After I died, slowly forget me.
And the power of time would carry away all feelings.
Go on with your life. Become the person you want to be.
It's just that this time, I'm afraid... I can't take you home."
Back then, those words had sounded so noble, as if it really were just a dream of parting on good terms—
The dream ends, and you go on with your life while I go my own way.
My departure had even sounded like a gesture of selflessness.
But now, standing before the mirror and watching her gaze—she knew everything, yet remained hopelessly trapped—Caesar could only feel that every "I'm doing this for your own good" had become the most hypocritical of blades.
As it turned out, his so-called "selflessness" had been nothing but an escape from reality, a lie he told himself.
In the real world, Caesar could no longer keep his composure.
"No wonder... you hate me so much."
He suddenly understood.
He understood what "I followed you into death" meant.
He understood why Hermione looked as if her mind had been ruined.
The scene in the mirror finally settled on the sight he least wanted to see.
After the ball, the adult Hermione knelt on the floor, still holding the wineglass he had just used.
She lowered her head to look at Caesar, lifeless in her arms, then stared blankly at the place where her beloved had stood moments earlier.
Her expression shifted from bewilderment to shock, then to utter devastation, as if everything had shattered.
She didn't cry out. She didn't scream.
She simply knelt there in silence, staring at the empty space before her for a long, long time.
Then she slowly got to her feet and walked toward the bedroom.
The mirror's surface rippled. In