The Bad Ending of an Otome

“… You.”

Like sunlight filtering through a window, his gray eyes could be seen through the fine blonde hair, but they were severely distorted. His tone was aggressive, as if he were spitting the words out of his mouth.

“With that expression on your face, how could you?”

I stifled my yap. The awkward pause hurt like a jagged arrow. How could I joke about her passing away? Maybe. Even at the funeral, I held back the tears. Was I to blame, if at all? I’m confident that Edward Gloucester despises me. He could look down on me like I’m nothing more than a bug and be eager to squash me.

That’s how things have always been. Edward was furious, Cassio was laughing, and Raretis was silent. There was an odd harmony between the three of them, and it baffled me how three such disparate people could ever live under the same roof. The certainty of malice might be more welcoming than the uncertainty of compassion at times. Those who would never love me were not worth risking further pain for. I was a crafty individual. I gritted my teeth and refused to show any emotion unless I knew I would be compensated for my time and effort.

That’s why I secretly hoped that Cassio Brahamdorff would really despise me. He doesn’t hate me enough to plot my murder behind my back.

“Should I weep then? Should I just crumple to the floor and start sobbing because it’s too much to bear to think about?”

I shut down my business in the spring so I could visit her burial. Since the tombs of nobility were normally guarded, I tore off petals and scattered them without approaching too close. The flowers I purchased from the florist were always the same: delicate, light, and smelling sweet.

“You didn’t cry either.”

Where exactly is this? I have no idea. This man may have cried a lie-like tear, but I wouldn’t know the difference. It’s likely that Edward Gloucester shed a tear or two. Regarding Raretis, I was in the dark. There were moments when he was more challenging than everyone else.

“You know, life isn’t a fairytale. The death of the princess does not spell the end of civilization. Neither the knight nor the prince nor the maidservant can die with her. It’s just something they remember.”

There is an end to grief, too. Everyone would have been shocked if the young woman of that baron showed up a month after her death, but they would have feigned not to know, murmuring amongst themselves. Claiming that doing so disrespects the dead. It’s been 2 years since her death, though.

Mourning for a young woman who died before she could make her social debut should end. Ophelia, despite her notoriety, was only the daughter of an aristocratic family; she died before making her debut. When Elodie finally makes her debut, everyone who is curious is within their rights to approach her.

Who are we to judge her? The social scene is constantly hungry for juicy tidbits and breaking news. There wouldn’t be much of a problem anyhow, because the powerful people who supported Ophelia in the first place would stand by her. Rather, I was worried about the future. The Marquis’s family didn’t back me, and being a friend of the late Ophelia wasn’t enough to save me.

Petty curiosity may even extend to my mysterious whereabouts over the previous two years. Whether or not I went to the party with Cassio, dressed up nice, I would still be subject to speculation regardless of my attire. It may be challenging to go undetected, as if one were a carefree member of the general populace. However, I did decide. There could be no second guessing. I’ve dedicated almost half of my life to being at her side. My choice of meaningless tranquility had no value before her footprints.

“So, you’re saying you just remember?”

His tone was harsh and formal.

“Yes.”

“So it’s in the past and you just remember, so it’s okay?”

“Yes.”

I don’t know if his definition of ‘okay’ is the same as mine.

“You don’t like that, do you?”

The joke was on me.

The man’s left cheek twitched in a startled reaction. Like being stuck by a needle that nobody can see. I couldn’t help but chuckle at the man’s troubled expression. The same man who argued with me on the day of the funeral for not exhibiting grief now reacted as if I’d touched a nerve.

“I’m completely helpless. I share your distaste for you.”

“… Is that so?”

“Yes. Really, even at this moment.”

“You don’t appear to be planning on getting away.”

“Those who flee do so because they have something worth risking their lives to save.”

The decision to escape was made to avoid further risk. Because we can’t allow the situation to worsen. Defending even the things you already have. I was nothing more than a hollow carcass. Nothing was in my possession. I fled the Marquis’s mansion and remained undercover for two years, although my life in hiding was more like a perpetual run. Nothing in my past belonged to me to begin with, therefore I had no business worrying about the future. I didn’t want to see whether the things I used to love, loathe, envy, and crave had altered since she had left. He lowered his voice as he talked.

“Lady Emilia.”

“Yes.”

“You make it sound like yourself isn’t among the things to protect you mention.”

You are absolutely right, Mr. Cassio Brahamdorff. It didn’t even have to be posed as a question. I restrained a scowl from crossing my face. His eyes were a stormy gray, flashing like lightning. I shot back a caustic remark.

“I don’t put a high price on my own life.”

“…Is that right? That last time with the carriage crash, for example. Sometimes your courage goes too far.”

“I’ll do what I can. I wouldn’t want her letters if they were kept in the king’s treasury and he officially swore he wouldn’t distribute them to anybody.”

“It sounds like you’ll keep fighting until you win, barring a direct order from the king.”

“Mr. Cassio, men who are too intelligent are not much liked.”

I gave a single shrug of the shoulders. Apparently understanding that I no longer desired to extend this issue, the man took a few steps back from me as if he were thinking about something.

“The servants will arrive to assist you before supper. Wait it out until then.”

“I appreciate that.”

“It’s true that my aunt may be severe at times, but she would never tire out a visitor who I had invited at my request. Don’t stress over it too much.”

“If I understand you correctly, Mr. Cassio, she is not as complex as you are. Got it.”

“She’s not someone who, like Lady Emilia, is excessively honest that you render the concerns of people meaningless.”

He’s the type of guy who wouldn’t give an inch. I just smiled instead of answering. The man grinned in an identical fashion.

* * *

Cassio Brahamdorff departed after that, claiming he had to attend to business. I checked into the room the maid had mentioned. At first sight, it was clear that this was a luxurious accommodation. It appeared to be one of the townhouse’s most luxurious suites. The space had a soothing brown color scheme, like a forest. The late afternoon sunlight of the season was streaming in through the open windows, coloring the space a vibrant shade of yellow reminiscent of fallen leaves.

Although they were tiny in size, the dressing table, tea table, little drawer, table with bookcase, and chair all gave off an aura of precise craftsmanship. It appeared I could take care of a lot without leaving the room, and there was even a little dressing room linked next to it. As I sat on the bed, I gently ran my fingers over the blanket. The blanket gave out a fresh-from-the-sun aroma, suggesting it had been washed lately. If I laid down, I was sure to fall asleep right away. The servant didn’t say anything even though I was seated on the bed in the clothing I’d worn outdoors. ‘Even if it’s rotten, it’s still a herring.’ That saying is awfully accurate at this point.

 ‘Even if it’s rotten, it’s still a herring.’ – It is used to convey the idea that despite certain negative aspects or faults, the value or importance of a person or thing is still acknowledged due to inherent qualities.

Do all of Brahamandorff’s employees experience this?

“…Your name was Kitty, right?”

“Yes, Miss.”

The maid’s eyes lit up as if she were expecting me to call for her. I felt a little out of place because her orange eyes showed no hostility toward me.

“Are you comfortable here? Don’t you feel exhausted? You should get some sleep before supper. If you want to wash your face and close your eyes, I’ve had a bath ready for you. What color do you like, if any?”

“… Just a moment.”

I raised my hand since I felt dizzy while listening to her. Like a puppy told to ‘sit’ by its master, Kitty clamped her lips together.

“Ask me about it one at a time. I enjoy the space a lot. I’d like to take a bath and relax if the water is ready. I’m not picky about color preferences, so any ready-to-wear is acceptable with me.”

“Our robes range from beige to white to light purple to blue to crimson.”

“Then pale purple.”

“Alright.”

“I’ll take a shower by myself; can you show me the way to the restroom? Clothes left in front of the restroom would be very appreciated.”

“Yes, Miss. The restrooms are over here.”

Kitty was still talking nonstop as she walked me to the restroom, her eyes shining as if she were waiting for me to respond.

“Oh my gosh. This is the first female visitor that particular host has ever welcomed. Even though this isn’t really a house, it’s more like a villa.”

“Countess MacGinty used to nag the master a lot about his issues with women.”

“Never before have I witnessed the master having such an animated discussion with anybody else! In particular with a lady!”

I was getting a headache from listening to her nonstop talking, so I politely nodded and ignored some of what she said. She was the type of talkative and helpful servant that any visitor would appreciate having if they were stuck here for an extended period of time.

Some maids who work for prominent aristocrats develop an air of superiority and question their masters’ every move as though to suggest that they should behave a certain way. She was a kind maid who appeared to pay attention to what I was doing, which was encouraging. As Kitty proceeded forward, I kept an eye on the tail end of her braids. Hair color is brown with orange highlights. Brilliant orange eyes. She smiled, or at least one corner of her mouth curled up.

Dorothy sprang to mind. Ophelia and I are younger than Dorothy by 2 years. She introduced herself as Odile’s niece. She had a generous spirit. Despite her best efforts, she often ended up in tears as a result of Ophelia’s bad temper when we were kids and she tried to intervene in my disputes with her. Naturally, we wouldn’t make amends for something so trivial.

I tied a ribbon around Dorothy’s wrist and presented it to her. If she had asked, I would have given her a precious stone or two. Since it held too much value? Worried that she would find out I left? No, it was simply my own personal method of parting ways. I knew she wouldn’t have any problem keeping her job because she had worked at the Marquis’s home for many years, but I had assumed she would wear a ribbon instead of a gem. Even if she sold it, she wouldn’t get her hands on the whole amount.

When I thought I had moved on, I was surprised to find this lingering attachment. Did Kitty’s similarity to Dorothy really happen by chance? Thinking that Cassio Brahamdorff would try to stir up nostalgia for the Duke’s residence with merely a maid seemed extremely commonplace in demeanor and look, so I wondered whether I was overreacting. After all, I didn’t enjoy the sense of having fallen for his strategy, which seemed to be shown by the fact that I was fretting about these minor things.

“What kind of person is Countess McGinty?”

“The Countess is…”

“Since she owns this home, I imagine it’s difficult for you to speak freely. I have to meet her tonight, and I’m nervous about it. To some extent, you may confide in me.”

Kitty closed her eyes but said nothing. It appeared as though she was giving the subject some thought before opening her words.

“Well, between you and me, she is incredibly, incredibly picky!”

“Is that right?”

“Maybe it’s only because I don’t know any better. What she enjoys is completely beyond my ken. A bundle of presents arrived for her only the other day? In contrast to the fresh, magnificent, and colorful flowers, she didn’t even give the plain flowerpot with two blossoms a second glance. She made some remarks about floral language, I think… Does every nobility do that?”