Chapter 69
“People can be so thoughtless sometimes.”
Anette was stirring her teacup with a teaspoon, her lips pursed in a way that gave off a slight pout. The pale pink-tinged tea swirled and heaved like waves under her gestures.
“You’d think someone who nearly fainted from shock upon hearing the obituary would rush over the moment they came to their senses, but here you are, showing up only now. Isn’t that just too much?”
Angela, who had been gazing at Anette’s teacup, now sloshing so much it seemed about to overflow, let out a light laugh.
“You must have been really worried about me.”
Only then did Anette pull the teaspoon out of her teacup and look at Angela. Her eyes seemed to say, “Is that even a question?”
“A black envelope arrived. What do you mean, worried? I…!”
Anette, gripping the teaspoon tightly, finally set it down and picked up her teacup. Her hand holding the cup trembled slightly. She was recalling the shock of that day.
The image of Natalina handing over the black letter and relaying the story had become a scene Anette would never forget in her lifetime.
Even now, knowing Angela was alive, just thinking about it sent chills down her spine, making the back of her neck prickle.
“How could someone do such a thing…”
Suddenly losing her appetite, Anette set the untouched tea back down and looked straight at Angela. Her gaze was stern, like the look one gives a disobedient niece or younger sibling.
“I won’t ask what happened. I don’t want to hear any uncomfortable stories either.”
The longing for her mother—that alone was enough to make her heart uneasy.
If she heard more about whatever lay beneath that, Anette might end up seeing Angela only as an object of pity. That would be an unfair relationship, worse than Angela always getting the upper hand over her.
This distance was good for the two of them. Close enough to bicker, to help each other out sometimes, and even to pretend they were quite friendly on occasion.
So Anette deliberately closed her ears and opened her mouth.
“But if you ever have such terrible thoughts again, think about the people left behind in the young lady’s place. Do you know how loudly this crybaby little one wailed, keeping me up at night?”
Anette lightly pinched the nose of Mary, who had been stuck right by Angela’s side. Mary yelped in surprise, then rubbed her nose with the back of her hand and giggled.
But covering it with laughter wouldn’t let her escape Anette’s nagging.
“And if you’re going to leave, you should say so. Leaving just a note like that is no way to treat someone who’s looked after you all this time.”
“Eek, I’m sorry!”
Mary pressed her palms together above her head in apology. Seeing that, Angela mimicked her, holding her palms together in front of Anette.
“That’s why we’ve come side by side to offer our apologies.”
Anette let out a disbelieving scoff. Still, her mood seemed improved as she reached for the teacup she’d set down. Noticing this, Angela took a sip of her own tea, then glanced at Mary as something occurred to her.
Mary, with an “Ah,” held out something she’d brought on Angela’s behalf to Anette. It was a colorful card. When unfolded, it revealed an invitation to Angela’s birthday banquet, asking her to come and grace the occasion, accompanied by a drawing of a cake. Oh, and upon closer look, there was a gift box illustration too.
“Did Mary make this or something?”
Anette examined the card closely, front and back, as if it had been decorated piece by piece, and asked. Mary vehemently shook her head no, waving her hands widely.
From her aggrieved expression, it seemed Mary knew this wasn’t quite appropriate as an invitation to announce Angela’s birthday.
Then who…?
“It’s from my adorable little sister.”
Angela answered as if she’d heard Anette’s unspoken question. She’d clearly said “adorable,” but for some reason, it sounded like “dreadful” to Anette’s ears.
Swallowing a difficult laugh, Anette promised she’d definitely come and carefully placed the card beside her as if it were precious.
Angela, finding the sight unbearable, turned her gaze out the window. Anette followed suit, looking outside as well.
Even the absolute authority of the imperial family couldn’t defy the flow of nature, leaving the garden desolate. But once Angela’s birthday passed, spring would arrive soon. However.
“Doesn’t this winter seem unusually cold?”
Angela glanced at Anette before looking back out the window. “Is it?” her lips moved slightly.
It was Anette who had said it was cold, yet Angela, showing a nonchalant reaction, was subtly shivering her shoulders. Thinking what a girl she was, always pretending to be so tough, Anette instructed to add a bit more wood to the fireplace.
* * *
Knock knock!
“Miss, it’s me, Mary.”
“Come in.”
With permission granted, Mary approached Angela, who was sitting by Kalian, reading a book. Grunting as she dragged in a heavy load of something, Mary said, “I’ll borrow the bed for a moment,” and spread out three dresses on it.
“The pink one makes you look like a princess, the purple like a queen, and the green like a fairy—I’m so torn. What should I do?”
Mary placed her hands on her hips as if truly troubled, shaking her head back and forth. It felt like a sin to make Angela, who looked good in anything, choose just one.
Was there a way to have her wear all three? Maybe spill a drink in between? To make her change naturally?
While Mary was pondering this, Angela was just watching the little one, wondering what she was up to this time. Then Kalian whispered a clue in her ear.
“Tomorrow.”
Ah…
Finally, tomorrow was Angela’s birthday. It seemed Mary no longer bothered asking and just assumed she’d choose the outfit herself. Well, that wasn’t wrong, so Angela casually tossed out to the deliberating Mary,
“Do as you like.”
Mary’s face flushed bright red in an instant. It seemed like the best words in the world to her. Her reaction was even more intense than when she’d reunited with Angela alive.
“Oh gosh, I knew you’d say that, but… still, since it’s for you to wear…”
Mary interlaced her fingers and twisted her body this way and that. Then,
“I think purple would be best after all?”
With that, she bundled up the dresses she’d brought and left.
Anyway, she never misses a chance to dress herself up, Angela thought as she tried to focus back on her reading. It wasn’t long before another knock sounded.
Knock knock!
“Miss, it’s me. Mary.”
When Angela told her to come in, this time Mary spread out about ten pairs of shoes in front of her.
“Purple goes with more colors than I thought, so I’m torn. Which one do you like best?”
Angela, squinting slightly, rummaged through the narrow, pointed shoes until her eyes landed on a pair with unusually low heels and rounded toes.
Mary, as if she’d been waiting just for Angela’s gaze to settle there, began explaining.
“Th-that one is supposed to be incredibly comfortable. They say your feet don’t hurt much even if you walk for a long time. It has a bit of fur inside, so it’s warmer than the others, and the leather is stretchy, making it easy to put on and take off…”
Angela let out a short laugh at the endless stream of details, as if Mary were selling the product herself.
“You know it as well as if you’d bought it yourself.”
At that, Mary’s face puffed up like it might explode.
“Is it a birthday present?”
When Angela asked the rest, Mary finally burst. She nodded vigorously, then shyly fiddled with her apron. If Angela watched a little longer, it seemed like she’d tear it to shreds.
“Then let’s go with the one next to it. I like that one.”
“…Yeees.”
How could someone express their emotions so honestly? Mary dropped her apron at Angela’s choice, pouting her lower lip as she gathered up the shoes and shuffled out. Her shoulders slumped so much that it looked like she wouldn’t have any energy until tomorrow.
Yet instead of taking back what she’d said, Angela kept wanting to tease her more. It was an immature attitude that left her with no defense if people ribbed her or treated her lightly.
“You’re being mean. You’ll end up wearing them anyway.”
Kalian, who had been looking over some documents by Angela’s side, subtly lifted his eyes from the dense text and said.
Angela murmured, “Well,” and turned her gaze back to the book. It was one Kalian had brought her. He was fetching every book that might hold a clue related to her powers. Angela had asked him to do so.
She didn’t even know what kind of power was inside her. Grace had called it the devil’s power, but that was just information from Grace, so Angela wanted to verify it for herself.
However, as expected, it wasn’t something easily found; despite poring over books until her eyes nearly fell out these past few days, it had been fruitless.
‘Doesn’t this winter seem unusually cold?’
If she could at least confirm that those words weren’t her fault, that would be good. The comment from Anette had stuck with her, so she’d asked Emmit too.
‘Emmit, is this winter colder than last year, by any chance?’
Emmit looked around at the air as if feeling the wind, then agreed it seemed so. He said the air entering his nose felt noticeably colder.
Then, seeing Angela’s furrowed brow, he smiled reliably, assuring her that at the Florence estate, they’d prepare everything to ensure she never felt cold, so she shouldn’t worry.
But that wasn’t what Angela was worried about…
Yet this too wasn’t a phenomenon easily found. Books on people with cold body temperatures all dealt only with hypothermia.
This wasn’t that kind of medical condition. It was the product of a curse. Proof that strange blood flowed through her veins. She had no idea where to confirm such a thing.
Frustrated, Angela irritably flipped a page. In that instant, the stiff paper sharply sliced her finger.
“Ah!”
Dropping the book onto her lap, Angela reflexively wrapped her injured finger with her other hand. It felt like quite a deep cut.
Kalian tossed aside the documents he’d been reading and immediately checked on Angela.
“Let me see.”
He took the hand she was clutching and examined the wound. But Kalian’s expression gradually hardened.
Wondering what was wrong, Angela followed his gaze to her own injury. At that moment, Kalian’s palm came over, completely blacking out her view.
But what now, Kalian? I’ve already seen it.
Angela blinked her eyes, hidden within Kalian’s palm. She really didn’t know what changes were happening to her body.
The wound she’d just gotten had vanished without a trace. She’d clearly cut her hand—it had even hurt—but looking at the finger now, there was nothing. Not a drop of blood remained.
Not getting hurt was a good thing. As a child, she’d wished for it desperately. She’d hoped to not feel pain when beaten, to not feel hunger when starved. She’d wanted a body that felt nothing at all.
But now that she was becoming such a body, Angela felt terror instead of joy. The fear was greater than back then. This wasn’t her body anymore.
Angela let all the strength drain from her and leaned her face fully against Kalian’s palm. A hot warmth seeped through her eyelids. Kalian’s palm, which had once boiled with intensity enough to startle her, was still hot. In the end, it was because of her own coldness.
“Kalian.”
After leaning into his palm for a long while, Angela lifted her head and asked.
“Even like this, do I just need to be Angela?”
There were no tears, but it was a sorrowful question. She couldn’t understand why this had to happen to her of all people. Giving her something she never asked for, only to swallow her up and take it back now. It would have been better not to give it in the first place.
A wave of resentment toward Grace flooded in. But Grace would turn even this resentment from Angela into nourishment. Grace, who had said she’d endured by feeding on her own suffering.
If she didn’t want to hand anything over to Grace, Angela had to sharpen every emotion rising in her chest, organize them, and neatly tuck them away in her heart.
But Angela wasn’t a perfect being capable of handling that flexibly. She was always precarious, and even now, she was teetering.
“Of course.”
And the one who always caught her was.
“It’s a relief you didn’t get hurt.”
Kalian.
My anchor.
