Translator: Nox

33 - Pieces of the Broken Glass Slipper

Shattered Glass Slipper Shards, Episode 33

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A famous prostitute is arrogant. Her beautifully maintained face overflows with feminine confidence, and her coquettishly swaying gestures seem to accentuate her charm, appearing lascivious.

While she doesn't possess the elegance of a swan, she exudes a dangerous allure like a wild beast. On the bed, any man becomes a lowly slave.

Few can command men with a mere flick of their chin like a prostitute. Therefore, they know. How much power a woman who monopolizes a man's love can wield.

Perinnil seemed to have already mastered it. She regarded me with a very confident demeanor, as if she had forgotten she was a prostitute. Fanning herself with a fan adorned with bird feathers, her occasional sidelong glances were not just bold, but downright impudent.

“Are you ready?”

She approached me, her hips swaying as she walked, as smooth as a snake slithering. Perinnil moved towards a long chair decorated with satin and began to gently stroke its floral carvings.

At the same time, she stuck out her tongue and licked her lips, every movement provocative. She was arrogant yet vulgar, and vulgar yet incredibly sensual.

They say a well-trained prostitute can arouse a man's lust with a single gesture, and as she boasted, she seemed to possess the most outstanding talent in this field.

In truth, I do need Perinnil's actions, her coquetry, and the sexual allure layered upon them right now. For there is no weapon as potent as a dangerous beauty that can captivate everyone.

But her visit was too early. It was not yet time. So, I spoke to Perinnil in a slightly prim tone.

“No, there must have been some mistake. So, it would be best for you to leave now.”

“Oh, really? But it will be difficult for you next time. It's very hard for someone like me to make time like this. So many people seek my services. That's why I wouldn't have come if it weren't for the Countess's summons. If you are not yet ready, I can help you. I repeat, no one can match me in this field.”

Would a snake's whisper be like this? Her words possessed something excellent at enticing people. Her soft, whispering voice flowed smoothly into my ears with a moist resonance.

Perinnil, leaning halfway against Lee de Hurpo with a languid smile, was the epitome of allure.

If I were a man, I would not have been able to resist and would have rushed at her, showering her with kisses. Even her presumptuous arrogance would have been nothing but endless loveliness before my ample body.

But her charm did not work on me. It wasn't because we were of the same gender, but rather because an inexplicable sense of repulsion towards her welled up.

“If you can change Madame's mind, I will allow it.”

“Oh, that's too difficult a problem. Ah, so I must leave like this?”

Perinnil cried out in an exaggerated tone, as if acting, and bowed her head. It was as comical as watching a scene from a comedy.

“Who knows. Perhaps Madame will permit it if you visit in a modest attire.”

“But the mistress of this mansion is the Countess. Why do I need Madame de Lavalier's permission?”

Perinnil blinked, as if she didn't understand. I approached her. Then, patting her shoulder, I said,

“That is something you need to think about.”

In truth, it was impossible for someone as sharp as her—through our conversation then, I thought she was quite intelligent—not to understand my meaning. Unless she was trying to stall for time to receive her promised payment.

However, staying here for so long is not good for anyone. Therefore, I had to send Perinnil out of my room as quickly as possible.

Perinnil puffed out her cheeks, looking displeased. Whether intentionally or not, all her actions seemed designed to elicit a man's emotions, making her appear incredibly charming and even cute. The expression she showed now was likely one of the endearments she showed to clients.

“Oh, you cruel person. Very well. I shall withdraw for today. But please call me again next time. I will gladly come, even if I'm busy.”

Fortunately, she understood my impatience and knew the right moment to make a graceful exit. I responded by nodding at Perinnil, who blew a small kiss to my cheek and winked. I thought this would be the only time she would overlook my rudeness.

Less than an hour after Perinnil left the mansion, my mother came to find me. I could guess who she had met first by her pale face and tear-streaked cheeks.

It must have been Madame de Lavalier.

That cold, elegant woman must have been unable to tolerate the fact that a prostitute had entered the Bishvarts Family and summoned my mother, spewing accusations at her. She must have cornered her, making it impossible for her to even breathe. She must have driven her to experience immense humiliation and shame.

Considering her sharp, thorn-like venomous words, I couldn't help but feel pity for the long time my mother had to endure.

“Oh, Sis, my child.”

As soon as my mother sat down, she took out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. Then, she began to utter complaints disguised as laments. Seemingly uninterested in the tea Marie had poured, her lips poured out endless dissatisfaction.

“As a mother, it's natural for me to worry about you, isn't it? Others also say their daughters call prostitutes for education at your age. So why don't you understand? You don't know how I feel, do you? Do you know what it feels like to have your heart torn to shreds? I was so ashamed. Truly, I was.”

“Because you are a woman of virtue. That's why you couldn't understand.”

“But my dear, I am the Countess. I manage the Bishvarts Family.”

“But you haven't received the keys, have you?”

My words made my mother's face turn bright red. I continued to speak, feigning indifference and sipping my tea.

“That is precisely what symbolizes the Countess's authority. No matter how much you manage the household, without the keys, you wouldn't know the details, would you? What's the point of the butler preparing a list and submitting it? Or were you planning to inspect the storeroom with Roena continuously?”

“But those are also mementos……”

“Mother.”

I called out to my mother in a firm tone. She flinched noticeably and glanced at me, gauging my reaction. She knew from long experience that she could not possibly win when I lowered my voice like this.

“This is a matter of respect. If you were considered the mistress of the Bishvarts Family, you wouldn't have been treated like this. Mementos? Fine. I won't deny that they are so precious that they cannot be handed over carelessly. But before being mementos, they are the keys that control the household affairs of the Bishvarts mansion. If it were me, I would overcome my grief and hand over the keys to Mother. For nothing is more precious than the family. Am I being cold? Or am I making a rational judgment?”

My mother is a kind and gentle person. I love her humble disposition, her warm nature, and her consideration for embracing others.

However, there were times when I wished she would become a little more ruthless, at least towards me, as she was in the past. Maintaining a close relationship with Roena and a desirable mother-daughter bond is only beneficial to the adoptive father, Count Bishvarts.

I wish my mother would suspect Roena and hate her incessantly. I want her to return to how she was back then. Although I love and respect her, sometimes her weakness saddens me.

The snake hissed with a strange smile. Ssssh, ssssh, hiss hiss. As if that alone held the magical power to solve all problems.

“If Mother were to possess those keys that manage the Bishvarts Family's assets, no one would be able to push her around anymore. For she is the true mistress.”

A bright red tongue flickered, enchanting my mother's ears. I thought it was painted redder than Perinnil's lips.

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Mealtime is a pleasure. The neatly polished silver cutlery, the crisp, unwrinkled tablecloth, the candlesticks showcasing delicate craftsmanship—the scene of a well-maintained table is both elegant and captivating.

Above all, the fragrant scent of bread tickling the nose, the sweetness of the delicious grape wine, the perfectly roasted meat, and the well-seasoned fish dish—nothing is unappetizing.

I especially cherish the moment when I wash my hands with water infused with orange scent and dry them with a cloth. Washing my hands with water is an act that signals the imminent meal, allowing me to savor a reverence akin to that of a monk.

In the past, my young self was often hungry. My flat, emaciated stomach would rumble incessantly, signaling my hunger.

But my mother's income was not enough to buy delicious and nutritious food. When we lived on the streets, the only food we could eat was bread, burnt black and hard as stone.

That bread, which I had to gnaw into pieces and soften with saliva to barely satisfy my hunger, tasted terrible.

Only on New Year's Day could we eat barley bread with a piece of cheese, accompanied by warm vegetable stew.

Of course, sometimes, if I was lucky, I could have a thin soup with a few pieces of meat. But such occasions were rare, perhaps once or twice a year.

The vegetable soup my mother served was close to mere plain water, with a few slices of carrot floating on top.

Rich cheese and fragrant wine were out of the question. Vegetables like cucumbers, cauliflower, green beans, and celery were also luxuries that only wealthy people could afford.

Spices were treated as valuable as silver of the same weight, and seasonal fruits were almost ornamental, found only in noble mansions, so we couldn't even dream of them. Eating eggs was only possible if we kept hens in our backyard.

So, I often found myself gazing longingly at the fluffy bread sold in shops. The fragrant aroma wafting from the shops was an unbearable temptation.

The sight of elegantly dressed women entering shops, choosing bread, and paying for it was quite an object of admiration for the young me. I envied their financial stability, their ability to buy things without hesitation.

Perhaps that's why? The former Sissae, the poor Sissae who used to run wild like a foolish simpleton unaware of her place, loved to eat.

Even when she used different utensils for her food or dropped them on the floor due to improper use, she always savored the meal given to her with a happy heart.

Well-roasted pheasant, braised quail, grilled ox tongue, veal breast, and marzipan made from almonds, sugar, and eggs…

The foolish girl, who was faithful to her instinctive desires like eating and wearing clothes, had no idea what noblemen's mealtimes truly signified.

She simply thought it was wonderful to eat delicious food to her heart's content. If it hadn't been for the matter with Sir Halberd, and if I hadn't been burning with inferiority towards Roena, I would have become quite plump from the rich food I ate every day.