The Bad Ending of an Otome

“Emilia.”

“The lady accompanying you seems lonely, what brings you to the lounge…?”

“Remember how I said you could treat me like your mother?”

“…”

I remained mute. 

The Marchioness appeared uncomfortable as if she had made a mistake, but instead of backing away, she took a desperate step closer.

“Why did you never show yourself to me? What are you doing these days? Why are your cheeks like that? If you want to have your social debut, I can…”

“You told me not to get the wrong idea, Marchioness.”

“Uh, huh?”

The woman’s wide-eyed amazement I could feel. 

It felt like a raging storm within me. 

The feelings I had buried deep down surged up and became thick and bitter in my throat. 

I opened my mouth slowly.

“‘Ophelia likes you, and while we may show affection for you in her presence, everything in the Marquisdom is solely for Ophelia’s sake. So pay attention to her and don’t get the incorrect impression.’ You claimed that my mother was a humble noble who sold her child for money and that Ophelia was the Marquis’s genuine blood. Don’t acquire any notions about where she came from.”

“Emilia, at that time I-“

“Yes, we were kids—Ophelia and I both. I’m not bringing this up now to express my displeasure with what you said. I’m going to tell you the truth.”

The Marchioness gripped the sleeve of my gown as if she were perched on the verge of a cliff. My attention was drawn to her thin, pale wrist with visible veins, which contrasted with her flawlessly groomed, gorgeous nails and rings.

“Marchioness, even if you were to adopt Lady Elodie and care for her, I have no intention of criticizing you. I also understand your side.”

“Emilia…”

“It’s not always a bad thing. Lady Elodie, in my perspective, resembles Ophelia. I’m sure you’re lonely, and having decent company is pleasant.”

“Emilia, it’s not like that!”

“I am not Ophelia.”

“…”

“Don’t ask for my forgiveness for attempting to replace her in me. What I can understand and what I can accept are not the same thing. Marchioness, I am not your daughter. Ophelia is the only person who can forgive you. But, frankly, I don’t think she cares.”

“…”

Who are you to think anyone could ever replace her? 

Just because they have identical faces? 

What’s the purpose of debating it? 

She is no longer alive. 

She was loved by all and will live on in everyone’s memory.

No matter how intense the love, no matter how searing the hurt, it all becomes a little numb with time. 

I recall Ophelia’s eyes telling me not to forget myself no matter what.

I recall my parents’ icy gaze selling me off like a commodity. 

The Marquis and Marchioness’ eyes are looking at me in the same way. 

And the Marchioness’s bright eyes the one time I unintentionally called her mother. 

Those eyes were filled with amazement, rage, and just a smidgeon of fear.

Even though I recall my previous existence and have a general concept of how this life will proceed, my mind finally follows my body. 

I had never cried in front of Ophelia, who had constantly tormented me as a kid, but that day, for the first time, I crawled into her bed and sobbed.

Ophelia called the child sold for money names, but she didn’t say anything that day. 

She simply draped a blanket over me to conceal me from the servants’ gaze. 

She was aware of it as well. 

The agony of not wanting to exhibit weakness to someone eventually collapses. 

The injustice of not being taken seriously due to one’s age.

The agony of being pitied when I don’t want to be pitied when I never asked for it, yet everyone still pities me.

What a beautiful world it would be if we could quickly identify people as good or wicked. Regardless of my feelings towards the Marchioness, she was Ophelia’s mother. 

As mistress of the Marquisdom, she had reared both me and Ophelia for nearly 10 years.

She was a nice person if I must say so. 

Yes, she was a good person when asked if she was terrible or good. 

That’s why I avoided confronting her. 

Because seeing her will definitely bring up my feelings of inferiority toward Ophelia. 

I didn’t want to think about how the Marchioness may have felt seeing me, who was so much smaller than her daughter but nevertheless lived longer.

If only I could really despise the Marchioness. 

If only I didn’t comprehend her emotions or feelings. 

If only I could continue to be a victim…

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Marchioness.”

Her silver hair is gradually getting more white. 

Green eyes that tremble. 

A middle-aged woman whose beauty revealed the source of Ophelia’s beauty.

I can see why Mom couldn’t treat me like a genuine daughter. 

House Windrose is one of the nation’s most powerful noble families. 

I wouldn’t have been able to cross Ophelia’s threshold, let alone live there if she hadn’t been unwell.

Brought in for Ophelia’s sake, yet healthier and destined to outlive her. 

I can easily understand how she felt as she looked at me. 

She had to be scared. 

She was afraid that Ophelia, a doomed child, would be replaced by me. 

Despite the fact that we grew up as siblings, as family, in the end, I was a stranger, too far away to be considered blood.

“I have no reason to be resentful of you, just as you have no reason to explain yourself to me.”

I addressed the Marchioness formally as ‘Marchioness’ from then on. 

I always bowed nicely and always used honorifics. 

She was at a loss for words at first. 

She indicated I could speak more casually after a few years, but I declined right away. 

I could see she was uneasy around me. 

She had assured Ophelia that she would treat me like her own daughter, but she had demonstrated her dislike for me as a kid. 

I knew she was upset with herself.

But, if only she weren’t so arrogant and self-centered. 

If she were a lady, she could simply say, ‘Who cares about a girl bought with money?’ ‘If Ophelia is no longer alive, what is the sense of caring?’ 

If only she didn’t have such a difficult time dealing with me.

“Emilia, I, I, I…”

“Lady Elodie will be quite different from me.”

The Marchioness was taken aback by my appearance. 

I looked her in the eyes and spoke forcefully.

“Even her tone of voice is gentle. She will compassionately listen to your recollections about your daughter, who died of sickness. She will replace the void in your heart with her affection. Isn’t that sufficient? Ophelia never treated you like that.”

“…”

“I understand your wish to have Lady Elodie as your adopted daughter, to lean on her. I truly believe it.”

She has a good heart. 

She adored her biological daughter beyond all others. 

Ophelia couldn’t bear the blind and smothering love, but I, by her side, occasionally envied even that blindness. 

She wasn’t an intrinsically evil person, therefore she cared about me on occasion. 

On rare occasions. 

As a result, I envisioned myself as Ophelia’s actual sibling sometimes. 

It was a sentiment I could never share, not even with Ophelia.

As a result, I was unable to complete the task she left behind. 

Not me. 

Not me, I could never fill the vacuum left by Ophelia for the Marchioness. 

I could never bring the fear I witnessed in the Marchioness’ eyes to life. 

That was my obstinacy.

I made that commitment as a child, gritting my teeth under the covers and swallowing my tears. It was a stubbornness and an oath from my youth that I still remember when things get rough. So I’m not the main character. 

I’m not a good person who can forgive everything and go on.

“Please do not seek my approval. I’m not your child.”

The Marchioness sobbed silently, her face expressionless. 

It was a tear that poured silently. 

She appeared to lose strength and collapsed to the floor. 

I turned around, my feet heavy as if they were burdened.

“…I’m sincerely sorry.”

It was a sob-filled voice. 

I felt myself halting unintentionally.

“…I was completely wrong, Emilia…”

“…”

“I… I was just so… so distraught at the time…”

“…”

“Yes, I know I must appear pitiful to you… I must appear vile! I’ve turned to you in this way since Ophelia’s death… Lady Elodie is so sweet that I can’t help but rely on her. And yet, Ophelia never ever smiled at me like that…”

“…”

“I felt it without realizing it. I fell for that lady. But nonetheless! I couldn’t remember a time when I didn’t think of you… Lady Elodie is extremely sweet, and just having her by my side makes me feel better… But you keep appearing in my thoughts at the most unexpected times, and I can’t stand it. Oh, she’s no longer in the mansion! Ophelia is no longer alive. What exactly am I doing here with Lady Elodie? I wanted to die every time I had that notion…”

“…”

“Wouldn’t it be better if you just said you hated me if I’m hated? I could have given you whatever you desired… I was capable of doing anything you asked! But you just flung it all away, as if it had no importance to me, to him, to everything else without Ophelia…”

“…”

“Will you return if I’m not here? Hmm? You left the mansion because you despised me, didn’t you? Didn’t you miss Ophelia as well?”

“My lady.”

My breath caught despite the fact that it was only two syllables. 

Only after biting my tongue did my voice escape.

“No need to apologize. That was not anything I desired.”

“How come you can be so cruel?”

“…”

The Marchioness sobbed uncontrollably, her makeup smudging. 

She glanced at me with empty eyes that had lost their luster. 

My heart was aching the entire time. 

I removed a handkerchief from my pocket and cleaned the lady’s face. 

The white glove’s edge was smudged with makeup. 

Should I try to console her? 

Should I make an apology? 

I smiled bitterly.

“That’s true.”

When she saw my smile, the Marchioness’ eyes widened.

“Perhaps it’s because I resemble Ophelia.”

Everyone adores Ophelia in this world. 

However, in our world, not everyone can be happy. 

Is it possible that I, like the girl who acted harshly in every situation, am doing something wrong?

I’m not sure. I was always uneasy when I looked at the Marchioness. 

Because she was someone who forcibly drew up emotions that I had consciously avoided and pushed aside. 

Cassio Brahamdorff, the astute observer, rarely mentioned her.

At the very least, Marquis Windrose was superior. 

He made a clear distinction between passion and logic. 

He had kept a rigorous distance from me from the outset. 

But she was unique. 

Ophelia’s mother. 

The woman who nurtured Raretis as if he were her own son. 

The one who ‘selected’ me to be Ophelia’s playmate. 

She uncomfortably tried to be nice to all the kids, but she was surprised when Emilia, who was only eleven years old, got the incorrect notion. 

Even if it meant hurting my younger self. 

Even if she now apologizes for it. 

Even if I’m not sure if my feelings for her are residual affection or something else, it’s complicated.

It’s finally come to this. 

I stood up and returned the Marchioness’ tear-stained handkerchief. 

Her hand hovered in the air as if reflexively attempting to clasp mine.

“Em, Emilia…”

“Go back.”

Maybe I wanted to witness this scene when I left everything behind and left the mansion. 

Maybe I wanted the individuals I had given up on to hold on to me, knowing they could never truly be mine. 

Perhaps the angry comments I just blurted out were merely a way for me to vent. 

But, still.

“It’s an important day for Lady Elodie, too.”