Her Graceful War Song novel Chapter 1074

Aurora's death brought Carissa no solace—not even a sliver of comfort.

That night, Carissa lay in bed. Her eyes were closed, her breathing slow and steady, giving the impression of deep sleep. In truth, she wasn't asleep at all.

Scenes from the past played vividly in her mind, frame by frame, like butterflies flitting in a canyon, always just out of reach. She tried to hold onto something—anything—but her grasp remained empty.

It was nearly dawn when she finally drifted off, her exhaustion overwhelming her restless thoughts.

Rafael opened his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping, either. He could tell Carissa wasn't truly asleep. A sleeping person's body relaxed completely, but hers remained taut, which indicated she was only pretending to sleep.

However, she was genuinely asleep now.

His heart ached. Since their marriage, their relationship had been harmonious—even loving. But Rafael knew Carissa had always kept her heart locked away. She would talk to him about anything else: political matters, even the weighty affairs of their nation.

Yet when it came to her feelings and emotions, she buried them deep within.

She buried her wounds beneath a facade of composure, refusing to let herself experience joy. It was as though she believed she no longer deserved it.

No matter how bright her smile appeared, there was always a shadow in her eyes—a profound sadness she couldn't shake. That sorrow made her remarkably self-aware, but it also kept her tethered to her pain.

She had once been a lively young woman, like a wildflower blooming freely in the mountains, embracing life with the most unrestrained attitude. Now, even the curve of her smile seemed measured.

Rafael longed for her to open up to him, to share her burdens. He wished she could let herself cry, like the moment she had collapsed into his arms after reading her uncle's letter. He had thought she might finally speak her mind then, but she had remained silent.

Quietly, he reached for her hand, his long fingers closing gently around hers. Her small hand fit entirely within his grasp.

She didn't wake, only sank deeper into sleep. Even in sleep, her dreams were haunted—filled with bloodshed and violence.

Carissa was skilled at hiding her emotions, so much so that she avoided thinking of the past altogether. But when she did, it always brought the same nightmare: the brutal massacre of the Sinclair family.

She hadn't seen it with her own eyes, but the gruesome state of her family's corpses was enough to piece it together.

In her dream, she saw her mom drenched in blood, crawling across the ground. One ear had been severed, and her eyes were red with blood as she dragged herself toward Carissa. A blade sliced into her back—one stroke, then another—blood splattering everywhere.

Carissa watched, her eyes wide with horror. Gripping her Rose Spear, she charged forward. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't land a blow on the murderer. It was as though an invisible wall separated her from him, keeping her from avenging her family.

This was more than the barrier between dreams and reality—it was the chasm between life and death.