Before they parted ways that day—
La-Orduen reached out and seized Phiengwad's hand, gripping it tightly, as if afraid that if she let go, she might never get the chance to say these words again.
Her eyes shone with a desperate plea, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Now that La-Orchan is gone… If you do not despise me, P'Phiengwad, may I ask for something? Let us start anew. I will devote my heart to you, care for you, love you as you deserve. You know, don't you? That I have always loved you."
Phiengwad remained still, her expression unreadable.
Her lips curved slightly—just a small, enigmatic smile, neither warm nor cold.
And then, she spoke.
Her voice was calm, yet something about it sent a shiver down La-Orduen's spine.
"Love, you say?"
Phiengwad tilted her head slightly, her eyes sharp, thoughtful.
"Do you love me enough to do what most would not dare?"
La-Orduen's breath caught in her throat.
Something in those words—something unsettling—made her heart waver.
What was Phiengwad truly saying?
Could it be…?
A flicker of fear sparked in La-Orduen's chest.
Could Phiengwad have learned the truth?
The truth about that night?
The truth that she had stood idly by as La-Orchan, her own twin, drowned in the river?
No.
That was impossible.
Phiengwad couldn't know.
She couldn't know.
Forcing down the rising panic, La-Orduen inhaled deeply, steadying herself.
She put on the most innocent face she could muster, feigning confusion as she softly asked,
"What are you speaking of, P'Phiengwad?"
Her voice was gentle.
But beneath that sweetness—Her mind was racing, calculating, second-guessing.
Phiengwad did not answer immediately.
Instead, she simply gazed at La-Orduen, silent and unreadable.
The stillness stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
Phiengwad's eyes studied her carefully, as if searching for something hidden within her gaze.
Then, after what felt like an eternity—
She smiled.
A slow, delicate smile.
"Nothing at all," she murmured.
Her voice was as soft as silk, yet chilling in its indifference.
"I am simply grateful… that you love me so devotedly."
She let her words linger in the air before exhaling a quiet sigh.
"But, La-Orduen… I have just lost La-Orchan. Allow me some time—to reflect, to mend my heart."
Her tone was gentle.
Yet it carried a distance that La-Orduen had not anticipated.
"The dead cannot return," Phiengwad continued, "and the living must find a way to move forward."
La-Orduen lifted her gaze, her eyes trembling with emotion.
Hope swelled in her chest.
A small, victorious smile crept onto her lips.
"Of course, Phiengwad. I will wait. I will wait for the day you are ready."
Her voice was sweet, filled with expectation.
With La-Orchan—the one obstacle between her and Phiengwad—gone, La-Orduen was certain of one thing:
Her time had finally come.
Or so she believed.
…
On the night before the wedding—the night of her promised escape with Phiengwad—La-Orduen's heart pounded against her ribs.
Tonight would be her last night in Phra Nakhon.
.
(Phra Nakhon was the capital city of the Ayutthaya Kingdom, which served as the center of political power and culture in Siam (present-day Thailand) in the past.)
.
By this time tomorrow, her fate would change forever.
She would no longer be a woman confined by the chains of her family name.
She would be free.
With Phiengwad.
Far away from this place, they would begin anew—just the two of them, together, in a distant land where no one could stand in their way.
She closed her eyes, allowing herself a fleeting moment of hope.
She imagined it.
A new life. A place where their love would no longer be forbidden. A paradise meant only for her and Phiengwad.
La-Orduen opened the window, letting the cool night breeze caress her face.
The stars above shimmered, as if whispering their silent encouragement.
Yes.
She was doing the right thing.
With steady hands, she carefully packed only the essentials—clothes, a few valuables, just enough for a fresh start.
Everything was meticulously chosen.
Everything had to be perfect.
When all was ready, she stole away from the house under the cover of darkness.
Saibua, her reluctant servant, followed.
She had no choice in the matter.
Standing at the threshold of her home, La-Orduen turned back one last time.
This was the city where she had been born. This was the life she was leaving behind.
Tonight, she was stepping into a new destiny. A destiny she had chosen for herself.
.
.
La-Orduen's footsteps were light but swift as she made her way to the meeting point—
Beneath the great Bodhi tree that spread its branches over the old stupa in the abandoned temple.
Her heart raced with anticipation.
Upon arriving, she glanced around anxiously, searching the darkness for any sign of Phiengwad.
Tonight, the temple's nearby courtyard was alive with festivity.
The annual temple fair had just begun.
Laughter rang through the air, blending with the lively chatter of villagers and the calls of vendors selling sweets and food.
But for La-Orduen, every passing second was excruciating.
She hugged herself tightly, willing her trembling hands to be still.
Every time she heard footsteps approaching, her breath hitched.
Every shadow made her heart leap with hope.
And then—A figure emerged from the darkness. But it was not the one she had been waiting for.
La-Orduen's blood ran cold.
Standing beneath the tree, watching her with piercing eyes, was none other than—
Lord Noradit.
Her father.
He stood tall and unyielding, his gaze heavy with silent judgment.
La-Orduen's heart stopped. Her dreams, her plans—Everything shattered in an instant.
"Seize her."
Lord Noradit's voice was calm, yet sharp as steel. "Lock her in her chambers. She will not leave until the wedding."
La-Orduen flinched.
She turned to run.
But it was too late.
His guards surrounded her.
Every escape route was blocked.
Saibua, her terrified maid, collapsed to the ground, eyes wide with fear.
Lord Noradit spared her only a brief glance before speaking again—his command as merciless as ever.
"Take Saibua as well. Give her ten lashes. Let her remember her place—so she will never dare betray me again."
"Father…"
La-Orduen's voice trembled, barely a whisper.
She wanted to run.
She wanted to escape.
But there was nowhere left to go.
The guards closed in.
Trapped.
Desperate, she scanned her surroundings, hoping—praying—that she would see her.
That somehow, Phiengwad would come.
That somehow, she would appear to save her.
But there was no one.
No familiar silhouette in the darkness.
Only the towering shadow of the Bodhi tree, sheltering nothing but silence.
And in that moment, realization struck her.
She had been betrayed.
The truth crashed down on her like a tidal wave, drowning her in its cruel embrace.
Tears streamed down her face, burning hot against her skin.
A cry of anguish tore from her throat, raw and broken.
She had believed—She had trusted!
But Phiengwad had abandoned her.
The woman she thought would save her…Had left her to rot.
Her face streaked with tears, she turned to her father—
Falling to her knees.
She clung to his legs, her voice breaking into desperate sobs.
"Father, please…"
She could barely speak through her tears.
"I don't want to marry him! I beg you—please don't force me!"
Her small frame trembled as she wept, her hands clutching at the fabric of his robe.
But Lord Noradit only looked down at her.
Unmoved.
And with a single motion—He kicked her away. As if her pleas meant nothing at all.
.
.
With nowhere left to run—With no choices left—La-Orduen did the unthinkable.
She moved swiftly, snatching the sword from her father's grip.
The cold steel glinted under the pale moonlight as she turned the blade inward—
Pressing the tip against her own chest.
"If you still insist on forcing me into this marriage, Father, then I would rather die right here."
Her voice was unwavering. Her grip on the sword was firm. This was her last and only way out.
But Lord Noradit did not flinch. He did not waver.
Instead, he stepped forward with the same composed stride he always carried—unshaken, unaffected.
Even as his daughter held a blade to her own throat, his expression remained indifferent.
La-Orduen's heart pounded wildly.
She took a step back.
Then another.
"If I am to lose another disgraceful child—another twisted abomination—then so be it," he sneered.
"I have nothing left to lose."
His words cut deeper than any blade ever could.
Cold.
Unforgiving.
Merciless.
And then, in the blink of an eye—
He struck.
Before she could react, Lord Noradit seized the sword from her hands, wrenching it away with brutal ease.
The force of his grip sent a sharp pain through her wrist—
And in the next moment, the blade was gone.
Tucked safely back into its sheath.
As if to mock her.
As if to remind her that even in death—She had no choice. Not even over her own life.
La-Orduen stood frozen.
The last of her hope crumbled before her eyes.
Her knees buckled. She collapsed onto the floor, her sobs breaking through the silence. Tears spilled freely, but there was no one to comfort her.
And within her sorrow-filled gaze—Amidst the heartbreak and despair—
Something else took root.
Something darker.
Hatred.
…
The morning came too soon.
La-Orduen was given no time to grieve. No time to mourn. She was dragged into the ceremony without a choice.
The house was alive with bustling servants, scurrying about in preparation for the grand event.
The air was thick with the fragrance of jasmine and peacock flowers, their delicate scent filling every corner of the estate.
Laughter and cheer echoed through the halls—Guests whispered words of admiration for the beauty of the ceremony.
The elegance.
The prestige.
To them, this was a joyous day.
A union worth celebrating.
But to La-Orduen—
This was nothing more than a funeral.
Her funeral.
She was dressed in an exquisite traditional silk gown, adorned in gold embroidery fit for royalty.
To anyone watching, she was the epitome of grace.
A vision of perfection.
But beneath the heavy silk—
Her body was ice-cold.
The fabric clung to her like shackles, wrapping around her like a gilded prison.
And at the end of the grand hall—Waiting for her beneath the ceremonial arch—Was Sir Ramdecha.
Her soon-to-be husband.
A man she did not know.
A man she had never loved.
A stranger.
La-Orduen's gaze met his.
Empty.
Void of warmth.
She felt nothing.
No anticipation.
No relief.
No hope.
Her mind echoed a single, burning question—
Why?
Why had Phiengwad betrayed her?
Why had she left her to suffer alone?
A single tear slid down her cheek.
And for the first time, La-Orduen truly understood—
She was utterly, completely alone.
…
That night—La-Orduen was sent into the bridal chamber, as custom dictated.
Her heart was hollow.
Her eyes, empty.
She knew well what awaited her beyond this moment, and there was no way to escape it.
Sir Ramdecha sat at the edge of the bed, his gaze heavy with desire.
She felt dread creeping up her spine like a slow, suffocating poison.
Never before had she been alone with a man in such an intimate setting.
Never before had she felt so powerless.
It didn't matter whether it was a man or a woman—
She had never allowed anyone to come this close.
And yet tonight—
Tonight, she would have no choice.
When he reached out and touched her gently, it felt as though a thousand boulders were pressing down on her chest.
Her breath hitched.
Her body trembled uncontrollably.
Her wide eyes met his, filled with terror—
As if she were staring into the eyes of a beast that had come to devour her whole.
As he leaned closer, the resistance within her surged.
She wanted to push him away—
To scream—
To fight—
But the scream lodged itself deep within her throat, suffocated before it could ever escape.
This was not what she wanted.
Bitterness seeped into her heart.
Tears spilled silently down her cheeks.
Her body stiffened—frozen beneath the weight of despair—
And in that moment, she realized...
This was the very fate she had wished upon La-Orchan.
The very abyss she had once hoped her twin sister would fall into—
Had now swallowed her instead.
A cruel twist of fate.
A cycle of karma that had come full circle.
Yet this time, the ones who had pushed her into this abyss—
Were not strangers.
One was her own father—The man who should have been her shield, her protector.
And the other...Was Phiengwad. The woman she had loved above all else.
The woman she had longed for—
Yet in the end, had betrayed her in the cruelest way imaginable.
…
Morning After the Nightmare
By dawn, the vile night had passed—But its stain remained.
La-Orduen rose from the bed, her movements sluggish and lifeless.
Her skin, pale as parchment.
Her heart, shattered beyond repair.
The moment Sir Ramdecha stepped away, she wasted no time.
She fled.
Rushing out of the room, away from the bed that felt like a prison of shame.
Away from the suffocating air that clung to her skin like filth.
She ran.
Her stomach twisted violently.
Reaching the edge of the balcony, she collapsed—
And vomited.
Again.
And again.
Her body convulsed with disgust, her chest heaving as though she were trying to purge the very essence of that night from her soul.
But it wouldn't leave.
It wouldn't go away.
She trembled, her entire frame wracked with silent sobs, until a flurry of footsteps rushed toward her.
"My lady! Are you unwell?!"
Saiyood and the other maids hurried to her side.
But La-Orduen recoiled—
Jerking away from their touch as though it burned her.
Then, with what little strength remained in her broken body—
She snarled.
"Leave me! Don't touch me! I don't need any of you!"
Her voice, hoarse and raw, echoed through the air.
Sharp.
Cold.
Yet beneath that rough exterior—
Fragility threatened to shatter her at any moment.
The maids hesitated, looking at one another in fear.
None dared to step closer.
And then—She saw her. Standing not far away. The one who had orchestrated her suffering. The one who had left her to rot in this hell.
Phiengwad.
La-Orduen's breath caught. Her grief twisted into something dark. Something furious. Something venomous.
Her eyes burned with rage, hatred flooding her veins like wildfire.
And in that moment—All she could think was: I will never forgive you.
…
Hojicha Writer
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