“Sohwa....”
“....”
“When I die, place the beetle hairpin His Highness gave me on my grave. I never got to wear a hairpin from my beloved, so at the very least I’d like to have that after I’m gone.”
Sohwa wanted to ask what kind of lunatic would stick a hairpin on a grave, but since her lady clearly knew she was talking nonsense, she answered flatly without looking up.
“Don’t worry, Milady. You’re not going to die.”
“Life is unpredictable. How can you be so sure?”
“Because you, Milady, will not die.”
“It’s said that lovesickness—when one can’t see the person one longs for—is worse than any physical ailment. When the heart falls ill, no medicine can cure it—and before one knows it, life simply slips away.”
“Even so, you won’t die, Milady. Everyone else might, but not you.”
‘Because indifference and longevity go hand in hand,’ Sohwa thought, continuing to sew with the expression of someone vaguely annoyed by a barking dog.
