beast chapter 16

“I was trying to die.”

After speaking, she cautiously lifted her head. Her heart tightened, fearing he might pity her or find her pathetic for confessing her suicidal thoughts. But Beelzebub’s crimson eyes held no negative emotions. No pity, no mockery, no contempt, not even surprise. He simply looked at her with a calm, steady gaze.

“Why were you trying to die?”

His gaze, holding no judgment, no evaluation, only a willingness to listen, brought her an unexpected sense of relief.

“Ever since I was young, I’ve been afraid of the way people looked at me.”

Emboldened by his acceptance, Ariette began to unravel the story she had kept buried for so long.

“Hidden beneath the compliments about my beauty, about how ethereal I looked, there was always a strange, uncomfortable interest. And that interest would sometimes turn into a threat.”

She paused to catch her breath.

“I just wanted to live quietly, normally, like everyone else… But my mere existence was a provocation to some, a reason for unwarranted hatred. So I kept hiding, concealing myself, avoiding others, running away. And eventually, I started to wish I could just disappear from this world.”

Ariette lowered her head. Silence descended as Beelzebub offered no immediate response.

Suddenly, she wondered what expression he wore. He seemed lost in deep thought, his gaze fixed on some distant point. As she stared at him, their eyes met. His lips curved into a gentle smile.

“Do you remember the names of those who tormented you?”

A chilling coldness lay beneath the gentle voice, but Ariette, captivated by his dazzling smile, didn’t notice.

“Uh… there were too many to…”

“There must have been one who tormented you more than the others. Who was it?”

“Bisalom.”

“Bisalom, Bisalom, Bisalom.”

He repeated the name slowly, over and over, as if savoring it on his tongue.

“Hmm, what a pathetic name. These bastards usually have faces and personalities as pathetic as their names.”

Ariette flinched, studying his face. Despite the harsh words, his expression and tone were so gentle that it didn’t sound like an insult at all. If anything, it sounded like a tender consolation.

“Where did this… creature live?”

“Delmar… why do you ask?”

“Just curious.”

Beelzebub shrugged lightly, his eyes still radiating warmth.

“Did he ever lay a hand on you?”

“Oh, no! He didn’t… but…”

“But?”

Hesitantly, she revealed the full extent of Bisalom’s cruelty. From the inappropriate attention he had shown her when she was only twelve, to his scheme that nearly resulted in her being sold as a concubine to a seventy-three-year-old marquis notorious for his deplorable treatment of women, she told him everything.

“He’s less than an insect. The world would be better off without him.”

“Exactly! I don’t understand why the heavens haven’t taken him yet.”

“They will, soon.”

“Do you think so? It always seems like good people die young, and the wicked live long lives…”

“There are always exceptions.”

Beelzebub said with a subtle smile, then slowly leaned towards Ariette, as close as the wood and vines that bound him would allow.

“You’ve been through so much.”

His eyes, focused solely on her, held a deep, warm tenderness. For a moment, Ariette was speechless, unable to meet his gaze.

She hadn’t confided in anyone about her pain since she was fifteen. When she had bravely opened up to those she considered friends, they had dismissed her suffering with a callous, “You’re struggling because of that? There are people in the world with much bigger problems.”

So, she had been afraid that this time, she would hear something similar, like, “You were going to die because of that?” But Beelzebub hadn’t trivialized her pain. He had acknowledged her suffering, calling it “so much.” Something welled up inside her.

“…Isn’t it pathetic?”

“Pathetic?”

“Compared to what you’ve endured, it’s nothing. To think I considered ending my life over something like this… Isn’t it weak and pathetic?”

Nightmares, madness, the guilt of killing a friend, years wasted trapped in a labyrinth. Compared to what this man had endured, her own suffering felt like a mere scratch.

But Beelzebub shook his head.