it was far too late for regrets now.
Since he was trapped here, it was best to see whatever needed to be seen—and return.
**A wise decision.**
The panther grinned and vanished.
---
## — The Dream Continues —
Lennox hesitated.
*What did the demon want to show him?*
He knew this dream down to the smallest detail. The hallway of the mansion. Walking step by step to the bedroom door. And that was where the dream always ended.
So there had been no reason for anxiety.
He had never been able to see the crying woman's face before waking.
But this time, everything was different.
Lennox stopped at the door.
The dream did not end.
For the first time, he saw the silhouette of a woman on the bed, the curtains drawn around her.
Light hair—almost shimmering in the dim glow.
Fragile shoulders trembling. Scars visible through her half-open clothing, marking her pale back.
"Now you must be satisfied," a voice murmured.
The woman, whose face had been buried against her knees, slowly raised her head.
Lennox's breath caught in his throat.
This wasn't the first time he had seen her face. On the contrary—he knew it down to the last detail. He could picture it even with his eyes closed.
"Now that the interference is gone..."
Those blue, tear-filled eyes looked straight at him.
"Juliet?"
***Bang!***
The door slammed shut in his face.
**Already frightened?** the panther reappeared, its form shimmering like heat haze.
"Stop this farce!" Lennox hissed through clenched teeth, his fingers going numb with rising dread.
*No. This can't be.*
*This woman... couldn't be Juliet.*
He had seen her face dozens—*hundreds*—of times. And never before had there been such raw, devastating pain in her gaze.
**Oh, we're far from finished. Are you shaking already?**
"Why are you showing me these visions?"
**Visions? How rude.**
The demon snorted, muttering something in an incomprehensible tongue.
"It was a stroke of luck that I went blind back then."
**You know why? Because I've been waiting for this moment... for a very, very long time.**
The black panther's voice dropped to a whisper.
**Open your eyes and look. This is not a vision. This is a *memory*. Something you have long forgotten.**
***Click.***
Before he could process what he had just heard, everything around him shifted.
Lennox was no longer walking the palace corridors.
The season had changed. The setting had changed.
He was sitting in a gazebo, surrounded by blooming roses. Their scent filled the air—sweet, cloying, suffocating.
And there she was.
Juliet.
Rosy-cheeked, glowing, utterly different from the tear-streaked woman who had just looked at him with such anguish.
She wore a green dress that covered her neck—perhaps to hide the scars.
But even this version of Juliet seemed... *alien*.
He wondered why.
And soon enough, he understood.
Even in his wildest fantasies, he had never seen Juliet with such an expression.
There was no shy blush. No blind faith or adoration in her eyes.
This Juliet, looking at him, was somehow unfamiliar—and precisely because of that, heartbreakingly real.
"I have a question, Your Grace..." she said, her voice trembling with barely suppressed tension.
"What if we had a child?"
The question hung in the air, fragile and desperate.
"I already told you," his own voice replied—cold as winter steel. "I don't want your child."
Shock flashed across her face.
Those deep, sky-blue eyes searched his face, pleading silently for even a glimmer of hope.
"But... if only..." She spoke so quietly, as though each word caused her physical pain. "It's not about marriage. It's just... if we had a child..."
Her naive, earnest reaction felt foreign—utterly unlike the Juliet he knew.
"No *ifs*," he snapped, as though reciting a script he'd memorized long ago. "Don't you understand, Juliet?"
Even to himself, his voice sounded venomous.
"I said: I don't need a child. Even if one appears, *it will not be born*."
Fear flickered in her eyes—eyes that had been full of love and trust only moments before.
And then came pain. Disappointment.
"Yes... you said that," she whispered, lowering her head. A tired, broken smile crossed her lips.
Her fingers twisted nervously at the hem of her dress—a gesture of desperation she could not hide.
A chill ran through Lennox's body, freezing his thoughts.
He *remembered* this conversation. Word for word.
Under the scarlet plum blossoms... her calm, detached voice:
*It doesn't matter anymore. It's gone.*
But before he could fully comprehend the horror washing over him, everything changed again.
---
## — The Ruined Room —
The next moment, he was standing in the middle of a devastated room.
At his feet knelt a woman whose face was simultaneously familiar and achingly foreign.
Juliet—in tears, in despair, clinging to his hand like a frightened child.
"I was wrong!" she cried, her voice choked with sobs. Pale, her face streaked with tears, she looked up at him, pleading.
The room was utterly silent.
Servants moved through it like ghosts, rummaging through closets and drawers with methodical efficiency. They knocked over furniture, shook out boxes, completely ignoring the woman's anguish.
Whether she feared them or feared *him*, Juliet was clearly terrified.
Tiny clothes. Small toys. Delicate, carefully folded white linens spilled onto the floor from overturned boxes.
Children's things.
"I won't ask again! *Never!*" Her voice broke. "I promise... I didn't mean to hide anything. Just... Lennox, *please*... tell them to stop. *Please...*"
The maids stepped carelessly over the tiny garments, trampling everything she had so lovingly collected.
He realized suddenly—*she* had been hiding these things. Treasuring them. Like a squirrel hiding its most precious possessions in a secret place.
"It's my fault, do you hear me?" Her voice cracked completely. "I'll leave. I'll live as though I were dead... Only..."
The fragments came too fast, too disjointed. He couldn't remember how many times he had seen these visions, nor could he understand their meaning.
All that remained was her voice. Her gaze.
The image of a woman clinging desperately to his feet.
"Please..." she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Save our child..."
---
## — Who Is She? —
This wasn't the Juliet he knew.
Not the calm, reserved woman who never allowed herself unnecessary emotion or tears.
That Juliet smiled faintly and rarely—ghostlike, ethereal.
But *this* Juliet laughed loudly. Cried bitterly. Loved fiercely—without shame, without reservation.
He didn't know this Juliet.
**Then whose memories are these?**
---