Translator: Nox

46 - Pieces of the Broken Glass Slipper

Shattered Glass Slipper Shards Episode 46

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When I, in the past, drove Roena out, Mlang was the only one who showed no particular reaction. Though she had styled Roena's hair for a long time, she was nonchalant, as if it had nothing to do with her.

Instead, she even showed a composure that willingly styled my hair, as if it were the natural order of things. Although she too quit her job not long after due to personal reasons.

“He threatened to cut off my father's wrist……”

That Mlang now kneels before me, speaking in a choked voice. Perhaps overcome with sorrow, her words were pronounced very inaccurately. Her tear-soaked cheeks were so red and swollen from being wiped with the back of her hands that they were unsightly.

She called me her savior. She said she had nearly fainted when a thug threatened to sell her off to a brothel, but she narrowly escaped the crisis thanks to Marie, who arrived just in time.

“If you hadn't sent Marie, I would have been dragged into the back alleys. I might have ended up as a corpse somewhere. Thank you, Miss.”

Marie's kindness had, at some point, transformed into good deeds that I had supposedly instructed. No matter how she spun it, Mlang spoke of me as a very kind, thoughtful young lady who couldn't stand injustice. Just like Roena.

“I will do my utmost to help you with anything I can.”

Unexpected kindness lingers in the heart longer than anything else. Mlang's face, gazing at me with tear-filled eyes, was filled with boundless trust and respect. She was genuinely grateful.

In truth, Mlang lacks the eloquence or drive of other maids, nor does she possess a charming personality that draws people in. Therefore, she was not a suitable candidate for tasks requiring such qualities.

However, her sincerity was exceptional, making it impossible not to be drawn to her. Under the premise of winning her heart. Yes, sincerity. Something Mlang and Seril lacked in abundance.

Most importantly, she might be useful given her role in styling Roena's hair. I reached out and patted her shoulder.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to help. I’m just glad you’re safe. So, get up and go rest in your room. You must have been so frightened.”

At that, Mlang grabbed my hand and burst into tears. It seemed she had suffered greatly due to her father's gambling debts, and her sobs were filled with profound sorrow.

She was crying not just with her throat, but with her entire body. It was likely because the fear she had forgotten had resurfaced and shaken her. That is why she clung to me as if I were her salvation.

“Thank you. Thank you. Truly, thank you.”

Mlang bowed repeatedly, expressing her gratitude. Though her eyes were swollen and she could barely see, she tried to smile at me. It was a devotion she hadn't even shown Roena.

Therefore, I could be certain. A sturdy leash, which could be used preciously at any time, had been fastened around my neck. It would become an unseen hand to control him, and the most useful word.

Marie diligently helped maids like Mlang. Then she proudly reported to me, her face filled with satisfaction regarding the current situation.

She seemed to take great pleasure in counting the number of maids who gathered under her. It was a form of self-display, close to vicarious satisfaction.

Thus, it didn't matter that the insects drawn to honey were mere maids or servants doing menial tasks. There is no place more dynamic than the very bottom. The struggle to survive is imbued with sacred intensity. It was they who opened the morning at the Count's estate.

In reality, very few people accepted Marie's help as purely as Mlang did. Most people, while not refusing the offered kindness, looked at me with very suspicious eyes.

Their guarded gazes were filled with doubt and suspicion. As if asking, "What ulterior motive do you have for helping me?" Most of them were acting recklessly, not knowing their place, which made me let out a hollow laugh.

“Some people think you’re a naive fool, Miss.”

Marie complained, sounding upset. According to her, there were people who shamelessly asked for money as if they were entitled to it.

However, I pretended not to hear Marie's grumbling. Instead, I casually encouraged her, urging her to help more maids.

This help, however, was not distributed equally among all the maids. I ordered them to be cold towards the maids loyal to Roena, meaning those closely connected to Margo's faction.

While others might be helped after one request, these maids were to be considered for help only after ten or more pleas.

This was partly to guard against the attitude of taking unsolicited kindness for granted, but also intended to make them realize the reality of having to be cold to those who are not 'my people.'

In short, it was a call to choose sides.

As many people worked at the Count's estate, the quality of life varied immensely. Some lived a meager existence, paying off debts with the salary from the Count's estate, while others struggled even to do that.

The ambitious plan to send a portion to family and save the rest was something only possible in dreams. For most, the very word 'to live' was a luxury.

Few maids, other than Margo's group, knew the meaning of joy.

Margo did not open her purse strings for anyone she didn't care about, and in some aspects, she was quite stingy.

The same applied to her followers. Their hands were glued with adhesive; they knew how to hold onto money but not how to let it go. The plight of those doing menial work was purely their own problem. They merely associated with each other to confirm their place in the hierarchy.

Above all, it was rare to find someone with the kindness to readily lend money to a close acquaintance. Everyone was too busy looking after themselves. Ultimately, all that was left was to get an advance on their salary, but one couldn't visit the steward to ask for money every time.

And resorting to the loan sharks of the thugs, they must have feared the snowballing interest.

Then, Marie appeared like a miracle. A kind fool who helped people without expecting anything in return, as per my orders.

For those desperate for quick cash, there was no greater temptation. It was as sweet as honey and more intoxicating than wine. The thought that they could obtain a lot of money if they could just trick her into it seized everyone's minds.

“Now that the bait has taken, we must make and fit a leash.”

I said to Marie in a friendly, explanatory tone. I added that otherwise, they would run wild, ungrateful for the favor. Feeding the sheep plenty of dry hay is done with the cheese, milk, and wool one expects to get from them. How could a human be of no use?

“What would be the most useful leash? That’s right, this will do. Let’s test their desperation.”

“Desperation?”

I nodded at Marie's questioning tone.

“Yes, desperation. The kind of desperation that makes one willingly put a leash around their own neck. If that's the case, I too can open my money pouch with a happy heart.”

Like stealing something, for instance. If that were the key Roena possessed, it would be perfect. I looked at Marie and smiled faintly. The mere thought was so delightful I could barely stand it.

Measuring the degree of desperation is personal; no one can presume to fathom another's heart. What might be insignificant to one person could be 'everything' to me.

A relative concept, this grand axis governing the absolute realm of the heart, varies entirely according to its own depth.

Therefore, for me to test and shake someone's heart is absurd. Unless one is God, how could such a thing be perpetrated!

So, I simply wait. Waiting for the prey to fall into the trap.

What's truly fascinating about human relationships is that the person who grows impatient always loses. Surprisingly, in a fleeting moment, with just a blink of an eye, much can crumble and dull. Everything we cannot imagine.

Therefore, some say. The condition that determines victory is very simple. The winner and loser are decided by who can endure longer or not.

This simple logic gives many challengers hope. But what if it is a wait with no end in sight?

Marie asked me.

“How do I find people who will do anything to get money from me?”

I replied slowly, exuding a leisurely and relaxed tone.

“Time will tell.”

Yes, time that is fair to everyone.

Indeed, time is relative, and its flow feels different depending on one's circumstances. I was enduring with the heart of a hunter. Waiting for the starving beast to rush into the trap and burn itself.

In truth, a seasoned hunter, confident in their skill, does not worry if the trap is set correctly. They simply wait for the harvest time, patiently hoping that the noose of time will slowly tighten around their neck. So that they cannot escape the abyss of despair, yes, like that.

In the past, I did not know how to wait. I was fixated on immediate results, pushing myself relentlessly. Naturally, my temper became impatient, and I was always in an unstable state. If things didn't go as planned, I would rage or shout like a madman.

Patience, that is, the humble attitude of conforming to the flow of time, was a bitter poison to me. Why should I wait when something sweet was placed right before my eyes? Therefore, I never understood the aesthetic of eating slowly and savoring.

I simply wanted to indulge in present happiness, even if it meant choking to death by eating too quickly. I didn't know that the reward tasted sweeter and more fragrant after patience.

But now I know. How exhilarating it is. How beautiful. Behold, so I have won!

A single, pathetic beast is caught in the trap, gasping for breath. Even from my bowed position, I can clearly see its body trembling pitifully, which is delightfully pleasing.

I am curious about the weight of the leash it fastened itself, the one that drove it to its doom.

Even if it cannot compare to the insignificant loyalty towards Roena, I am confident I can laugh heartily. And I am willing to strangle my own neck to end its life. Should it not be so, for the sacrifice I have so long awaited?

“W-what do you want?”

The maid asked. Her voice, filled with fear, was laced with wariness towards me. The trembling muscles of her face were taut with tension. But her eyes, unable to focus and darting around, gleamed with a cunning light beneath the shadow of her eyelashes.

I have seen many people of this ilk. Cowards who, having made their own choices, shift all the blame for their actions onto others under the guise of having no other option.

They console themselves this way, preparing a final breakthrough, even though they are drinking the same dirty water.

How many clever thoughts are swirling through that tangled hair? She is likely preparing excuses, thinking of tasks I might assign.

That is why she speaks so presumptuously. Asking, "What do you want?"