Upon hearing it was Good Spouses’ Day,
There once was a great fear of the existence known as the non-fixed fate beings.
Because every single non-fixed fate being I knew back then was, in various ways, the epitome of extremities.
The first non-fixed fate being I encountered was a member of the long-lived species who embodied the pinnacle of sloth, then came a lively undead who continues their celebration of life even now. Next, it was an adventurer from the demon palace seeking the successor to their beloved blade, followed by vampires centuries old and various other monsters—beings like those that would typically be placed as the final boss in a campaign scenario.
Back then, I was overwhelmed with fear, thinking that such a thing could never happen to me…
“Hey…”
“Hmm…?”
After a long time spent doing nothing but chasing text across pages and jotting notes, the world regained some color. Turning my head toward the familiar voice that had seeped deeply into my ears, there stood my troublesome spouse.
No matter how many times I laid eyes on their figure, it was something I could never grow accustomed to—the flawless physique and exquisite beauty, akin to fine craftsmanship. Their attire, a night robe made of delicate fabrics, remained unchanged for over a hundred years of acquaintance, neither changing nor fading.
Their silver hair, tied up, gleamed with an alluring shine under the faint light of the magical lantern. Their mismatched eyes—one indigo and one pale willow—glistened silver and gold, bending lazily but maintaining a beauty that still captivates me even today.
My spouse, Baroness Agrippina du Staal, reclined on the chaise, facing me, letting out a single yawn before asking, “What day is it today?”
I was momentarily stumped for an answer.
“Uh…come to think of it, what day is it?”
No, more accurately, how much time has passed since we settled into this private room within “the Magic Academy’s library?”
The room consisted of a simple writing desk, a chaise lounge for brief rests, and towering piles of books we’ve brought in. It’s the reading room located at the very bottom of the Magic Academy, colloquially known as the “Restricted Section”—a sea of forbidden knowledge that we’ve immersed ourselves in, all thanks to the reasons we’ve provided for doing so.
It all started when the social season, which even a notable noble of the emperor’s camp found exhausting due the latest chaos brought by the rumors of the empress’s impending re-retirement, finally came to an end. Tired from navigating the tumultuous waves of high society, my spouse simply wanted to focus on doing what they truly loved for a while—hence this escapade.
And what this spouse of mine loved most was to seclude themselves with books. We even built a private library directly connected to grand bookshelves as per their wish—design and construction both done entirely on their say—where they frequently retreated when they were weary.
Though I thought this would be another seclusion into the library where I wouldn’t need to bother with trifling matters, the situation was complicated by the upcoming transfer of authority from the emperor. This led to an exceptionally exhausting social season, so my spouse decided to drag me here, along with our bundled-up son and daughter.
The reason for bringing the children? To secure the permit to use the restricted section and the keys to the sealed bookshelves, obtain their tacit consent for long-term seclusion, and secure permission to take notes if not exact copies of the forbidden texts from the life-celebrating fanatic undead lord. One child per request was a deal the spouse found quite reasonable.
By now, the children are surely being lavishly adorned by said undead. The concern remains whether my precious and special son—whom the undead particularly dotes on—might be metaphorically “eaten” in a variety of ways, thereby gaining the name of Lord Raizenitz.
Oh dear, it’s almost ridiculous. Both parents being undead and all, what sort of karmic debt must they have accumulated to be born into such a fate? I’m starting to feel sorry for my own child, cursed with the perpetual appearance of a child, whose growth has stopped altogether.
“It feels like quite a while has passed, but somehow it feels like just an instant too..”
“I know.”
I absolutely understand this sentiment. Such a feeling is something only beings of the human race once experienced. Eternal life distorts this sensation. Time passes faster when one is engrossed, and before you know it, the outside world has moved far beyond you. It’s literally possible to forget food and sleep. For the undead, time is sometimes insignificant to the point where it becomes immaterial.
We rarely pay heed to time unless there’s something predetermined or we’re keeping watch over “fixed-fate” beings whose existence could vanish in an instant. Reflecting on this, I realize now just how carefully Lady Agrippina observed me back when I was human.
“How many books have you read?”
“Uh…thirty-two?”
“I’ve read sixty-two.”
She left me far behind, but it’s simply because she prefers reading banned materials and stories declared taboo by the monastic order, while my choice fell upon difficult treatises of magic theory that are hard to delve into.
Once, during one of those moments when eternity felt monotonous, I attempted to create a spell that could analyze books and directly input their contents into the mind called “<Book Deciphering>.” However, it felt so devoid of character that I quickly stopped using it. Instead, I experimented with “<Speed Reading>” and “<Context Rapid Grasping>“, allowing me to read books rather swiftly.
Still, judging the passage of time by merely counting the number of books read proved impossible. We both shared the habit of relishing favorite passages, re-reading them multiple times to savor the experience, making time estimation uncertain.
And since both I, being undead, and she, a long-lived species, lack the need for food or excretion, there’s no measuring time by how hungry we are or when we last went to the restroom. Though meals are enjoyable when we desire them, we essentially don’t need them, making it a bit bothersome overall.
Under such circumstances, being held in solitary confinement without sustenance must surely be a supreme form of punishment.
“What have you been reading?”
“Ah, I found a 300-year-old speculative book on the inverse application of thermal dissipation when transferring matter through transdimensional spacetime fascinating. It seems it was banned due to a scribble suggesting that pulling an object with negative thermal energy from transdimensional space might end the world through the resulting reaction.”
“You read that a long time ago, didn’t you? It was a fun read then.”
“Hmm, it probably made you think, ‘This could actually work,’ didn’t it?”
“Well, yeah.”
She chuckled arrogantly, her nose twitching, appearing like a mischievous child, though in reality, she’s a monster fully capable of causing the worst terror alone.
As for me, well, I’ve become somewhat adept at such antics over the past century or so—adept enough to stand toe-to-toe with an archenemy in grand campaigns or even as a final boss if summoned by some prophecy. I’d throw myself into the fray with great enthusiasm.
Given the endless pondering over how much time had passed, with no conclusion, I decided to let go of the worry, and we returned to our books. There are still mountains of interesting books that we’ve brought in since we settled here.
Immersing ourselves once more in the realm where only the words on the page and introspection exist, I lost track of time again. Suddenly, my semi-materialized foot was tickled.
Glancing down, I found her wriggling toes inadvertently teasing me. In her hand was some book with a rather sappy title. Likely, it was an illicit love story banned for being too scandalous or having an overly sensational motif. The moral standards of the Threefold Empire, a nation of multiple species, change subtly and frequently. Thus, some eras see what seems to be erotica openly circulated, while others grow more stoic and puritanical.
This book was probably tossed into the restricted section during one of those puritanical phases, subsequently left untouched due to, “Well, whatever, it’s too much trouble to deal with”.
I learned of her habit to absentmindedly wiggle her fingers when she likes a book only after she ‘gave up’ on many things. Though she dislikes clothing as a form of constraint and sometimes even roams about entirely unclothed, this habit appears when she’s truly relaxed and reading deeply. It is an exclusive insight into her state of mind.
Hence, I wondered if I had a similar peculiar habit. If such a habit exists, being unconscious of it would be natural.
Reflecting on this, I realized that knowing and being known this way in regard to quirks didn’t bring forth any unpleasant feelings, causing me to feel somewhat odd…
…
Page flipping continued with these thoughts in mind.
Upon thoroughly chewing on the narrative—a literary work of such refinement, where the enthralling interplay of male and female allure was depicted in a subtle, yet evoking, way—my brain let out a satisfied sigh. It was truly an enlightening moment, where one gains erudite eroticism only possible through scholarly understanding, leaving me deeply impressed by the high-level context.
With a soft sigh, I lowered the book and mentally noted to request a declassification of its banishing from the empire’s administration and produce copies of it. Casting my gaze upon my spouse who, lost in a profound treatise, appeared profoundly absorbed.
Her body, which doesn’t grow stiff from posture, moves as she shifts books; this act seems oddly endearing despite my years of watching her.
Considering how much time has passed since I retrieved her soul from the underworld, finding her adapting so readily, I couldn’t help but be surprised.
Beings that become non-fixed fates from being human, such as vampires or undead, tend to drag habits from their days as mortals into their long existence. Tales of vampires dining like clockwork or undead contemplating proper ways to bathe despite their lack of body odors amused us greatly. Those who were non-fixed from the start often couldn’t understand the habits of the fixed-fated, and vice versa.
However, the speed at which my spouse adapted to their new form was slightly abnormal.
Within a day, they could phase through objects without concern, exclaimed about the convenience of doors being unnecessary due to their form, and utilized this newfound freedom of non-necessity—where eating is irrelevant—to dive headfirst into work and reading whenever they felt it right to do so.
Even now, the only habit remaining is worrying about neck tension despite the lack of physical strain—a habit peculiar enough to make me wonder. Over a hundred years of human life and still only this? I couldn’t help but point that out.
I had secretly documented such experimental reports, only to sigh, realizing that such habits may not apply to the average non-fixed fate. Worst of all, I had planned even for the contingency where they might go mad from the gap of their resurrection. Preparing and perfecting the necessary measures, the plan was more about trying than needing to implement it.
But with things progressing smoothly, what could one say but well done? The brain, once mired in “what-if” scenarios while indulging in countless stories, now began hypothesizing about our own “what-ifs.”
“That’s quite fine, isn’t it?”
“Hm?”
Caught in the flow of darkened musings, I unwittingly voiced an opinion, drawing Erich’s gaze upward from a challenging treatise.
“Nothing, I was just thinking the book I just finished wasn’t bad.”
“Huh. If you say so, I might read it later.”
“So, I’ll leave it in an easy place for you to find.”
She gracefully concealed her slip-up with a natural demeanor, escaping any further inquiry.
Certainly, the musings could have been amusing. I vividly recalled how Erich initially erupted with rage upon being forcibly taken in as a noble. Their eyes, glaring fiercely enough to rival the death of their own parents—such was their fury.
Their gaze burned most intensely on the wedding day, wearing the attire they had chosen themselves—adorned like the prince in a farce, amidst the overwhelming beauty of their surroundings, those cerulean eyes flared with hate intense enough to extinguish the world. That image, sharp and vivid despite our long tenure together, burned within me.
Through all these years of our connection, despite countless unforgettable memories imprinted in her mind, now she lies there, eyes once soft and innocent azure, now transformed to stark ice blue, reading a book without a care in the world.
Reclining on the chaise lounge, with our legs entangled in an improper manner—no longer carrying the dagger they always kept close—such a figure would easily allow for a surprise attack, leaving room for a drawn-out fight if I managed to catch them off-guard.
Of course, that goes for me as well. Without the apparatuses that amplify my magical power and assist with spell projection, with hair tied up by a dragon scale hairpin gifted on our forty-third wedding anniversary (even after surpassing sixty years, how the man obtained the scales still puzzles me)—if Erich was to launch an unexpected assault in their heightened state, my current carelessness would leave me struggling to achieve even mutual destruction.
“This is better, isn’t it?”
Whispering quietly to myself, Agrippina levitated the next intended book using the <Invisible Hand>.
The imagined future was certainly a captivating tale, but it’s nothing grand. If I had to choose between that and the present—it’s no contest. My fingers, without hesitation, would point towards now.
Annoying proposals from successive suitors attempting to secure her hand have ceased. With an active and competent spouse handling all the bothersome social invitations and official paperwork and children that require less attention—occasionally, we still receive complaints about something being blown up or broken—peaceful times have multiplied. The joys of research and the happiness derived from reading alone in seclusion outshine all other pastimes.
And thus, this is surely the right choice.
While flipping the pages, she chuckled, then quietly intensified the barrier she had set up around them to ensure their tranquil bliss was undisturbed for a while longer. Despite many interruptions, the couple would continue their seclusion until the next social season loomed near. However, this would lead to a mountain of overdue work facing her spouse, leaving their already ghostly complexion even worse. …
[Tip] The Restricted Section houses not only books technically deemed taboo but also those set aside due to changing cultural norms.
The aristocracy carries the burden of vast responsibilities and duties that correlate to their privileges.
Because it was Good Spouses’ Day, I remembered a slightly popular short story about the Henderson Scale from back in the day.
Truly, this couple of ultimate adversaries is a troublesome pair.
