They lay in bed together, with him on his back and her leaning against his side, her back pressed into him as she slept soundly with her head resting on his outstretched arm. It was a peaceful and trusting moment, with her slender body nestled perfectly against his and her hands holding his own. He gazed at her flawless profile and exquisite features, marveling at how stunningly beautiful she was. Could he ever grow tired of admiring such perfection, he wondered to himself. And to think, she was his wife - what a truly wonderful and beautiful girl she was.

He had thought that her being an undead would mean she would be cold and not able to really understand love, but he had been proven wrong. Oh, far from it; she had been incredibly sensible, delicate, and kind.

And then, tired but satisfied, she had fallen asleep.

He lay awake in bed, unable to fall asleep. He tried to process the events of the night, but it all seemed unreal. She had refused to discuss anything important. Oh, she had talked with him about their daughters and what he should do with them and how to instruct them.

And they had made love. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply as the warm memories flooded his brain.

In a strange way, everything felt as if, finally, each puzzle piece of their lives had slipped into the right place. Everything had become perfect; everything worked as it should, and they understood each other perfectly and synchronized perfectly as if his breathing would suit them both as if his heart would beat for them both.

Had they been predestined to be together? Was it meant to be this way? But then, for such a short time?

They wanted to kill her the next day, and he couldn't do anything about it! His lower lip started trembling again, and he had to make an effort to not jump on his feet and scream. His eyes wandered again to her, and slowly, peace returned to his heart.

He was stunned by the realization that she had sold her secrets and asked Dalia for a respite only for him. It was not a ruse to get more time to be able to talk about some last-minute desperate escape plan. No. It had been meant only for him.

And that hurt as he knew he did not deserve her.

He pressed a gentle kiss on her bare shoulder, and she moaned softly, still deep in her dream. He let out a heavy sigh, unable to muster the strength to wake her up, allowing her to relish in another moment of peace.

Despite everything, he still held onto the hope of a miracle.

When he heard the sound of the main door creaking open, he knew the privacy spell that Dalia had cast over the house was broken, and their time had come.

Dalia stood in the doorway and grinned.

"Hello, lovebirds. It's time," she spoke casually, as though they were merely getting ready to enjoy a leisurely breakfast before exploring the town as if they were on their honeymoon.

It felt like it. It was so absurd that he sat naked in bed and watched Dalia with big round eyes, his brain refusing to function.

Two slave girls entered beside Dalia, laughingly in the room, to help dress Anabella for the festivity.

Dalia rolled her eyes.

“Put a pair of trousers on, Geral; you are shaming my girls, and come for breakfast. We need to move fast; we cannot be late.”

As if they were going to a feast.

The day had been a nightmare for him, like living through a terrible dream where the outcome was inevitable and unchangeable.

The ceremony itself had been long and elaborate, with a whole array of magical effects and flower petals scattered over the scaffold, but the result was exactly as he had feared: he found himself kneeling before her decapitated body. They kept her body and severed head on display for an entire hour, chanting their meaningless incantations as he watched in horror as her dark blood flowed from the severed neck, first in a torrent, then in a trickle, until it finally stopped altogether.

And they chanted and chanted, covering his screams. Had he even screamed?

Finally, when he was allowed, he placed her severed head in her lap, lifted the lifeless body in his arms with ease, and brought her to the carriage.

He now had a mission to complete.

He took her to the wagon and started embalming her.

With trembling hands, he sewed her head back and then embalmed the head too. When he was finished, he finally took a deep breath and looked around, and he realized that it was already getting late.

The town's doors would be closed by now, and he realized that he would have to spend another night in the city. They would not open the doors, especially for him; he had no such authorization, and besides, it would be really dangerous to try to navigate the city's vicinity by night. He will have to spend another night in the town.

Another night, just the two of them, him and Anabella!

He huffed at the thought and looked at the embalmed body beside him. He asked himself what the sense of all this was? Was anybody outside in the real world looking at the game and watching him suffering? Was this some kind of new entertainment? Why was this whole environment still being maintained? Who paid for the entire set of servers, the hardware, and the energy consumption? What for? To watch him crying? It was so absurd!

Were they enjoying their existence studying them like fishes in an aquarium? His stomach was rumbling from hunger, but he could not decide to leave her dead body and go eat something. He had refused to eat at the religious feast they had done when they'd murdered Anabella, but now he was ravenous.

Did this matter? Did it matter if this virtual body would not eat? But he knew the consequences would be the same as if not eating in real life.

A shout brought him back to reality.

“Hey, Geral!”

He turned and saw Olomuc's head peaking inside the carriage.

“Olomuc!” - he answered, then pointed at Anabella's body – “Are you happy with yourself now?”

Olomuc sighed, then hinted behind him.

“Do you hear the city still celebrating the great sacrifice? The twin Gods have been appeased for now. Are you hungry?”

“No,” – Geral said while his stomach said otherwise

“I have some grilled sausages that I could save from Fify. If you are interested, come down and eat some with me. Anyhow you cannot leave the city now. ”

Olomuc's head disappeared from view, and Geral heard him as he made himself comfortable beside the carriage. He sighed and went out. Olomuc looked at his red eyes and nodded, not saying a word. He patted the stones beside him.

“Come sit beside me, or do you have some chairs in your chariot? You still could use those from the house?”

“I'm not going inside the house!”

Olomuc shrugged.

“And where will you piss? Don't tell me you piss on the street; that's against the law!”

Geral snorted. Olomuc had his way of unbalancing him.

“Well, you're right. Let me just go in and wash myself.”

Ten minutes later, they were sitting beside the chariot, eating warm sausages with bread. Geral sighed:

“I was wondering what the meaning of all this simulation is. Why is this fucking game still running?” Who maintains this?”

“Oh, now that your love is dead, it is a fucking game? I thought that you agreed with me that this is real?” - Olomuc questioned

Geral sighed again: “How can this be real? We both know that it started as a game. There is no fucking chance in hell that it is real!”

Olomuc placed a greasy hand on his shoulder: “Trust me, it is real. I knew it from the very first moment. I can feel it. This is not a game.”

Geral watched him, wondering: “From the very first moment? But even the image was imperfect at the time, and the NPCs behaved so constrained!”

Olomuc sighed. “Yes, and yet the world was too big. What we saw was imperfect, but if you studied a plant, you realized it was a perfect plant. Only our sight was limited, as if by a limited transmission. I don't know. Maybe a limited receiver? Whatever...”

“And the NPCs?” - Geral asked.

Olomuc shrugged. “They still did all those complex works; they still interacted with each other. The contrived action was only in regard to us, but you had to observe them. The beasts were eating each other, and other beasts were eating grass, just what you expect to see in a real world. I have never seen something that would not pass the real-world test.”

“Magic?”

Olomuc laughed. “Well, yes, magic. You can say a real magical world.”

Geral huffed but did not comment any further. He had, for a moment, forgotten that Anabella lay dead in the chariot behind him.

He sighed.