16.1 The Witch and the Promised Love Potion (2)
Roze hands over the potion.
Harij receives the potion and pays for it.
“Well then, Mr. Customer, thank you for coming to my store.”
Not long after Harij’s departure, Roze finally regains her sanity.
Enduring her frustration, she served Harij as calmly as possible.
Thankfully, no one noticed it, but—her body still feels feverish. She’s also drenched in layer of sweat.
Roze crouches down and presses her palm against her chest—her heart is raging, pulsating at a terrifying speed.
“My heart… hurts.”
She can’t maintain her position, thus slips and falls on her back. Dust soars and glitters due to the fine sun beam entering through the window.
…inside my chest, there’s a terrible pain, as if I’m being torn apart.
So painful… so itchy, I just want to scratch it out…
The love that burns is a relentless, all-consuming flame that’ll never disappear. In the end, it scorches Roze.
Due to the potion’s effectiveness, her love for him doubled that morning. Her silver lining is; the potion works.
She only realizes it now—how lightly she has treated her own feelings.
This love that yearns for him is even stronger than before.
Until just before, they were close enough to touch. The heat that almost melted Roze’s body still remains in her core.
Roze touches her lips.
If the potion’s effect had lasted longer, their lips would’ve touched for sure.
Roze covers her face with both hands.
While rolling back and forth, she stumbles upon the clutters of mess of her own making.
They were like a couple in a romance story—the feeling is sweet, but also scary. It’s hard for Roze to imagine herself acting like that.
“Uggh, geho, geho—!!” She accidentally inhales some dust and starts a coughing fit.
She’s aware that she’s doing stupid things—but at the same time, it helps her regain her composure. In the end, she feels a little relieved.
“Huu—…“ She sprawls on the floor.
Roze recalls the movement of his lips, his sound…
…as he uttered the name she doesn’t wants to be called, and at the same time, wants to be called more than anything else—
—and she was the one who begged him for it. Just remembering it, she wants to die.
There’s a witch’s secret brew that can cause partial loss of memory, but to use such extravagant, luxurious potion on herself?
Roze bangs her head against the floor repeatedly to cause memory loss, physically.
Even though she has hit it several times, the memory doesn’t disappear, but the pain helps distract her.
She can see the dust on the ceiling beam, and gently closes her eyes.
“…He won’t be the one using the Love Potion.”
Not even for a moment had Roze thought about that possibility.
She never expected him to come to such a shady place for someone else in the first place.
Her chest constricts again—
—it doesn’t make sense.
After all, she has already severed all ties with him.
She won’t see him tomorrow.
—what could be better?
After all, she’s sure ‘the confrontation with the Witch’ has already been etched in his memories—no matter how insignificant it may be.
Even better, he might remember her as ‘that annoying Witch he had to deliver food to every time.’
—what is he doing right now? What is he up to now? From now on, what will he do—
—her thought patterns are only filled with one word; him.
“Yosh, I have to move on.”
There’s no end to that line of thought, more so if she keeps thinking about it.
To cheer herself, Roze stands up and slaps both of her cheeks.
Before hesitation can enter her mind, Roze removes the cowbell. For many years, the sound has been familiar to her, but lately, when she hears that sound, she gets overly excited. The tablecloth, too, is stashed away. Surely, he won’t even come back to pick it up. Thus she stores it inside the storage basket.
If she doesn’t do all that, expectation will keep brimming within her heart.
Will that person come and bring me delicious food again? —Those sorts of hopes.
The same is applied to the dishes and the cups, which she frequently used when they ate together. In the future, they won’t be used anymore.
In the future, he won’t come and bring sweets or tea anymore.
If she doesn’t do all that, memories will keep flooding her mind.
In this room filled with potions, only the faint, sweet scent of apple lingers as the proof that those dreamlike events took place.
Harij brought some food today, too.
Roze looks inside the basket—cookies encrusted with dried apples.
She puts one into her mouth—the cookie crumbles and the debris fill her mouth.
“…I can’t taste it.”
Her awaited delicacy is even more tasteless than the plain, bland, lettuce when she eats it alone.
***T/N: Gah, the taste of heartbreak…