The Third Year After My Daughter and I Died

Three years after my daughter and I died, the man I’d been married to for five years attacked the imperial city and crowned himself emperor. The first thing he did was order everyone to find me so he could “eat my flesh and drink my blood.”

I sat in the shade of a tree, holding my daughter in my arms, and pointed at him. “That’s your father.”

My daughter puffed out her cheeks and wouldn’t even look at him. Her expression was exactly like his.

Seeing the ambition written all over his face, I couldn’t help letting out a bitter laugh.

Too bad he was too late. My daughter and I were already dead.