The Life, Death, and Relife of the Mushroom Mage

Chapter 19

The puppets were playing out the story, and Artesia's breath was short in her chest. She felt like she needed to sit down. It was a lovely story, about the first Saint falling in love with a man, and ultimately losing him due to her own folly. The church wouldn't let them be together, insisting that the Saint must remain pure and virginal, and the man was ultimately killed by assassins. The saint ultimately disappeared, never to be seen again, and Artesia...

Didn't feel great.

She did not feel great.

The story was coming to an end. The moral of the story was the church learned their folly, and allowed Saints to marry after that, but she felt like she needed to cry. She honestly felt like she needed to cry.

Was she fucking up, hanging out with Edwin and Jacques like this? Was she ruining her chances at finding happiness? She didn't know. She did not know, and she felt like she was going to faint. Her breath was becoming narrow in her chest. She knew story beats. She knew how this looked. The villainess, hanging out with the ML and second ML, without a single FL to be seen. Was this some kind of divine warning? Was she fucking up by doing this?

Her breath was tight, and she found herself blinking back tears. She was doomed by the narrative, she realized. She was truly doomed by the narrative. There was no helping it. She was screwed. She was going to die, no matter how hard she tried to avoid it, and shouldn't she just enjoy her time while she was set up for failure? She was going to die no matter what she did, so shouldn't she just... live?

Her hand found its way to Mally's, and he looked down in mild surprise at the way she was gripping it for dear life.

"Are you alright?" he murmured, and she swallowed and gave him a tight smile.

"Fine," she said, her voice breaking slightly.

"Do you want to go get some air?" he asked softly, and she nodded multiple times. "Should we get some mulled wine?"

There was a stand just down the way, and she wasn't technically supposed to drink it as the Saint, but she didn't really care. She wasn't in real public right now.

"Okay," she said as she desperately fought back tears, and he drew her off towards the mulled wine stand. Edwin and Jacques watched them go, and Mally walked up to the stand and ordered two mugs of mulled wine for a couple coppers. The attendant dished them out, and Mally handed her a cup. She took a sip of it, and oh, it was good. Almost desperately, she started swallowing it all down, and Mally took a more sedate sip as they stared at her.

"Feeling okay?" Mally asked, and she gave them a wavering smile.

"Doomed by the narrative," she replied, and Mally tilted their head. "I just---I'm doing everything wrong."

"Ah," Mally said, and glanced down at the mulled wine in her grasp. It was sweet and spicy, being of-spices, not pain, and she looked down at it. She could taste citrus and cloves. She hadn't had a drink in a while. "I think you should just do whatever you want."

"What?" she asked faintly, and Mally tilted their head.

"Who cares if you're doomed by the narrative?" they asked. "Just do whatever you want anyway."

"I... I can't do that," she stammered, and Mally looked at her directly with honey brown eyes.

"Why not?" they asked.

"Because I---" Was doomed to death.

Wait.

Why shouldn't she just enjoy her time while she was here? If she was going to die, shouldn't she have fun before then? She had four years before the events of the novel started, anyway, so shouldn't she just enjoy those four years? But... There were all sorts of pressures associated with being the Saint. She had so many tea party invitations. She didn't want to spend her time as a socialite. She wanted to...