Chapter 38

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Translator: Vine
Chapter: [Number]
Chapter Title: A Terrible Faith
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Roena’s maids had left with her, so only Pérignole, her attendant, and I remained.

A calm always follows a storm. I could not tell if it was meant as solace or mourning, but it undeniably bestowed the same silence upon everyone.

The stillness that settled in the room was of the same kind. A state of utter silence, where not even a breath could be heard. I thought of it as ‘peace.’

“You should be grateful.”

I said, leaning back languidly. With no prying eyes, I could move more freely. A sharp pain radiated from my spine, which I had been holding ramrod straight.

Pérignole, who had been frowning and vigorously rubbing the cheek Roena had struck, widened her eyes in confusion, as if the slap had truly stung.

“What do you mean?”

“Any other lady would have cut off your wrist.”

“Oh, my! I suppose I should be thankful it ended with just a slap.”

Pérignole muttered, pouting. She was like a furious cat, baring its teeth with a sharp hiss.

“You’re quite insolent.”

“Don’t say such frightening things. I’m doing my best, you know.”

“What kind of best?”

At my question, Pérignole’s lips curled into a radiant smile.

“I wanted to be alone with you, Young Miss. Lady Roena doesn’t seem quite ready yet. So I tried a little trick. Are you not pleased?”

“Lies.”

I rose from my seat. Then, I spoke gently to the bewildered Pérignole.

“You don’t need to come next time. I’ll have a word with my mother.”

Madame de La Vallière always used to tell me.

Hide the emotions in your eyes. If you don’t, others will think you utterly trivial and ridiculous.

I had thought she was just finding fault. She wasn’t a god, so how could she read a person’s inner thoughts just from their eyes? I found it absurd.

But now that I had returned, in this very situation facing Pérignole, I thought I finally understood why Madame had told me such a thing.

“Young Miss?”

She played a trick because she wanted to be alone with me? Asked if I wasn’t pleased? The insolent wench. She should learn to hide the emotion in her own eyes. How dare a mere prostitute look down on anyone?

Pérignole was gravely mistaken about one thing: she was a girl who could be replaced at any time. So I ignored her as she called out to me with a flustered face and left the room, lamenting my own foolishness for wanting to learn anything from someone like her.

As I stepped into the hallway, a maid scurried over and greeted me. She was one of those who attended my mother.

“The lady summons you.”

I frowned and said to the maid.

“Tell her I’m suddenly unwell and cannot see her right away. I’m sure Mother will understand.”

If I went to Mother, I would surely find Roena with a flushed face, sniffling. Then I’d have no choice but to pat her back and offer her a handkerchief. How ridiculous. For whose benefit would I be comforting her? There was no reason to take part in such an unsightly scene.

More importantly, I had no desire to soothe my mother's anxiety, which stemmed from her foolish stubbornness in summoning Pérignole and hurting Roena's feelings.

Whether it was because she was wary of my stepfather or because of some cheap pity born from her own kindness, I couldn’t say, but my mother seemed to genuinely adore Roena. Or so Mago said.

Fine, I could understand summoning Pérignole again out of defiance toward the Countess. But why involve Roena? Even if Roena had the Countess’s permission, Mother should have stopped her with a firm and resolute attitude.

The only person to whom Roena's innocent kindness did not extend was a ‘prostitute.’ Like everyone in high society, Roena saw prostitutes as unclean and filthy creatures.

“Ah, that’s right.”

I turned and said to the maid, who was about to go back the way she came, “It might be best to present Mother with scented water mixed with geranium.”

Geranium was a rose-scented herb used to treat burns and wounds. Since Pérignole’s hands had touched her, shouldn’t she apply some medicine? That way, her ridiculous display of jumping around as if she’d been burned would be understandable to everyone.

The maid was looking at me with a peculiar expression, a look that said she had no idea what I was talking about.

“Just do as I say.”

“Yes.”

I turned away, desperately suppressing the urge to cackle. The image of the look on Roena’s face when she saw the water infused with geranium was so vivid that I couldn't help but smile.

However, had I known Roena would come looking for me, I wouldn't have made the foolish mistake of returning to my room so quickly.

I was at a loss for words at the sight of Roena's gaze, her red, tear-rimmed eyes looking at me with worry.

Her appearance was disheveled. Her reddened nose, swollen eyes, and sweat-glistened forehead, framed by messy hair, told the story of what she had just been doing.

Her tear-stained cheeks looked as ridiculous as a clown's. I swear to God, the only other time she had walked around in such a disheveled state was after our stepfather's death.

“Are you okay?”

Roena asked. Her voice, thick with tears, sounded like that of an adolescent boy whose voice was breaking. If I closed my eyes, I might have mistaken her for someone else. She blushed, embarrassed by the rough sound that came from her own mouth.

But she soon opened her mouth to ask me again, her words full of pure goodwill painted over with concern.

“I heard from the maid. That you were suddenly unwell. So I was worried…”

Her fingers, peeking from beneath the lace, kept twitching as if wanting to grab something. Unable to meet my gaze, her lowered eyes trembled, conveying an unfounded tension.

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? Because you’re my sister…”

I quickly cut her off, speaking as if it were nothing.

“Oh, is that so? A fact I was completely unaware of.”

“Cisse, please. I just came because I was worried about you. So please don’t be so hostile.”

“Is that so? Well, what a shame. Contrary to your worries, I'm perfectly fine. I'm just a little tired, that's all. I'll be better after some rest.”

Roena's expression clouded over at my words. She moved her lips as if to say something, then sighed. Biting her lip, she swayed slightly without realizing it, her deeply furrowed brow betraying her concern.

A moment later, she asked in an even more cautious tone, “Is it because of that prostitute?” Her low, sunken eyes flickered coldly, as if certain of the answer to her own question.

I answered by staring blankly at Roena. I found it quite fascinating how she could act so nonchalantly and express concern for me, as if she had forgotten what happened last time.

They say the line between shame and composure is drawn by one's own heart, but the line Roena drew was incomprehensibly generous to herself. Her clear eyes were so pristine they seemed to reflect everything. It was as if only the person who fretted and obsessed over past events was made out to be the fool. Yes, just like that.

It was truly strange. I was clearly hurt and wronged by her, but if I insisted on a proper apology, I would be the one who was narrow-minded and ill-natured.

A casual ‘sorry’ tossed out in passing was considered an apology, and with that, everything was concluded.

Some would say to let past events flow away like water and be faithful to the present. Then they would taunt, ‘Are you satisfied now that you've cornered Lady Roena and forced an apology out of her?’

How absurd. Why should others measure the wounds I received and order me to forgive or not? Why should they judge my feelings and declare them finished? This was something I still couldn't comprehend, even now that I had returned.

Someone once remarked, ‘Once you enter high society, you naturally put your emotions on display like goods in a shop window,’ but even so, that doesn't mean my heart is cheaper than Roena's!

That's why I always wondered, ‘Why does the Roena of the past and the present so neatly brush aside the matters I've held onto so tightly, and act so innocent?’

It was the same now. I spoke of the hunting grounds, while Roena spoke of what just happened. My focus was on unfinished business; hers was on what had just begun.

With our gazes and thoughts so misaligned, a smooth conversation was impossible. One of us would have to yield, but not only did I have no intention of doing so, I also saw no reason why I should.

The fools surrounding Roena were more than enough to coddle and flatter her.

As I remained silent, Roena began to speak with ease. She seemed to think my silence was a sign of agreement.

“She lacks basic refinement, is incredibly rude, and, well, she was even vulgar. So, I mean, I… she…”

“Are you asking if she took my hand and made me touch her chest, just like she did to you?”

Roena's face turned beet red as she ducked her head.

“Not at all. Roena, she was very kind and gentle.”

Roena immediately lifted her head and retorted. She cried out, her face a mixture of shame and anger. Her eyes were filled with confusion, as if she couldn't believe what she had just heard.

“B-but she’s a prostitute.”

“Yes, she’s a prostitute. But she came to teach us something.”

“Cisse. That’s not true. There’s nothing we can learn from a prostitute.”

“Then why did you meet with her? What was your reason for attending?”

“It was for you, Cisse. If it weren't for you, I would have never even entered that room. I wouldn't have insisted on being tutored by our aunt.”

“For me?”

“Yes.”

Roena said, nodding with a solemn voice. Her gaze, shining steadfastly at me, sparkled dazzlingly with conviction in her own beliefs.

A terrible faith that she considered goodwill, but which to me was no different from despicable arrogance.

“Perhaps I subconsciously thought you were doing fine, Cisse, but still left room for ‘what if.’ I didn’t trust you. That’s why what happened last time occurred. It was something that wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been so indifferent to you. So I won’t do it again. I won’t stand by and watch you anymore. I promise.”

In that moment, something surged up in my chest. My fingertips grew cold, my vision turned white, and my body began to tremble.

I felt like I had to stomp my feet and scream like a madwoman. No, I *had* to. The scream rising in my throat was turning into a poison that threatened to destroy me.

Why do you keep testing me?