That evening…
La-Orduen made a decision. She wrote two letters. The first was addressed to her father—a short message, yet every word carried the weight of disappointment. Each stroke of her pen was like a blade, designed to wound the recipient and leave a scar that would never fade.
The second letter was for Phiengwad. Within its pages, she poured every ounce of her bitterness and hatred, intending that the reader be consumed by guilt for as long as they drew breath.
Once finished, she called for Saiyood, her loyal servant.
"Saiyood, tonight you shall return to my father's house. At dawn, deliver this letter to him. As for the other one… send it to P'Phiengwad."
Her voice was cold, eyes brimming with emotions that had long been suppressed, now reaching their boiling point. She repeated her command, her tone unwavering.
"And do not return to this house tonight. Not under any circumstances."
Saiyood looked at her mistress with concern, hesitant to leave. She did not know what was written in those letters, nor did she dare to ask. She could only follow orders, unaware that…
This would be the last night she would ever see La-Orduen alive.
...
That night…
Forced to endure another night in Sir Ramdecha's bed, La-Orduen lay awake, her gaze locked onto the sleeping man beside her, filled with nothing but hatred. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, oblivious to the storm raging inside her.
"Your time is up… Sir Ramdecha."
Her whisper was laced with venom as she tightened her grip on the knife in her hand. Taking a deep breath, she raised the blade high before plunging it down with all her might.
Blood splattered across the silk sheets. Sir Ramdecha's eyes shot open in his final moments, filled with agony and shock. But before he could utter a single word, his life was snuffed out in an instant.
Tears streamed down La-Orduen's face as she collapsed onto the floor, her body trembling violently. Her mind drifted into a void of emptiness, the silence of the room pressing down on her like a crushing weight.
She knew she had crossed a line—one from which there was no return. In her mind, she blamed everyone who had driven her to this point.
She blamed Lord Noradit, her father, who had forced her into this loveless marriage.
She blamed Phiengwad, the woman who had promised to help her escape, only to betray her so cruelly.
She blamed La-Orchan, the twin sister who had broken her oath, the one who had abandoned her when she needed her most.
"You all… you all did this to me!"
Her sobs filled the suffocating silence of the room, her voice breaking under the weight of her grief and resentment.
But nothing… nothing could undo what she had already done.
.
.
A trembling hand gripped a sharp blade. She raised it, ready to sever the chains that bound her to this wretched existence.
It had to end.
At last, she dragged the blade across both wrists. Crimson liquid spilled forth, flowing steadily. Pain flared for a moment, but soon, the sensation dulled. Her consciousness began to fade, the darkness creeping in.
In her final moments, two faces lingered in her mind—the two people she had loved and hated more than anyone else.
'Phiengwad and La-Orchan.'
With bloodied hands, she pressed her palms together in a final prayer, her resolve unwavering. She spoke her curse with her last breath.
.
"With this burning vengeance...I swear, no matter how many lifetimes pass, your love will always be shadowed by me.I will stand in your way, in every life you live."
.
As the last word left her lips, she reached for the candle on the table and tipped it over. Flames roared to life, consuming everything in their path. The fire spread rapidly, mirroring the rage that had consumed her very soul.
.
"Even if my life ends in this inferno… my hatred will follow you both through every lifetime. Until the very end of time."
.
La-Orduen's final scream echoed through the burning room. Though the flames burned fiercely, she did not flee. She stood amidst the blaze, shackled by the unbreakable chains of vengeance.
Even in death… she would haunt them.
There would be no peace.
No forgiveness.
.
.
The next morning…
Phiengwad received a letter from the hands of Gulab, her loyal servant. With trembling fingers, she carefully unfolded the paper and began reading its contents line by line.
The more she read, the paler her face became. Her breath hitched, as if it had been forcefully stolen from her lungs. In the end, her knees gave way, and she collapsed onto the floor, unable to steady herself.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as her heart trembled, feeling as though it were being torn apart. Every word La-Orduen had written was like a blade, piercing deep into her very soul without mercy.
It was La-Orduen's final message.
.
To P'Phiengwad,
If you are reading this letter delivered by Saiyood, know that I am no longer among the living.
Know that my departure, along with that of Sir Ramdecha, was a decision of my own choosing. I took his life, and then I took my own, for I could no longer endure sharing a bed with such a man.
P'Phiengwad, you were the woman I fell in love with at first sight, yet the pain you have inflicted upon me is beyond words. You never truly loved me; you merely used me as a bridge to reach La-Orchan, that treacherous sister, never once considering my feelings.
The golden ring you gave me became nothing more than a cruel reminder of how little I meant to you.
Know this, P'Phiengwad—what you have done to me is the worst betrayal one could inflict upon a woman. If you despised the touch of a man, then understand this: I felt no differently.
Now that I have left this world, may you be consumed by guilt for all eternity.
The suffering you have caused me—I curse you to endure it until your final breath. And in every lifetime to come, I vow to seek vengeance upon both you and La-Orchan, without end.
.
The letter in Phiengwad's hands slipped to the floor the moment she finished reading. Her heart turned ice-cold, as if submerged in freezing water. She bit down on her lip so hard that she could taste the metallic tang of her own blood. Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over as guilt seeped into every fiber of her being, piercing her soul like a dagger.
Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the hall. A servant rushed in, his face stricken with panic.
His voice trembled as he delivered the dreadful news.
"Lady Phiengwad! A terrible disaster has occurred!"
"Sir Ramdecha's residence has caught fire! Both his body and Lady La-Orduen's… were completely burned in their chamber. Their remains are nothing but charred corpses."
Each word rang in Phiengwad's ears like a relentless drumbeat. Her body collapsed onto the ground, drained of all strength. Despair and unbearable agony filled every corner of her heart.
There was nothing left to be done.
Nothing could undo what had been done, nor could time be reversed.
What she had caused was not only an unforgivable sin, but a torment that would forever haunt her—until her last breath.
…
The news of Sir Ramdecha's death and the fire that consumed his residence spread like wildfire throughout the capital. Like the wind carrying whispers of horror, the tragedy reached every corner of the city. Markets, temples, and streets buzzed with terrified murmurs of the gruesome fate that had befallen him and Lady La-Orduen, daughter of Lord Noradit. Their bodies, burned beyond recognition, had become nothing but ashes in their own bedchamber.
The chilling tale spread relentlessly, leaving no place untouched by the horror of the incident.
Eventually, the dreadful news reached the ears of Lord Noradit. Overcome with urgency, the aging nobleman rushed to Sir Ramdecha's residence, his heart pounding with dread. Upon arrival, all he found was a charred ruin, the once-grand wooden house reduced to nothing but blackened remains.
His knees buckled beneath him, and in a single moment of crushing despair, he collapsed unconscious onto the ground.
.
.
When Lord Noradit finally regained consciousness, he found himself lying in his own home, surrounded by worried servants. His mind was still clouded with grief when Saiyood, Lady La-Orduen's loyal maid, crawled forward, her eyes swollen from endless tears.
She held out a letter with trembling hands.
"Lady La-Orduen instructed me to give this to you this morning, my lord."
With quivering hands, Lord Noradit reached out to take the letter, dread settling deep in his chest. His breath grew unsteady, his once-sharp eyes clouded with sorrow. With painstaking slowness, he unfolded the paper, his heart pounding as he began to read his daughter's final words.
Each sentence carved into his soul like a blade, slicing deeper with every word.
.
To My Father,
By now, you must have received news of my passing. Do you remember that fateful night, when you mocked me, claiming that I lacked the courage to take my own life? Those words have remained etched in my heart, unrelenting. But now, I have proven to you just how wrong you were. I have carried out that which you so cruelly doubted I would ever dare.
The blood I have spilled cannot be reclaimed. The life that has been lost cannot be restored. The silent cries I have endured for so long have now transformed into an irrevocable decision. No words of yours can ever again wound me or diminish my resolve.
I have never once been seen in your eyes—or Mother's. No matter what I did, La-Orchan was always the one who mattered most. I have asked myself time and again—was it simply because La-Orchan was frail and prone to illness? Is that why you and Mother loved her more than me? Even after she passed, you continued to treat me as nothing more than a mere object, never once pausing to consider my feelings or desires.
If you were to reflect, you would see that my departure was, in part, because of you. You forced me into marriage with that wretched Sir Ramdecha in place of La-Orchan. No matter how desperately I resisted, you never once cared for what I truly wanted.
If it is said that a mother and father are the greatest benefactors, the ones who give life to their children, then so be it.
Thus, I return every ounce of my blood, flesh, and bone to you and Mother—within the ashes that remain of me.
From this moment forth, let us be severed for eternity.
And in every lifetime to come, may our paths never cross again. But if fate should be so cruel as to force our reunion, then let me never remember you, Father.
.
.
Lord Noradit read the letter to its final word...
His aged hands trembled. The painful words his daughter had written, meant to remind him of his unforgivable sins, tore through his heart like a blade. Each sentence cut deep, leaving wounds that could never heal. A chilling sensation coursed through his veins, and his frail body crumpled to the floor, as if collapsing along with everything he had once held dear.
A sob broke the silence of the house. The once-powerful Lord Noradit, who had commanded fear and respect, now wept like a man who had lost everything. His cries were filled with sorrow and regret, like the wailing of a tormented soul shackled to an irredeemable sin.
"My child… what have I done…?"
His voice quivered with every word, heavy with grief. His once-sharp eyes, which had seen the rise and fall of so many, were now brimming with endless tears, as if trying to wash away the guilt consuming him.
It was in that moment that Lord Noradit finally realized the gravity of his mistakes. The weight of his remorse was unbearable, far too much for his aging heart to endure.
And in the end, just a few months later...
Lord Noradit succumbed to his grief, passing away in sorrow, following his last remaining daughter into the afterlife.
Thus, the lineage of Lord Noradit came to a tragic end.
…
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