The One Who Won't Be Abandoned - Chapter 15

The view of utter darkness felt unfamiliar yet incredibly comforting. It was as if I had returned to the womb, a fetus cocooned in the warm embrace of my mother’s belly. The darkness surrounding me was nothing but snug and soothing.

As I reveled in this state of tranquility, lost in a realm of utter peace, a voice called to me from far, far away.

“Jeanne.”

I couldn’t identify who was calling me, nor did I feel the need to know. I didn’t want to break my serenity, so I ignored the voice.

“Ah, Jeanne.”

The voice, tinged with desperation, was persistent enough to grate on my nerves. Still, I ignored it, wishing fervently that it would leave me alone in my space.

However, the voice, which had been calling to me from afar, suddenly felt much closer. Warmth brushed against my back, signaling its arrival.

Without permission, hands slid over my waist from both sides, moving smoothly and unbidden. Though the touch was unexpected, it felt oddly familiar, so I wasn’t startled. Instead, it merely felt like an inconvenience, enough to make me frown.

As time passed, the touch grew bolder and stickier, laden with desire. The hands traced along my waistline, exploring with increasing audacity. I wanted to push them away, to rid myself of their unwelcome intrusion. Yet, my body refused to move as I willed it to.

Resigned, I let myself endure the invasive touch, surrendering once again to the soft, serene darkness. My mind drifted further into haziness as the sensation wrapped around my waist. The darkness became comforting and cozy once more.

But the peace I had been enjoying alone didn’t last long before it was shattered once again.

“Jeanne.”

This time, the voice, hoarse and laden with emotion, sounded right in front of me. From within the darkness that shielded my vision, protecting me like a veil, familiar golden hair began to shimmer into view, flowing like gentle waves. Soon, a silhouette as familiar as the golden strands approached, faint and indistinct.

No. It was familiar, yet unfamiliar. The golden hair shone vividly, but the face and body beneath it rippled, like looking at a figure submerged in gently undulating water. Even in my subconscious state, I instinctively recognized him as someone I knew. There wasn’t the slightest resistance within me—if anything, there was a faint sense of relief, even warmth.

But something about him was strange. He was larger than I remembered. The version of him I knew wasn’t this towering adult figure.

Please.

I thought I could hear his plea, though it was unclear, like a whisper on the edge of consciousness. Yet one thing was undeniable—he was consumed by an intense yearning for me, for reasons I couldn’t understand.

That desperate longing seeped into me through his breath, his voice, and settled over my entire being. The sensation was unfamiliar but not unwelcome, spreading through my chest in a tingling wave.

“Jeanne.”

As though it were the only word he knew, he whispered my name over and over again. His lips parted, once again uttering my name with a heat that now felt unbearably close.

The moment that distant voice reached my ears, echoing deeply within, I began to feel warmth creeping through my body, spreading slowly yet undeniably.

“Jeanne.”

The murmurs that should have dissipated into the void instead coalesced into a slippery form, one that clung to my fingertips. Slowly, the warmth and tingling sensation crept up my arm, like liquid fire seeping beneath my skin.

The blurred, flickering figure took shape, its face sliding closer until it was just a breath away. “Jeanne, Jeanne, Jeanne,” the voice murmured endlessly, a chant laced with unrestrained desire and chaos.

As the voice solidified into form, its weight bore down on me, constricting my throat as though it had wrapped itself around my neck. My breaths grew shallow, desperate, and the air felt heavier with every passing moment. All I wanted was to reclaim the shattered remnants of peace, to sink back into the comforting embrace of oblivion.

The figure’s nose grazed against mine, the firm bridge of a grown man’s nose meeting the softness of my own in a strangely intimate sensation. It lingered, teasingly brushing against me before tilting, and then something warm and pliant pressed against my lips.

The faint breaths escaping from that mouth felt like a lifeline, a thread of oxygen that I instinctively recognized as my salvation. It was life itself, offered in the form of stolen air, a necessity I couldn’t afford to waste.

An inexplicable surge of possessiveness erupted within me, as if the breaths weren’t just air but something precious that belonged to me alone. I couldn’t let a single wisp escape.

I pressed my lips against the figure’s, sealing us together as I greedily inhaled, pulling the warmth of its exhalations into my lungs. The faint moan that vibrated through the figure was accompanied by the heat of its breath, and it slipped from its lips to mine like a forbidden secret.

“Jeanne, Jeanne,” the voice repeated, a haunting melody of obsession.

My instincts, raw and burning, demanded more, a gluttonous hunger clawing at my resolve. Heat unfurled in the pit of my stomach and radiated downward, pooling between my thighs until the ache became unbearable.

It was as though the figure’s own desire had been transmitted to me, an infection of fervent longing that had me gasping for release. My legs tensed and quivered, my thighs squeezing together in a vain attempt to soothe the mounting need.

More. More.

He molded my body as though crafting a precious porcelain vase. The sensation of his hands, gently stroking me one moment and then pressing firmly, almost desperately, the next, was vivid and electric.

Suddenly, I realized what was happening—this was the act I had only heard about in whispered conversations. The strange yet thrilling sensations coursing through me felt like a quiet bolt of excitement piercing my heart. It was a kind of exhilaration I had never known before.

More. More.

I urged him on, though I didn’t even fully understand what it was I wanted. My reason had dulled, leaving only my instincts, which burned with raw intensity.

The kisses alone couldn’t quench the hunger rising within me—it felt like a ravenous, unrelenting hunger. I craved something stronger, something deeper, something more consuming than his gentle touch.

Yet, no matter how much I pleaded, he didn’t take things further. Still, he caressed me tenderly, lovingly, and his lips continued to press against mine as if to soothe me. This only heightened my frustration, my impatience. I couldn’t stop clinging to the hope that he would eventually guide me to that unknown, dizzying peak of ecstasy.

Desperation clawed at me until I finally uttered the forbidden name, the name I had kept buried in my heart.

“Andre.”

The moment his name escaped my lips, my eyes snapped open.

The remnants of sleep clouded my mind, making it difficult to think clearly, but as the moments passed, my thoughts began to sharpen, and then fully solidified.

I realized what I had just dreamed. I had dreamed of kissing Andre as a grown man—a foolish, absurd dream. Worse still, the dream had nearly spiraled into something far more scandalous.

Overwhelmed by a storm of guilt and shame, I wrapped myself tightly in my blanket and rolled around on the bed like a child throwing a tantrum.

“I’ve completely lost it! I should just go crawl into a hole and die!”

I screamed into the blanket, my face buried deep within its folds. I yelled until my voice gave out, and when I finally stopped, I lay there motionless, staring blankly at the ceiling like a person who had lost the will to live, silently hurling every insult I could muster at myself.

I had dreamed a lewd dream. And not just any lewd dream—I had dreamed about Andre, someone I absolutely, undeniably should never think of that way.

Even though no one else in the world would ever know about this humiliating dream, I felt as if I had been stripped naked and paraded in front of a crowd. The shame was unbearable.

Was this all I amounted to as a person? A shallow, depraved, lustful being with no self-control?

A part of me found some cold comfort in the fact that at least dream-Andre had appeared as an adult, but even that thought brought little solace. The sheer absurdity of having dreamed of him left me pulling a sour face and squirming silently all over again.

Even after waking, the strange pounding of my heart in the dream lingered, the aftershocks of its forbidden rhythm refusing to fade. What horrified me even more was the fact that part of me regretted its disappearance.

It had been my first kiss. Something I’d imagined sharing with a charming young servant boy, someone my age with a pretty face. I had longed for that rare and precious experience, only to have it squandered in the world of a dream.

The humiliation of it being mere fantasy stung. Worse, the thought that even in a dream, my heart had fluttered so intensely, left me teetering on the edge of tears.

“Get a grip. Get a grip,” I muttered.

Out of all the men in the world, why him? Why not one of the dashing knights I often passed by in the manor? Why, of all people, Andre?

“Ugh, aaaaahhh!”

Unable to contain my self-loathing, I screamed and tugged at my hair in frustration. The pain from my scalp was nothing compared to the wave of shame crashing over me. I wanted to disappear from the face of the earth, right this instant.

Why? Why on earth, in this dire situation—living in the mountains under harsh conditions, maintaining a tense and awkward relationship with him—would I dream something so absurd? I couldn’t understand myself. Of all the dreams, why that? Of all the men, why him?

“…It’s just a dream… That’s all. Yeah, a dream. So what.”

It took me a while, but eventually, I calmed down and forced myself to accept the simple fact that it was just a dream. As long as I kept my mouth shut, no one would ever know I had such a bizarre dream.

Once my mind had settled a bit, I hastily shifted the blame. It wasn’t my fault I had that dream—it was the circumstances! Sharing a bed with a man in a small cabin where gender boundaries were blurred? That was the problem. The tiny, single-room hut was the problem. No, the entire mountain was the problem! Heck, it was a problem that Andre and I had even been born in the same era! And the biggest problem of all? The god who created dreams in the first place! Everything—everything—was at fault but me.

“Heh… heh-heh-heh.”

I let out a hollow laugh, sounding like someone who had lost their mind.

The only saving grace was that I didn’t know enough about physical intimacy to make my dream go even further. If I had, I might’ve ended up dreaming about doing far more than just kissing. With Andre, of all people.

Another laugh escaped me.

“Hehe… heeheehee.”

Suddenly, the memory of Andre’s soft lips came rushing back, vivid and lifelike. The sensation, as real as if it had actually happened, was so tender, so—

“I should just go die.”

The self-loathing I thought I’d subdued roared back to life like a fire doused with gasoline. My face burned with embarrassment, so hot it felt like it might burst into flames.

“Just die!”

I threw the blanket over my head, attempting to flee from the world, from my shame, and from the absurdity of it all. Every time I kicked my legs in frustration beneath the blanket, it made a thump, thump sound, like a carpet being beaten outside. The noise continued for a long time as I wallowed in my own mortification.

* * *

After tidying up my outfit and adjusting my tied-back hair, I swung open the cabin door and stepped outside. Another perfectly clear day greeted me. The sky was a canvas of blue with puffs of white clouds drifting lazily across it. The trees and grass surrounding the cabin were vibrant and full of life. As I inhaled deeply, the crisp, refreshing air of nature filled my lungs.

“Sssssss… haaah.”

Everything felt so perfect that I couldn’t help but feel it would be a wonderful day. The flawless sky, the verdant forest, the little black cat chasing sparrows in the yard, and the fresh, invigorating breeze carrying the scent of nature—all of it painted a scene of peace and tranquility.

“Let’s make it a good day today,” I said aloud.

The miserable me who had rolled around in bed screaming into a blanket was no more. Now, as I stepped out of the cabin and into the open air, only a bright, optimistic version of myself remained.

The embarrassment I had felt earlier? It would vanish the moment I stopped thinking about it. Goodbye, shame—fly away with the breeze, far, far away.

I smiled brightly, watching green leaves flutter in the wind. Just like those drifting leaves, I imagined my ridiculous dream being carried off, disappearing into the distance.

Tilting my head back to watch a leaf soar into the sky, I heard the faint sound of footsteps and instinctively turned toward the source. There, coming from the direction of the stream, was Andre, making his way back toward the cabin.

The moment I saw him, my body tensed, and I nearly stumbled backward. Clenching my willpower tightly to keep my composure, I suppressed the nervous tremble of my lips and forced a calm expression onto my face.

But no matter how much I tried to steady myself, my gaze refused to meet his directly. Guilt weighed on me like a stone, and I couldn’t bring myself to look at him squarely after the dream.

“Did you enjoy your walk?” I asked.

“…Yeah.”

“Haha! The weather is really nice today, isn’t it?”

“It is.”