Surviving A Novel I Don't Remember: A Tutor's Guide To Staying Alive

"You had the words that could have saved them both, and you kept them in a box. Why, Your Majesty?"

Aurelian leaned forward, his hand reaching out to tilt Julian’s chin up. He didn’t have his gloves on today, so his touch was cold, his fingers tracing the line of Julian’s jaw with a terrifying possessiveness.

"Grief is such a useful tool, Master Astrea," Aurelian purred. "It keeps the heart at bay. That grief kept my brother focused on a grave and his duties instead of another. And now... it keeps you here, doesn’t it? Drowning in the feelings of a dead woman because you’re too empty to have any of your own."

Julian flinched, the Emperor’s words hitting the exact center of his insecurity. Aurelian was stripping Julian of his dignity and his connection to the Duke, one letter at a time, making sure he knew his place.

Making sure this was the kind of ’love’ the Duke was familiar with. And anything with him was just the leftovers.

"Read the last one," Aurelian commanded, taking his hand back from Julian’s chin. "The one where she realizes the end is coming. I want to hear how you handle a goodbye."

Julian looked at the final letter. It was stained with a single, dried drop of salt—a tear from seven years ago. He felt a hot, shameful sting in his own eyes. He wasn’t just reading letters; he was participating in a desecration.

He hated it. If he could stop this, he would.

"Lucien, I am sorry. I can no longer hold a pen to write to you, but I have heard of your victory. If you come now, you and I can still meet one last time, but alas, I do not want to burden you when you should be celebrating. My love, my shield, my sword, my knight... Lucien, I love you. And every day I spent with you felt like I was living a brand new adventure." Julian’s voice broke there as he felt his own eyes tearing up. "I leave the last of me to you. Please, take care of Lucius."

Julian managed to finish the letter, and the tears in his eyes had still not fallen. Thankfully, if not, the Emperor would’ve used his own empathy to mock him.

The room felt smaller, the air thicker, and his chest felt stifled.

Aurelian stood up and closed the wooden box, clicking it shut.

"That will be enough for today. You’ve given the Duchess a very... emotional performance. I think you deserve a reward."

He leaned in close, his breath warm against Julian’s ear.

"I’ll have the servants bring you something special for dinner. Something light. After all, you have a portrait sitting tomorrow, and we wouldn’t want those beautiful eyes to be too puffy from all these tears."

Aurelian walked out, leaving Julian alone in the suffocating silence of the Archive.

After returning to his room, the heavy thud of the door and the clicking of the bolt were the only signals that his ordeal in the Archive was over.

Julian slumped against the wood of his door, the cool surface pressing against his forehead.

His lungs felt raw, the lingering scent of old parchment and Bellanora’s desperation still clinging to his skin like a shroud. He moved toward the window, his legs feeling too heavy for the weight of his body, and then sank onto the chair.

Outside, the storm had finally broken, just like the previous day.

The rain began with a violent downpour that lashed against the glass, blurring the world into a grey, indistinct smear.

It matched the state of his mind—dissolving, losing its edges, drowning in a history that wasn’t his to carry.

"Our star."

The words looped in his head, a torture he would rather not have to boost his already falling mind.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the Duchess’s ghost again—the way she had looked at him with such profound, weary gratitude. And then he saw Aurelian’s smirk. The Emperor hadn’t just made him read letters; he had forced Julian to witness the exact moment a family was systematically dismantled by silence.

He read the letters that could’ve saved the family from their current heartache. He let the Duchess die without the Duke knowing about her last words, or the words she meant to say to him as he fought in the war.

Once again, he had affirmed that Aurelian was a cruel man.

> [Mental Stability: 25% — Status: Emotional Exhaustion]

The system flickered with a dull pulsing red at the corner of his eyes. It was no longer a warning; it was a heartbeat.

He knew he couldn’t face the next morning without something to dull the edges of his mind. He probably couldn’t even bring himself to sleep tonight because of the trauma.

The Waking Madness was getting stronger, the constriction in his chest lasting longer with every sunrise. If he didn’t sleep—real, heavy sleep—he wouldn’t survive the portrait sitting tomorrow.

He wouldn’t survive the Emperor’s gaze.

"Why do I have to sit for a portrait anyway?" he asked himself, but there was no finding sense to whatever the Emperor was up to.

He just did whatever he liked and didn’t care about his own opinion.

With trembling hands, Julian pulled his Alchemist’s Tools out from his inventory.

The small, silver mortar and pestle caught the dim, grey light from the window. He laid them out on the low table, his movements slow but careful.

Next came the Sleeping Lily.

He pulled it from his inventory, the silver-edged petals shimmering with a ghostly, luminescent pallor. It felt cold to the touch, almost like ice.

Since there were two, he could keep one for another use.

Then, he looked at it for a long moment, remembering Liora’s warning: "If you touch them when they’re dreaming, they turn grey."

He tapped on the silver edges; they were soft and didn’t turn grey. It was probably due to the fact that he had plucked them out and put them in his inventory before they even had time to ’wake’.

A small smile played on his lips as he thought of the princess and the prince. How were they doing?

He hoped they hadn’t gotten in trouble with Aurelian because of him. He would really hate to drag the kids into his mess.