22 - Pieces of the Broken Glass Slipper
Shattered Glass Slipper Shards Episode 22
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Did she like my answer?
Her face softened slightly, beginning to relax like a spring breeze. It was a stark contrast to the people around me who were scoffing at my reply.
“Oh, and so?”
“She lacks refinement, but if she continues to learn, she seems like she could become a decent painter. She appears to have talent.”
“Do you like this painting?”
“You may think me rude, but I will answer no.”
“Why?”
“I prefer paintings with integrity. Those by someone who can paint their own picture.”
“In other words, this painting does not contain the painter’s philosophy? Can you discern a painter’s style?”
I spoke in a polite voice.
“Is that not why you brought this girl here, to cultivate such discernment? I merely felt this painting was meant to be shown. Has my ignorance caused any offense?”
“……Presumptuous child.”
Madame de Lavalier wished for me to possess the character and knowledge befitting the Bishvarts Family’s castle, yet at the same time, she desired me to have flaws that she could scold and reprimand.
This was because the peculiar pleasure of educating a wild child into a lady captivated her.
To her, I was merely a tool to confirm her own abilities, and at the same time, a diversion that brought vitality to her life. Therefore, I had no choice but to bow low and flatter her.
“Yes, you are right. Most of the paintings displayed here are mere fakes seeking patrons. A distinguished lady should be able to find the genuine article among such works. You have a sharper eye than one might expect.”
As if embarrassed by her praise, as if overwhelmed and unsure of where to place myself, I bowed my head deeply. Even amidst my confused emotions, I felt proud of myself for not letting my guard down.
Indeed, to describe myself now, I could be likened to duckweed drifting aimlessly on water. Or perhaps, it would be more fitting to call myself a reed swaying helplessly in a strong wind.
I was nothing more than a pathetic, scrawny beast, crumbling entirely due to a single misguided notion.
Just by a name, by a single glance, a man was shaking me to the very depths of my being, and I stood there, enduring with great difficulty, while fearing him.
He, however, had no idea what emotions I harbored or with what heart I had been flogging myself. I was merely putting on a ridiculous show, calculating and worrying all by myself.
Ah, if only I could tear out my heart and cut it open, I would have severed all my feelings for you, even at the cost of my lifespan…
Who was it that said?
[Unrequited love is like a shadow; it is not easily caught, but the more the object of affection shines, the darker it becomes.
What is most frightening about this is that it follows me even when I do not want it to, constantly reminding me of the present reality.
You cannot grasp that light. When your light disappears, your heart too will vanish in vain like this.
The sad thing is that the only way to erase the shadow is to completely give up on the light.
Ah, can you imagine?
The dreadful reality of turning away from my sun.]
Is it because of someone’s voice, which I can no longer even recall?
I find myself looking down at my feet without realizing it. Had my shadow not disappeared?
Was it merely a delusion that I thought it was gone?
The sunlight, indicating high noon, was intensely hot, casting long shadows beyond the exhibition hall floor. It was a terrifying sight, so much so that I had to suppress a rising scream. Fragments of the past pierced my heart like sharp spears.
Therefore, I desperately tried to maintain my sanity. I held onto my fraying mind, as if testing the limits of my patience, and smiled and smiled like a doll. It was because I felt I would go mad if I didn’t.
Fortunately, Madame de Lavalier’s test was like a ray of light to me. Her constant movement around the exhibition, bombarding me with questions, was a solid foundation that supported me.
You must never falter. You are a beast who must not collapse over something like this.
Every time our eyes met, the unspoken reprimands poured down on me, so sharp they made sweat trickle down my spine.
The gazes of the wildcats lurking around, looking as if they might devour me, felt as refreshing as ice water poured on my head.
In truth, appearing with a figure as prominent as Madame de Lavalier at an exhibition, a microcosm of high society, meant that I was someone who could represent her reputation.
In other words, every action I took was directly linked to her honor. Thus, I needed to compose myself further and had the grave responsibility of speaking wisely to preserve her dignity.
Were these thoughts and efforts in vain?
Fortunately, the people who had initially shown hesitant glances upon hearing my name soon began to surround me, showering me with praise as if their mouths were coated in honey.
Among them, it was natural for respect and admiration to flow towards Madame de Lavalier, who had brought me to the exhibition.
“Your Ladyship possesses exceptionally fine insight and discernment.”
“Your voice is as beautiful as a bird’s song. My ears are enraptured. I wish to hear more of your stories. Please, grant us a little more of your time.”
The sun was now hidden by the tops of the buildings, and the shadows at my feet had long since vanished without a trace.
Roena had left Lavalliere’s side long ago in search of a masterpiece that suited her taste. Escorting her was Lustewin Halberd. He was, and always had been, Roena’s sword.
Dealing with people is difficult, as it always has been. It requires seasoned experience to discern individual intentions and provide fitting responses.
Fortunately, the only thing reflected in the eyes of those surrounding me was ‘curiosity,’ so it was not as difficult as I had imagined.
After all, who would dare mock a girl who appeared alongside Madame de Lavalier?
However, beneath the surface of their gazes lay the primal instinct of beasts, baring their teeth and growling, ready to tear at their leash, so I could not help but be extremely wary. For society is such that one can fall from grace with a single word.
It was difficult to maintain my sanity amidst the endless stream of questions and compliments, but what allowed me to endure was Madame de Lavalier’s gaze, fixed upon me.
She watched my every move like a scientist observing an experiment, maintaining a remarkably cold demeanor, as if she had thrown a fragile lamb into a pack of hungry hyenas.
Her eyes shone sharply, as if evaluating even the frequency of my breaths. Yet, when I found myself in a difficult situation, she would naturally step in, diverting the attention to herself. It was not out of consideration for me, but solely for the honor of the Bishvarts Family, a sacrifice that made me unable to suppress a wry smile.
I had thought that the few manners and the ability to deal with people were all I had gained from my hellish past, but in reality, I was no different from an immature child.
At any rate, thanks to Lavalliere’s favor, which was not truly a favor, I was able to catch my breath. I watched the receding crowd—Lavalliere, who had disappeared with people as if the test were over—and fell into a daze of contemplation.
As I thought it was over, a sigh escaped me. Feeling utterly exhausted, I wanted to sit down and rest somewhere. Had it not been for him speaking to me, I might have done just that.
“You are Young Lady Bishvarts.”
It was a voice that felt both unfamiliar and strangely familiar. I turned my head to confirm the identity of the speaker. The man, dressed impeccably and holding a jewel-encrusted cane, was Theodore Vitrais.
He seemed to have hidden away the dissolute nature he had displayed on our second meeting, now exuding masculine beauty and elegance without reservation.
Was his immature behavior back then due to alcohol? I had to swallow a burst of laughter at his polite greeting, delivered in a gentle and soft voice.
“You are Master Vitrais.”
“Yes. Have you been well? I hope my greeting has not interrupted your thoughts.”
“No, it has not. I was just about to move from this spot.”
“Then, may I dare to ask for the honor of escorting you?”
The man’s gesture of extending his hand in a bow was as beautiful as a painting. His softly spoken words were exceedingly polite, and his subtle gaze towards me was intoxicatingly charming.
From the dangerous aura he exuded during our first encounter, to his dissolute behavior on the second, and now his elegant demeanor—he was truly a man of a thousand faces.
Therefore, any ordinary young lady would have readily accepted his offer without a second thought. Even now, passing women were stopping to gaze at him, so what more needs to be said?
However, I hesitated to answer. It was due to the sense of incongruity I felt from him.
“If you are hesitating because of my rudeness then, I can promise you it will never happen again. So please, do not make my hand feel ashamed.”
“Oh, it is not because of that. I am simply tired. But I am not good with words, and I was finding it difficult to express myself to you, Young Master. I had no intention of making you feel ashamed.”
My instincts told me. Being with him would inevitably lead to my tone becoming agitated, and eventually, I would bare my fangs and growl like a wounded beast.
Like our first meeting, the man and I possessed a remarkable talent for fraying each other’s nerves.
However, Theodore Vitrais’s insensitivity—whether it was genuine or not—had the power to make one feel embarrassed. He seemed to completely misunderstand the intention behind my words, urging me on in a casual tone, as if a child begging for bread.
Where had the manly demeanor he displayed moments ago gone? He was once again showing a childlike innocence, as if he felt no shame in his own behavior.
“Yes, I know that too. I know that you, Young Lady, will not make me feel like a shameful man. So, please, will you take my hand?”
His beaming face, delicate and radiant as a sculpture crafted by the gods, paradoxically possessed the power to provoke the other person’s frustration.
His hand had already been suspended in the air for several seconds, drawing the attention of everyone—especially the ladies. If I were to leave at this moment, I would be seen as rude, shameless, and a boorish girl who didn’t know how to respect others.
Swallowing dryly under the stinging gazes from behind me, I forced a smile. As if my smile was so enchanting I could barely bear it, I slowly lowered my head and replied shyly.
“Then, just for a moment, please.”
Contrary to my expectation that he would tire me, Master Vitrais’s demeanor became very gentle again, just as it had been at first.
He was a man who knew how to weave pleasant melodies with his voice. The timbre of his low voice, speaking of various things, was as soft and gentle as a lullaby. It was even sweet, as if he were seducing me.
Perhaps that is why, though his conversation consisted of trivial personal matters, I could not help but listen. I learned about his fondness for patronizing artists, his keen interest in art, and his consistent attendance at every exhibition, along with other small details of his daily life.
The conversation, interspersed with light jokes and witty remarks, made me feel at ease. His considerate attitude, from matching my pace to every small detail, was admirable.
As if to prove that taking his hand was the best choice I could have made, his escort was not just excellent but thoroughly satisfying.
