TRIGGER WARNING: There's a relatively detailed scene of a panic attack. Please be mindful when reading and never feel like you need to read things that make you uncomfortable.

After leaving the prayer room, I wandered aimlessly around the vast palace, tuning down everything around me and trying to stay out of people's sight.

The halls were red from the sunset that streamed in from the windows. The sky outside was fresh with colors, brushed upon an artist's canvas like its rays were destined to create a great work of art, one given only to those with open souls who could capture the beauty in simple moments.

And all of a sudden, I was submerged in melancholy as if it were a cloak that I couldn't simply let fall to the floor, and though I held it so tight, I couldn't find the warmth I needed.

"Calypso, hold your head high. You are a Berenice and an Elloid, and nothing, not even some slippery snake, can hurt you or our houses. Do remember that on the off chance that anything should happen to you..." She paused, and I waited for a threat of a scolding if I embarrassed their name, but Mother said, "I will be there."

I remembered how my heart burst with sudden warmth when I heard my mother say those words to me as if it had thawed after years of snowfall.

She said she would be there for me. Yet, right now...

My heart gurgled, sputtering as it said, But she's not here right now, is she? Nor that time when you were executed.

She was long dead, even before she could see me crowned as the empress. Even someone as greedy and ambitious as my mother couldn't win against fate.

What an anticlimax.

I sighed dejectedly.

Despite the bitterness inside of me, I was suddenly overwhelmed by a need to hug my mother.

Oh, don't get me wrong!

My mother wasn't exactly an affectionate or warm person. If I was being frank, I wasn't either.

But I remembered the hug I had shared with her when I almost got into an accident in the Winter Forest near our territory had calmed my thundering heart then.

Pushing down the need to be held, I placed my fisted hands at my sides, determined not to let my charade break as I walked with a raised chin into the bright sunset.

I would be fine, I told myself. As long as I was cautious and calculated, then everything would go as I planned.

I started to relax, stepping down onto the second-floor landing and—

"Ah!" I stumbled back upon impact with a tall figure coming up around the corridor.

Their hands steadied me, an instinctive action to stop me from falling, and just when I thought I got lucky for once for not plummeting down the stairs and ending up with broken bones, fuck, fuck—of course, it was Constantine bloody Aragon.

With my luck lately, who else would it be?

I lurched back to free myself from his touch and immediately cursed myself inwardly for my carelessness. I should've played it cool instead of acting like a wounded animal.

But what should I do? My heart was barely beating, and even only the sight of him had me fighting away goosebumps.

His brows were furrowed, lips slightly parted. It was clear that he was surprised to see me.

There was a persistent buzzing in my ear, drowning out everything around me: the faint noises from the servants, the knights, even the chirping bird outside, all smothered by the buzz as I was caught in Constantine's fixed gaze. The colors and shapes of my surroundings faded into a blur. It was like we were the only people in this palace, and everything else had vanished into nothing.

Holy fuck!

My breathing had stopped, a fact I only realized when my lungs began to burn with the need for air. I forced a deep breath, trying to ease the burning. A cold sweat had started to pearl down my back, my skin felt clammy, and the ever-present chill of the wind intensified; the room temperature seemed to drop several degrees. I half expected to see my breath as white clouds.

Constantine dipped his chin against his own chest. Just a bit—as if trying to get a better view of me—but enough to make him a fearsome sight to behold. From this distance, his eyes seemed to glow like a predator's, clad in shadows, glinting with unspoken questions, contrasting with the paleness of his skin.

I couldn't look away, trapped in his gaze as a deer in headlights. My heart thumped hard and rapidly in my chest as if it could break free from the confinements of my ribs at any moment.

His dark red eyes held me in place firmly.

No longer was his raised eyebrow a mere hint. No, it arched over his eye, elegant and dark and high. Its superficial wrinkle marred the perfection of his alabaster skin.

Then he smiled. The identical smile he gave me when I was imprisoned in the dungeon and I almost lost it.

My muscles tensed, ready to run as far away from him as possible. My legs twitched and I controlled the urge to flee, planting my feet firmly on the ground as if it was anchored and a smile started blooming on my face.

I'm not going to lose so easily. I have honed my craft since I was a child. We both can play this game.

"Blessing and glory upon Your Majesty, the empress." He bowed his head to greet me.

"Duke Aragon, it's so great to see you around the palace again," I said in a light-hearted tone and even added a girlish giggle to back up my acting. "I'm sorry for bumping into you; my mind must have wandered for a moment."

The only evidence my friendly attitude took him aback was a slight waver in his eyes, but it was enough to boost my confidence.

"That's perfectly okay, Your Majesty. I'm happy to be of service to you."

He was poised and elegant, with a tinge of humbleness in his gorgeous smile. I could see him working his charm, and if I didn't know better, it would have worked.

"Why thank you, kind sir. Always the gentleman, Duke Aragon." I chuckled. "Did you have business in the palace today?"

The game was on. I knew we both wore our masks right now, and I knew how I should play it.

In politics, you never talk about the problem; you keep your arguments in a compartment in your head and use them later as leverage. You never forget or forgive, but you act as if you've done both. It is all about power.

"Oh, nothing unusual, Your Majesty. I just came to give my monthly report of my territory."

"Ah, yes. It's already the end of the month." I nodded. "The days go by so quickly; keeping track is hard. How have you been doing, Duke Aragon?"

"I've been good, Your Majesty. Thank you for asking. How have things been for you?"

"Oh, it's the same for me, Duke Aragon. Thank you," I answered with a cheerful smile. "How's Lady Phoebe, by the way? I hope she's also well."

His smile twitched at the question and I held back a smirk.

"She's still recovering, but with enough rest, she'll be well soon," he answered.

A lie.

I just saw her a few days ago at the library and she looked fine.

"Ah, I wish her a speedy recovery. We had a bumpy first meeting, so I really wish to make it up to the lady."

"Please don't mention it, Your Majesty. We're the ones who are thankful for your generosity."

"Oh no, that's completely fine. It's the right thing to do. She didn't do anything wrong after all. I hadn't met with her properly, but she seemed like a lovely lady. And with the widespread rumors that she will be my husband's mistress, I'm hoping we can get over our misunderstanding and get to know each other better."

"Thank you for your concern, Your Majesty. I'll make sure to relay your kind regards," he said politely. "But please don't mind the rumors. Phoebe is not at all interested in being my nephew's mistress."

I covered my mouth with my hand and gasped. "Oh, is that so? That's too bad. Arsen seems to be quite taken with her. But please tell her she'll always be welcome here in the Imperial Palace. I'd love to have her over for tea sometime."

I was pushing his buttons, but I needed to do it to make a point. To build me up by tearing him down and soaking in that one extra moment of satisfaction.

"Of course, Your Majesty. Thank you for your hospitality," he answered with a tight smile.

I was ecstatic to see him lose his usual diabetes-inducing charade at the mention of Phoebe being in my presence. He must have worried that I would do something that would harm Phoebe again. How predictable.

"So if Your Majesty doesn't mind, I'll excuse myself first." The regret in his voice was very believable, but it was clear to me all he wanted to do was escape before I could press him further. What an actor.

"Oh, of course, Duke Aragon. Don't let me hold you back," I replied sweetly.

He bowed and—to my surprise—gently grabbed my fingers. The duke looked at me momentarily before leaning down gracefully to kiss the back of my hand.

My legs felt weak, but not in the same way most girls would usually experience in my situation. His lips were like snakeskin grazing against me; it sent the hairs on my arms and neck prickling on end. My heart lurched to my throat; the air squeezed out of my lungs. The whispers around me suddenly seemed so loud, so slow, like time had come to a torturous crawl. I couldn't think straight; I couldn't even move.

It felt like an eternity, but it could not have lasted more than a few seconds. Finally, he looked up. His dark red eyes tore through the fog in my mind and gazed into mine. He was watching my reaction. I could feel his lips draw into a smile just before the heat of his kiss left my skin. He stood up with a charming smile on his face.

"See you around, Your Majesty."

"See you around, Duke Aragon." I forced a smile through the bile rising in my stomach.

Fuck!

I couldn't shake the prickles from my body—as if a thousand ants had decided to build a colony under my skin. I wanted to rake my nails, scrub them all off, and it took all my restraint to hold it in, to keep from flinching as the duke walked past me. My heart was beating so quickly in my chest, I was afraid he could hear it.

But he disappeared up the stairs, and only once his footsteps faded away did I feel the oppressing weight drop down upon me and the smile vanished from my face.

***

I hurried through the hall—my heels clattering over the marbled tiles. Perhaps I was in a rush to have a panic attack in private rather than in the middle of the Imperial Palace. My feet carried me into the Empress Palace, where the narrow, closed halls turned into wider passages with large, open windows. The cold air that constantly whistled in from the courtyard outside quickly soothed the heat ravaging my skin.

I could hear my own heartbeat pumping in my ears as the blood coursed through my veins. It was as if my blood had turned into a grand waterfall. I felt my chest rise and fall, heaving for air—had I always heaved like this? Like I had been submerged in water for an extended period, only breaking the surface to breathe.

I used to think it was silly that someone would let anxiety get the best of them. But since I started experiencing it myself–that was one item on an endless list of things I hated about myself—underestimating emotions.

My heart thumped painfully in my chest as I stormed to the bathroom—Mary and Eli following closely behind me. I didn't pay attention, but they had probably been following me since I entered my palace.

The back of my hand started to burn again and I scratched over the pale skin, trying vainly to relieve the ache. The harder I scored, the more it burned until it felt as though I was flaying my ligaments.

It was disgusting. I felt so dirty.

I wiped frantically at the back of my hand. I didn't even realize I was crying; my vision was all blurred and in my rush to get to the sink, I slipped over my bathroom slippers and fell to my knees with a loud cry. I grabbed the expensive fucking slippers, my yell turning into one of frustration, and launched them somewhere across the room, where they landed with a thud and shatter.

Eli and Mary looked at me in panic, eyes wide, not knowing what to do or even what was wrong with me.

"Your Majesty, are you alright?"

I didn't know who asked; I was so deep in hatred and insufferable ache that I couldn't think straight.

"I hate it. I hate it. I hate—" I murmured incomprehensibly like a mad woman as I wiped more tears away. My hand—it burned. It burned so much, I couldn't take it.

"Your Majesty—"

I couldn't breathe. I was suffocating. I tore my necklace away from my neck and watched as it fell to the ground. The next thing I knew, I was ripping my dress off, pulling all the remaining jewelry I wore, throwing them all to the floor, leaving me in just my undergarments.

I clawed at my hand again; the skin had gotten so sensitive, my nails scratched through its surface and started bleeding.

"Your Majesty, please—" I thought it was Mary's voice, pleading at me to stop hurting myself.

"Burn it all! I want nothing left of it." I pointed at the dress and jewelry scattered on the floor.

"Everything? But the ring was from—" Eli stuttered.

"Just do it! Don't make me repeat myself!" I snapped.

"Yes, yes, Your Majesty."

They didn't need to be told again after that and started gathering everything with shaky hands.

"Get out!" I said after they had all the pieces in their hands.

"But Your Majesty—"

"I SAID, GET OUT!"

They flinched. Honestly, I was not mad at them. I was angry at myself—but I just couldn't control my emotions at the moment.

"Please call us if you need anything, Your Majesty," Eli told me before closing the bathroom door quietly.

I broke into uncontrollable sobbing the instant the door shut behind them. I could barely breathe between all the tears and screams. A wave of nausea came over me and I launched myself to the toilet, vomiting violently.

My throat burned, my stomach lurched and gurgled. I retched again into the bowl, throwing up whatever was left in my stomach until only bitter acid was left.

I sat crying on the bathroom floor, my head so light the room was spinning around me. Every breath brought a stab to my chest; I couldn't bear it. How was my heart still beating? Why?

I wiped the tears streaming down my face, trying to contain my sniffling. I couldn't embarrass myself in front of my servants any more than this.

I forced myself up and walked to the sink before turning the tap on its highest. The sound of rushing water drowned out the last of my sobs, and its coldness calmed me as I let it wash over my face.

"I hate it," I whispered as I gripped the edge of the sink.

It was pathetic.

Why am I so weak and unstable? Am I really that broken? Am I flawed? Do I even deserve a shred of worth or am I just another fake, fucked up lost cause?

Because... between the madness and the apathy, it seemed like there was nothing left inside of me that was good. No one could save me from the nightmare that I called myself.

All I did since the regression was force my way through something like normalcy while I healed—

Wait... Heal?

Oh, what a joke.

When I lived in the modern world, people kept talking about healing like it was a path we should embark upon—like it was something with a start and therefore, a finish, too.

It was like they expected my healing to eventually come to an end and for me to be fully fixed.

But what if it's not working?

No, I didn't think it was ever going to work.

What? Are you going to tell me that this was just another one of my excuses?

Very well, if you were so clever, explain to me then. Please explain to me how to deal with claustrophobia. The feeling of the walls caving in, the urge to break every one of them down, just to be able to breathe again.

Explain how to deal with the exhaustion after weeks of barely sleeping. Explain how to deal with anguish—the anguish of making too much noise, knowing that every sound you make, even almost inaudible, may attract their attention, and they would start tormenting you again.

Explain how to deal with scent. The scent of blood and flesh. The scent of death. Yes, tell me what death smells like. Then explain how to deal with the fear. The fear of noise, especially when the noise is escaping from the mouth of someone you know, bleeding to death. But also the fear of silence, because you don't know if you are alone and why.

The fear of light, the one that indicates their presence, but also the fear of darkness, which leaves you all alone with your imagination.

The fear of talking to someone, not knowing if it will be the last time. The fear of being too nice, or too cruel. The fear of losing yourself or staying precisely the same.

So tell me again, how to deal with all of that. I really would like to know.

I glanced at myself in the mirror and choked back a sob. Now that all my makeup was gone, I could see how the rings under my eyes were so dark they made me look half-dead. I was very pale, sickly pale. My cheeks were sunken. My lips were chapped. My hair had lost its usual shine and my green eyes looked dull.

My hand rose, and fingers touched my cheek, checking if it was indeed me that was reflected in the mirror. The reflection copied my movements and my hand dropped helplessly.

I tore my eyes away and dragged my weary body to the bathtub, entering with wobbly legs. The water was cold, but I was too numb to care.

I sat inside the bathtub. Everything was coming in and out of focus—I could hardly think. All I did was stare blankly at my own reflection on the surface of the water. I barely recognized myself.

Then all of a sudden, I started laughing maniacally through my tears, unable to stop myself due to the irony.

This demon is always there.

Mocking me.

Taunting me.

Haunting me.

I scratched at my hand again. The pain didn't stop me. The blood didn't stop me. But the laugh did. Strident, diabolical, and deafening. I put my fingers in my hair, pulling it. I buried my head in my knees. I needed it to stop.

Oh my, I must have really lost it.

I laughed again and again, then cried like I did when I was a little girl. It was amusing. It was insane.

So hey, if you see the girl I used to be, can you tell her that I miss her? And if you see the shell that's left of me, can you spare her a little kindness?

***

Author's Note:

Another surprise update. I hope you're not sick of this story just yet. This is just the beginning. Hahaha...

This chapter, in particular, is pretty dark. I have always had an interest in psychology and mental health, so I'm using this opportunity to go deeper into this topic. A little about me: I especially hate it when the author downplays the main character's trauma in a regression story. It just doesn't make sense to me that all those main characters can face their tormentor with ease without even flinching. But since I want to make Calypso's character to be as realistic as possible, this is what we got. I'm sorry if this story gets too dark sometimes.

I think Calypso is currently experiencing severe depression, mild DID (Dissociative Identity Disorder), and OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). I will explain a little about this.

Severe depression: It's a type of major depressive disorder-a disorder that causes a person to feel very sad or unhappy most of the time. It affects how you feel, think, and behave and can lead to a variety of emotional and physical problems. You may have trouble doing normal day-to-day activities, and sometimes, you may feel as if life isn't worth living. I think this is what led her to do something extreme, like jumping into the lake in chapter four. She still has it now, but having Hanbyeol's memories might have grounded her a bit. I'll talk more about it in the next one.

DID: Dissociative Identity Disorder or split personality disorder is characterized by the presence of at least two distinct and relatively enduring personality states. In Calypso's case, this is actually a literal occurrence because she has two personalities in her mind (Calypso and Hanbyeol), which clash with each other sometimes. So it's like fighting with yourself. I think all those voices in one head would drive people insane. Let's hope that our Calypso will be okay.

OCD: Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder features a pattern of unwanted thoughts and fears (obsessions) that lead you to do repetitive behaviors (compulsions). These obsessions and compulsions interfere with daily activities and cause significant distress. You may try to ignore or stop your obsessions, but that only increases your distress and anxiety. Ultimately, you feel driven to perform compulsive acts to try to ease your stress. Despite efforts to ignore or get rid of bothersome thoughts or urges, they keep coming back. This leads to more ritualistic behavior-the vicious cycle of OCD. In Calypso's case, she's obsessively obsessed with things she thinks about, which leads to more depressing thoughts and self-destructive tendencies.

But enough about that-I don't want to bore you to death. The theme song for this chapter is Nocturnal by Mothica. I really recommend you to listen to this song. It really describes Calypso-especially these lyrics.

Tried self-destruction 'til I couldn't function
I hurt myself, hated myself, it didn't help me
Tried self-control, tried letting go
To heal myself, I went to Hell, I hope you know

What it's like to fight your mind
When your skin still crawls at night
I pretend that I'm all right 'til the lights go out

Don't got a need for sleep
Stuck in a lucid dream
Daylight's not for me
That's why I'm nocturnal
Hate when the morning comes

This life that I'm running from
Can't fly too close to the sun
That's why I'm nocturnal