Chapter 9

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Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 9

Chapter Title: The Cantankerous Master of the Count's House (9)

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The stack of books was piled so high it blocked her line of sight, forcing her to use the central staircase again. Servants were supposed to take the stairs at the back of the mansion—if anyone spotted her, punishment was inevitable—so she quickened her steps.

"Master. I'll read it to you again."

"Took you long enough just to go to the library."

"I chose carefully. This time, it'll be something you'll really enjoy."

She opened the book she'd brought.

"Once upon a time, there lived a happy little pig. The happy little pig found such joy in every single day."

"What the hell is this?"

"Pardon? What do you mean?"

Playing dumb, she watched as he scowled.

"It's a picture book."

"Yes. A fairy tale."

"You can't seriously be planning to read that."

"I thought a fairy tale would be just the thing for you right now, Master."

"What?"

"For someone in such a foul mood, nothing beats a heartwarming story to teach a lesson about kindness and consideration. I figured it was exactly what you needed to find some peace of mind."

He stared at her in utter disbelief. She kept her composure and looked back down at the book.

"If there's something specific you'd like, just say the word. I've got the happy little pig, the little girl who runs errands, the fairy boy and their friendship, the siblings' mysterious adventure, the bluebird of love and peace. All ready to go. You said you wouldn't listen to anything you'd already heard, so I brought a whole bunch. Pick your favorite."

You probably haven't heard at least one of these. At her words, he clamped his mouth shut. Veins bulged on the back of his hand, clenched so tight it looked like he might rip the sheet to shreds.

"If nothing strikes your fancy, I'll keep going with the happy little pig. You wouldn't refuse even a short story, right? I can't imagine you lack that much patience... but if it gets too hard to bear, just let me know."

To keep him from interrupting, she rattled on before diving straight into the fairy tale. Whether her words had sunk in or not, he stayed quiet this time. His face looked like he'd stopped breathing, which made her a bit tense, but thankfully she managed to finish the story.

Of course, he flung the next book across the room.

After that, she kept reading to him. Fairy tales, naturally. He protested, but she read anyway. It was the perfect excuse to try out all sorts of books.

It had been ages since she'd read anything. The little bookshop where she'd worked as a child had to close when the elderly owner fell ill. Feeling guilty, he'd gifted her a few books—mostly fairy tales.

But those ended up in Alicia's hands. Alicia had a habit of coveting anything Paula owned, whether she even wanted to read it or not. By the time they made it back to Paula, they were torn to shreds, unrecognizable. In the end, she'd used the scraps for kindling.

After that, books became hard to come by. She'd saved up a few times to buy some, but even those got discovered by Father, putting an end to it. For a poor tenant farmer's daughter, buying books was a luxury. Better to spend the money on a day's worth of food—that realization killed her reading habit for good.

Maybe that's why it felt so joyful now to hold a book again. If only for the circumstances.

"Is that the best you can do?"

"What's the problem?"

"Everything. You—you're all one big problem."

Again, always with that. Was it because she was reading fairy tales? He kept getting irritable. Truth be told, she wanted to read something else, but he never really listened, and reading aloud to someone turned out harder than expected. So despite knowing he hated it, she picked up another fairy tale.

She sighed, and that set him off about the sighing. Coming here had taught her she was a chronic sigher—something she'd never realized before. And the source of it all had the nerve to act shameless about it.

"If you're going to read, at least learn to breathe properly first."

"I'm sorry."

"Get out. I can't listen to any more."

In the end, she was chased out before finishing even three pages, book in hand. Cleaning, errands... now reading. Buy trouble and you'll have it.

Thanks to all that, by the time she dragged herself back to her room after work, she collapsed into bed like the dead. Exhaustion pulled her under. But with so many worries nagging at her, she never slept deeply. That made her light sleeping even lighter. Which was how she clearly heard the loud thud! thud! of something banging against the wall from the next room over.

It was a hefty noise. Coming from the Master's room.

Startled, she bolted to the neighboring room.

She flung open the door and stepped into the dim chamber. Her eyes went straight to the bed, where a rounded shape huddled against the wall. Master? As she approached, it twitched but showed no other reaction.

"Are you unwell?"

"……."

"Master."

"……."

"Master?"

"……Who is it."

His voice was hoarse, lacking strength.

"It's me. Is something wrong?"

"Had a dream."

"A dream? What kind?"

"A scary one."

Ah, a nightmare. She knew the feeling all too well—she had them often herself.

But what about that loud noise from earlier? She scanned the room, but nothing seemed capable of making such a racket. No signs of him throwing something, either, like he sometimes did.

With night-adapted eyes, she couldn't make out fine details. Vincent had the sheet pulled over his head, hiding his face and making it impossible to check on him. But the hand clutching the sheet trembled faintly.

"What was the dream about?"

"Don't know. Can't remember."

His tone was calm, but thick fear laced through it. Isabella had told her he rarely slept properly. And that the groans echoing at night were his. But he'd never let on around her.

What nightmares did he have? She didn't need to guess. Horrible ones, terrifying beyond doubt.

"It's just a dream. Go back to sleep."

"Can't. Feels like it'll come back."

"Want me to hold your hand?"

"Knock it off."

He shuddered as if she'd uttered something horrific in a whole new way. She grimaced ever so slightly before letting out a secret sigh. Well, at least he's fine enough to snap like that.

"Should I stay until you calm down?"

"……."

No real answer came. After a moment's hesitation, she sat on the floor right by the bed. The noise she made as she settled drew a twitch from the huddled shape, but no shout to get out.

Now that she was sitting, though, she had nothing to say. Hugging her knees to her chest, she fidgeted with her fingers for no reason. He stayed silent too. Instead, she heard his ragged breathing. Listening as it gradually evened out, she gauged his state.

As her fingers kept twitching, a sliver of light suddenly crept over her hand from the faint glow. Looking up, she saw moonlight slipping through a gap in the barely parted curtains, striping the floor. Her gaze drifted past it to the yellow moon peeking outside.

The sole light piercing the darkness was captivatingly beautiful. So pretty. If she reached out, could she touch it? But no matter how she stretched, grasping the moon was absurd. Knowing that, she still reached for the light.

Quiet.

Peaceful.

Had she ever felt such peace in her life?

"When I was little, my little sister used to have nightmares all the time."

The words slipped out unbidden. Maybe the silence felt too heavy.

His ragged breaths cut off abruptly at her sudden remark. But he didn't stop her.

"She was the second one. After a nightmare, she'd cry out 'Sis, Sis!' and wake me up."

Her second sister was a gentle soul. Unlike Paula, she had a pretty face and always followed her big sister around with a sweet smile, calling "Sis, Sis!"

Paula had adored that sister so much—and pitied her just as deeply. Goodness was poison in poverty. Father would eye the young, pretty girl, pondering how to exploit her.

And perhaps sensing her fate even as a child, the sister tossed and turned at bedtime, plagued by nightmares. She'd wake sobbing far too often. Half-asleep, Paula would pull her close, pat her back, and hold her hand.

Just like now.

She laid her hand over his—the only part poking out from under the sheet. She felt him flinch at the sudden touch. The warmth in her palm was icy cold. She gripped it tight.

"Whenever that happened, I'd hold her hand like this. She'd relax and drift off again."

Her sister would clutch Paula's hand, squeeze her eyes shut, and let fat tears roll as she leaned into her warmth and fell asleep. Paula would stroke her hand, sharing the fear.

"And I'd tell her this: 'Dreams are just dreams. Nothing to fear. I'm right here. This moment with me—that's reality.'"

But looking back, it wasn't the kindest thing to say. Reality was more hellish. Still, her sweet sister would nod and burrow into her arms.

Right up until the day before she was sold to the brothel.

"They say you should leave dreams in the dream world. Whether it's something that's happened or something you're afraid might—dismiss it all as meaningless. If you can't, overcome what's done. Fight to prevent what hasn't. That's all."

She clamped her mouth shut. Even more dreamlike nonsense.

Reality wasn't a fairy tale. It held no simple beauty, no wondrous adventures. Not in her life, anyway.

She'd never made any brave choices like the heroes in stories. So she couldn't help her sister even as she was sold off. No miracle escape while gripping that trembling hand.

She'd known her sweet, pretty sister was headed to a brothel... and still turned a blind eye to her forced smile.

'It's okay, Sis. I'll be fine.'

The kind, pretty girl had comforted her wicked big sister instead. All Paula could do was ache for her gone sibling and pray desperately for her happiness.

The next year, the second sister died. They said it was a plague. Truth was, she'd been beaten to death. When Paula saw her again in secret, the state was gruesome. Her body was swollen all over, especially between her legs—horrific to behold. Her face was unrecognizable.

Without Father's knowledge, Paula buried her. Hardly a proper funeral. She laid her to rest beside the youngest, topped with pretty wildflowers. Not long after, the fourth joined them—a distant memory now.

Paula had survived by ignoring even her sisters' deaths.

She was that kind of wretched girl.

"How can you say that."

The sudden voice snapped her back. The hand she held still trembled—but this time, it was different.