Raiquèn and I started talking casually while waiting for help to arrive.
I asked her random questions, curious about what kind of answers she'd give.
Surprisingly, Raiquèn was just as humble as she appeared on television. But there was one thing I couldn't quite understand.
Raiquèn thought of herself a little too lowly. When I told her how genuinely kind she was, she brushed the compliment aside and answered safely, as if there was another reason behind her refusal to accept it.
It felt like she was holding something back based on the way she responded. Still, I couldn't pry — even if I wanted to. The last thing I wanted was to make her feel uncomfortable or forced to speak.
But even so, even if Raiquèn thought of herself that way, there was no doubt in my mind — she was the kindest person I've ever met in my entire existence.
When I sensed the sudden shift in her mood because of our topic, I decided to change it.
I asked her why she became an actress.
She told me it was mainly because she was inspired by her aunt, Seraphina.
Inspired, huh? Yeah, I remember her saying that in one of the interviews I watched before.
I should've known. Of course it would be a relative. Raiquèn didn't seem like the type of person who'd be driven by a crush or use someone she liked as her motivation for a career.
Still… just to make sure, I wanted to ask.
But before I could, Raiquèn turned the question back to me.
"Why did you become an actress?"
Her words made me freeze for a moment.
Why did I?
My thoughts drifted. I never wanted to be one. I never asked for this. So how should I answer her question?
In the end, I told her half the truth.
It was true that becoming an actress was my mother's dream — but she chose practicality, and now I'm the one suffering to carry it on.
But what about mine?
When will I ever get the chance to chase my own dream?
Wait… do I even have one?
As far as I've lived, I never had the chance to do what I wanted. Everything around me feels borrowed — temporary. Like none of it truly belongs to me, and one day, it'll all disappear.
Do I even have anything I can call my own?
Then our conversation continued and it ended up with us talking about the play.
It seems like Raiquèn is not fond of anything ending tragically. That is why she kinda does not like how the play ended.
But as for me. It doesn't really matter. Or maybe it does?
I kinda see myself in Gwen's character.
Ah..I should've just died back then. It would be great if I didn't exist anyway.
"Because death is... inevitable."
She said softly. Her gaze were fixed somewhere else. Then she laughed after the long silence stretched between us.
She then started talking about how nice it would be to receive that kind of love. As I stare at her, I sometimes think she is too mature for her age. But probably because she has been exposed in this kind of media for years now.
Then her gaze went distant again. I hated it. I just hoped that she never think of anything else whenever she is with me.
So I called out to her and tried to distract her from whatever thoughts she were having. Surprisingly it worked. But my guess were really correct.
If what Raiquèn says is the truth. Then she really never had any crush before that inspired her to act.
But why does it matter so much to me anyway? If she would like someone then that's her own choice. I do not have anything to say on it. I am just her mere co-star.
But maybe I disliked it because up until now, she really does not recognize me at all.
And that kinda irritates me. I thought of her everyday after what happened, and she does not remember it at all?
I called out to her once again and leaned more forward to her.
Then I started saying a bunch of things — thoughts that had been caught in my head for too long.
I wondered if she thought it was strange, how random my words were.
But no. Just like a few years ago, she answered truthfully and genuinely — exactly like her wholesome, honest self.
"Don't you find this world boring, Rai?"
The question slipped from my lips before I could stop it. But I needed to say it.
She didn't reply immediately. She just looked at me — quiet, listening. That's what makes me keep asking, keep seeking more from her.
It's because you're so kind, Raiquèn… that I couldn't forget you. That I kept on living.
But it's been years now, hasn't it?
So I hope you'll take responsibility for that.
"If I told you to distract me… would you indulge my request?"
I asked.
Her expression shifted — confusion flickered in her golden eyes as she searched my face, waiting for an explanation.
A dull ache bloomed in my chest. Memories I'd buried began crawling back — the years I endured, the weight I carried, the life I never asked for.
I just need something. Anything. An escape.
And you, Raiquèn…
I wonder if you could give that to me again — just like you did when we first met.
.....
"I shouldn't have said that."
I muttered to myself, staring blankly at the ceiling of my room.
"Why would I say that to her? Argh, I hope she's not creeped out by it…"
I rolled over, burying my face into the sheets. The memory of earlier kept replaying in my head like a curse.
Good thing Éryan arrived before Raiquèn could ask anything further.
I just hope… she won't think too much about it.
Then the final day of the play came.
Something very unexpected happened.
And I don't know if I should be grateful that she reached out… or terrified that she did.
It was going well — at least, that's what everyone around me said.
But as the play unfolded before my eyes, I couldn't feel anything anymore.
Nothing.
On stage, the crowd was nothing but a sea of shadows.
The spotlights above burned harshly against my skin, but the faces below were swallowed in darkness.
And yet… I could feel them. Thousands of eyes, staring.
Watching every single move I made.
Waiting for the "Young Genius Actress" to perform again like a perfect little doll.
It disgusts me.
I never wanted this.
This stage. These lights. These people.
All of it feels like a cage dressed in gold.
And here I am again — falling back into that black, endless hole I've tried so hard to bury.
Who am I… without the compliments? Without the titles? Without the money and power they keep handing me as if I asked for any of it?
Would I still be me if I was born into a different life?
Would I still be forced to smile when I'm breaking inside?
It's suffocating.
I can't breathe.
My skin feels sticky with sweat, yet my hands are freezing cold.
The air feels heavy. The people around me move like ghosts, their faces blurred and meaningless.
And I—
I just want someone to notice.
Please.
Someone… just notice.
Notice what I'm hiding behind this perfect composure.
See through this lifeless mask everyone keeps praising.
I don't need admiration. I don't need applause.
Just reach out to me.
Without asking for anything in return.
Please—
Just take me away from this suffocating world.
But on second thought…
I hope no one would.
I hope no one would ever see what kind of pathetic, desperate creature hides behind this perfectly carved expression I wear.
Because if they did—
if anyone ever caught a glimpse of the trembling mess beneath my mask—
I could never forgive myself for letting them see how weak I truly am.
"Will it matter? I'm going to die anyway."
Yes… that's right.
That's what I should keep telling myself, isn't it?
Because when I do, something heavy inside me loosens.
Just thinking of the end makes me smile…
or maybe I only imagined that I did.
Everything feels so distant—
like my body and I are standing on opposite sides of a mirror.
The stage lights fade into a haze.
The applause drowns in a low hum,
and in front of me stands a figure.
Their outline flickers—
blurry, uncertain, like a dream refusing to stay still.
Their voice pierces through the noise.
"Why would you say that?"
Soft, trembling… familiar.
Ah.
It's her.
Raiquèn.
But even her face wavers—
like the world itself is melting around her shape.
Why would I say that, she asks?
Because—
Because that's the only kind of freedom I can still imagine.
"Even so, it's not up to you to decide that."
Not up to me?
Again?
Once more, my only freedom is being taken away because I don't have the right to choose?
Is that it?
How ridiculous.
If that's the case, then is this even my life—
or am I just living for others, merely breathing for their sake?
I'm sure I opened my mouth to say something according to the script,
but I can't hear it anymore.
The sound of my own voice feels foreign, muffled—like it's coming from someone else entirely. My vision begins to blur, colors bleeding into one another.
Ah… how sickeningly mad I must look right now.
And in front of Raiquèn—
the same Raiquèn who once became my savior.
"But still! I can't let you die!"
Her voice echoes through the haze,
fragile yet stubbornly clear,
like a bell ringing underwater.
The lines continue.
We trade words as written in the script,
yet I can't remember any of them—
only the ache in my chest that refuses to fade.
But tell me—what am I living for?
Just like Gwen, my life was never mine to begin with.
Since birth, I've been molded and polished,
controlled by the very hands that fed me.
So who am I to complain, right?
To them, I live a perfect, golden life.
But, Gods—
no one knows how suffocating it feels to be trapped inside perfection.
"Why are you so eager for me to live?"
The words slipped out, trembling,
escaping before I could stop them.
I have nothing.
No one to live for.
All this time, I've been like an empty can drifting down a river, waiting for someone—anyone—to pick me up and call me worth keeping.
But who would ever do that to something hollow?
Tell me, Raiquèn…
that day, why did you even save me?
"Because you have to."
I still have to live?
For how long?
For how long must I keep performing this endless act?
Hey… Raiquèn…
Your beautiful face is fading from my sight,
melting into the white glow of the stage lights.
But your eyes—
those warm, golden eyes—
Whenever you look at me,
it feels like you can see straight through every wall I've built,
every wound I've buried deep inside.
So please… look at me again.
Just once more.
And in that instant, Raiquèn's blurry face slowly came into view—
still hazy, like a dream I could almost touch but never truly hold.
She was kneeling in front of me, her breath uneven, her gaze steady despite the tremor in her hands.
With a deliberate softness, she spoke—
not as her character, but as herself.
"Does it hurt?"
And gods, that hit me harder than it should have.
Because—yes.
Yes, for fuck's sake, it hurts so much that I don't even remember when I last cried for myself and not for a scene.
Because, yes.
Yes, Raiquèn—it hurts so much that I no longer know who I am or what I'm supposed to be doing in this life that isn't even mine.
"Does it tire you?"
It does.
It drains me until I'm hollow.
They call me lucky for achieving so much at a young age, but they don't know how it feels to wake up every day already exhausted.
They don't know the disgust that clings to my skin, the suffocating weight of being owned—by expectation, by applause, by a dream that was never mine.
And then, she said it—
"If you don't want to live, then just live for me."
How could I?
Raiquèn, you're too kind, too pure to understand—
how could you ask me to live for another when I can't even live for myself?
You don't know anything at all…
but still—at least… at least you're here.
"You know that's impossible."
"I will make it possible."
She took my trembling hand and pressed a kiss to my palm—
her lips soft, warm against the coldness of my skin,
as if trying to breathe life into something already fading.
I couldn't hear what she said next.
Her words blurred into the light,
and her face dissolved in the brilliance above us.
Raiquèn could never fix what she didn't understand.
But gods—she tried.
And maybe that was enough.
Maybe I should just accept the end…
Just like Gwen.
But then—
A pair of warm, trembling hands cupped my face.
Slowly, she lifted my chin so that I could face her.
"It's okay," she whispered. "As long as I'm here, no one can hurt you."
And when I finally saw her eyes—
they were trembling like candlelight in the wind,
gold melting into tears, yet burning with defiance.
They were the kind of eyes that could make even despair hesitate—
eyes that dared to hold together what the world had already broken.
They shimmered with a fragile bravery,
like sunlight bleeding through the cracks of a dying star—
and in that moment, I wanted to believe her.
[END OF VOLUME 2]