Chapter 19

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 2
Chapter Title: The Stone Doll
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I handed my hat to Marie and said bluntly.

“You're making it quite obvious you were worried. Are you hoping for praise?”

“Oh, no, Young Miss. That's not it at all.”

“Right. Then smooth out that ugly frown. You should be thanking me. I came in through the back gate, so no one will notice I took a walk by myself.”

“Yes, thank you so much.”

Marie, who had been forcing an awkward smile at my chiding rebuke, soon began to speak cautiously, her expression fraught with anxiety as she watched my face.

“Young Miss.”

“What is it?”

“Seril…”

Marie trailed off, hesitating. As if trying to express her fear of me with her entire being, she fidgeted and whimpered like a mangy puppy, its eyes still sealed shut.

She bit her lip slightly, her eyes welling with tears as if to elicit pity, and it was almost enough to stir one's sympathies. Perhaps this was the effect of having been subjugated by violence and threats; a poignant vulnerability dripped from her every minor gesture. It was a rare, pristine beauty that would make any man who knew women lick his lips.

The problem was that, as a woman, this side of her held no appeal for me whatsoever.

I untied the ribboned knot of my robe and replied with a bored expression. Hearing about Seril the moment I returned put me in a foul mood. Naturally, my tone was anything but gentle.

“Why are you telling me about her?”

“Because Seril is desperately calling for you, Young Miss.”

Ah. A long, slow smile spread across my lips. I thought the venomous girl would hold out for quite some time, but it seemed she couldn't bear it and had raised the white flag.

I had just been thinking of locking her in one of the manor's secret rooms in preparation for Madame de La Vallière's visit, but she hadn't even lasted two days.

My lips twisted into a deep sneer. Her rampaging like a bull stung by a bee had been so absurd that I’d been considering various methods to deal with her, so for her to crumble this easily was a major letdown.

It seemed the venom I had witnessed was nothing more than an empty illusion—a sandcastle destined to crumble away to nothing without Roena's shadow to protect it. I couldn't for the life of me understand why she had acted so stiff, like starched cloth, if this was all it took.

“Um, what should I do?”

Marie looked as though she wanted to run to Seril and let her out at once. The twitching of her feet gave her away.

If I gave her permission, she would probably take Seril out of the capsa, steam her entire body with heated stones, apply a poultice of crushed herbs, and carefully wrap her in linen.

And she would surely pity Seril for her fate, for having so easily surrendered to a tyrannical master. Wouldn't a sense of shared misery blossom within her?

But I had no intention of forgiving Seril so quickly. Human nature does not change so easily.

Right now, she would probably lick my feet to avoid punishment, but would she still do so once her heart was at ease and she could move freely again?

I couldn't be sure. And isn't it better than getting hurt myself out of some misplaced sense of mercy? So what if I'm not altruistic?

Above all, I don't know how to easily release someone I cannot definitively call ‘one of my own.’

The truth is, someone like Marie is very weak to violence and appeasement. Offer her the right combination of stick and carrot, and she won't even think of betrayal.

But Seril is not like that. She doesn't need a carrot, only a stick. Because Seril is filled to the bone with devotion to Roena.

She had always been fiercely loyal to Roena, like a knight. It was so peculiar; if Roena so much as blinked twice, slowly, Seril would tremble as if the heavens were about to fall. It was a ridiculous sight. I doubt even a child born from her own womb would receive such terrible devotion.

But Seril would do anything for Roena. She even volunteered to be Mago's pawn, plotting all sorts of vile schemes for Roena's sake.

If Mago was the mastermind, Seril was the faithful horse who carried out her plans. Everything was accomplished through Mago and Seril’s faction.

After my stepfather's death, when my mother and I took control of the estate and replaced countless maids, Seril was the one who fought to the bitter end, crying out Roena's name. It was also Seril who finally managed to send her to Madame de La Vallière and secure her a place at the ball.

And when my mother and I were thrown into prison, she stood behind Roena and laughed with utter glee. *Ha, ha, ha.*

I know that obsession. I saw her sickening affection for Roena with my own two eyes. Am I supposed to accept such an easy surrender? Not a chance.

So, even if it takes time, I intend to put a great deal of effort into making sure the fear of me seeps into the very bottom of her soul.

“Go and wash Seril, and have her drink some soft soup. Apply medicine to her wounds and bandage them. And clean the inside of the capsa thoroughly.”

“Are you forgiving Seril?”

“Forgiving? Did you just say the word ‘forgiving’?”

I tapped Marie’s cheek lightly with my fingers and smiled haughtily. Now that we’ve had the appetizer, isn't it time for the main course?

Marie trembled and took a step back.

“Young Miss…”

The voice that escaped her parted lips was laced with dreadful terror.

“I can’t very well kill her, now can I? And after I’ve only just arrived at this estate. Now, hurry along. Rush like your tail is on fire. You’re the only one who can help me.”

My voice was light, as if I were singing a song. I felt like I could hum a little tune if I wanted to. So, with a cheerful voice, I gently hurried Marie along and slipped out of my dress.

For the rest of the time, I planned to take a hot bath, get a light massage with scented oils, and reflect on Madame de La Vallière, who would be arriving tomorrow.

The day promised to be quite busy, and a strange excitement was even beginning to build. The amusement I had felt with Pérignole seemed to be reaching its peak through Seril.

Today is going to be fun. At my words, Marie shook her head with a horrified look and bit her lip. I found the sight so cute and yet so pathetic that I burst out laughing.

Because I knew that even as she shuddered in disgust, she would soon wear a look of resignation and, as always, diligently carry out my orders.

And exactly six hours later, Seril's clean body was placed back in the capsa and moved to a secret room in the Vischwartz manor.

***

The next day, everyone in the manor began moving about busily from the early hours of dawn. Although a deep clean had been done the day before and the food for today's banquet had been prepared, an unexpected commotion arose because my mother was not pleased with it.

Then again, it was understandable. This was the first outside guest she would receive since becoming the lady of the Vischwartz manor, and even if it was a relative, it had been a long time since they had visited.

Besides, given who the guest was, it was impossible not to be meticulous. As such, my mother's nerves were extremely frayed as she directed the maids.

But I thought my mother looked very lively. Although the faction centered around Mago tended to disrespect her, seeing her personally take charge on a day like this, commanding the maids with a tip of her chin, made her look like a true noblewoman.

Of course, she was being rather hysterical and snapping at any maid who showed signs of sluggishness, but it was far better than her previous listlessness.

It seemed that Mago's temporary silence, thanks to me, had been a great help to my mother.

It was what allowed her to single out a maid and sternly rebuke her just for a bit of dust left on a windowsill. In many ways, she was the very picture of a noble lady of the house.

The problem was how long that image would last. The persona my mother was projecting—that of a firm yet graceful lady—was sure to crumble helplessly before Madame de La Vallière.

Ever since meeting Madame de La Vallière and her followers before her marriage to my stepfather, my mother's feelings toward her were close to revulsion and terror. Like a mouse before a cat.

It was a stark contrast to me, who had gone so far as to mock and even drive her away—though it would be more accurate to say that La Vallière had stormed out of the house.

In the past, Madame de La Vallière and I did not get along. She despised me for my low birth, and I felt nothing but displeasure at her gaze, which sized me up as if I were a piece of meat hanging in a butcher's shop, judging me as she pleased.

Above all, I couldn't harbor any good feelings toward her when she would frown and spew scathing tirades every time we met. She was the person I disliked most after Roena and Mago, so what more needs to be said?

All she ever said was ‘No,’ ‘Can't you even do that?’ or ‘Blood will out,’ so it was no wonder I felt rebellious.

Besides, wasn't Madame de La Vallière the witch who had brought such shame upon my mother? Therefore, it was next to impossible for me to treat her with polite respect as an aunt; if anything, I would insult her.

Because of this, she and I argued fiercely almost every other day.

The fights always began with her finding fault in my actions.

At the time, lost in a world of beautiful jewels and new dresses, I hadn't reflected on what kind of family I had become a part of, and I found her intolerance for my crude jokes and complaints extremely irritating.

So, like a venomous snake, I reacted sensitively to every word that came out of her mouth. It reached a point where Madame de La Vallière herself cried out, calling me, ‘You rough fighting cock!’

In truth, this kind of fight was a game more to my advantage than hers. I was less rational than her, less elegant, and I didn't know the limits when it came to hurting people.

My street ruffian's nature, from my days of ruling the streets, also played a part in that. Just as La Vallière said, I was a fighting cock in a pit. A wicked girl who wouldn't be satisfied until she saw her opponent’s blood on her sharpened claws.

Unfortunately for the Madame, while she was an intimidating woman who could strike fear into her opponents, she was very vulnerable to insults with sexual undertones.

Even a master who ruled high society was no more than a naive child in a fight where the rules—like not attacking the opponent directly—were not set. How could the aristocratic rhetoric of veiled mockery compare to the rough curses one might hear in a back alley?

Thanks to this, victory was always mine. Even if I did end up bursting into tears, unable to control my temper.

Of all the insults I hurled at Madame de La Vallière, the most potent was the nickname ‘Stone Doll.’ This was one of my metaphors for her, a term I created to mock her doll-like appearance, a woman who valued only etiquette like an unfeeling stone. It was also a word that took aim at La Vallière’s situation, as she had been unable to conceive a child despite being married for a long time.

In fact, upon hearing this from me, Madame de La Vallière foamed at the mouth and collapsed. How could one even begin to describe the shame and rage she must have felt?

It was because of this nickname that she cut ties with my stepfather—not even sending a single letter until after his death.

And yet here I am now, having returned, painstakingly getting ready since morning to make a good impression on the very opponent with whom I had fought so fiercely it was like starting a war. Could there be a greater irony? Not even a well-written comedy could be more amusing than this.