49 - Pieces of the Broken Glass Slipper
Shattered Glass Slipper Shards Episode 49
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I smiled brightly at the maid who was looking at me with an anxious expression. And I raised my hand and slapped my own cheek hard. I hit it with all my might, to the point where my hand was throbbing.
The maid swayed violently, barely regaining her balance. Her face, clutching her cheek with her own hand, was contorted into a tearful grimace. The clear handprint left on it was such that it wouldn't be strange if it bruised.
“Why, why are you doing this?”
“There was a bug, and I was just trying to remove it.”
“What?”
Speaking casually, I reached out my hand towards her. Perhaps thinking she would be slapped again, the maid flinched and stepped back.
“Don't show such a face. I did it out of consideration for you. Was it too much?”
“Ah…!!”
“You must wipe your face with a wet cloth immediately. I will speak to Roena, so don't worry.”
“Yes.”
Even though her face was full of displeasure, she couldn't argue because she was a maid. I tucked her hair behind her ear and added in a small whisper.
“And be careful of the bug running wild inside your mouth. For now, it's just a bug, but later it will become a knife.”
There was no need to beg for a change in impression from the maids who were clearly on Roena's side. I just needed to make them fear me. And there was no more certain method than this.
A few days later, I received word that the key had been made. I went to my mother's room to see it.
The newly made key was quite magnificent. It boasted a smooth body with the Bischwartz family crest engraved on it, and it was very heavy and thick. But the ecstasy of holding that substantial weight in my hands was indescribable.
Mother also seemed very satisfied. Though she tried not to show it, the way she secretly touched it from time to time made her look quite happy. Her shoulders, held straight, were tense, and her carefully made-up face and the way she walked down the corridor exuded pride.
It's finally in my hands now.
This was the authority I could only obtain after my adoptive father died. The key to the family that no one acknowledged or wanted to acknowledge. It was merely a piece of metal, not very long, but why did I have to endure so much for it?
I reached out and slowly stroked it. The cold feeling on my fingertips was so sharp it sent shivers down my spine, and it was profoundly sorrowful. Ah, now I must wait for the day I can use it freely.
“Take good care of it.”
When the key arrived from the locksmith, my adoptive father said in a flat tone and handed it to my mother. His actions were swift, without a hint of hesitation. He didn't even give Margo or Roena a chance to say anything. It was as if it had been entrusted to her for a very long time, so casual.
Perhaps it was confirmation of his anxiety. Something that perfectly eliminated any sliver of leeway he had provided. In any case, it seemed my adoptive father had finally severed his lingering attachment. The shadow of someone that had taken root like poison in everyone's minds.
When the key came into Mother's hands, Marie was more delighted than I was. She held her head high with great pride, her lips pursed in satisfaction, looking almost arrogant.
Her eyes, strangely narrowed with joy, revealed an unconcealed greed. This little witch seemed to be expecting greater rewards to fall to her because of this.
The way she acted, rubbing my shoulders and fawning over me, was exactly like that. The way she slyly rolled her tongue and subtly boasted of her contribution was so absurd it was almost laughable.
“Anyway, they've all shut their mouths tight, and it feels so refreshing.”
She was trying to charm me, disavowing her past, and it felt strange to glimpse a side of her I hadn't seen before.
Even thinking about Marie from a few months ago, before I returned, she wasn't like this. I paused while brushing my hair and gazed at her reflection in the mirror.
I wondered if her current behavior was her true nature, suppressed by others until now.
In truth, if Marie were to grow up and seize power like this, she would undoubtedly become a far worse wretch than Margo. She would probably flaunt the power she was given and take pleasure in tormenting others. It would be similar to 'release,' or perhaps hunting.
I slowly rested my chin on my hand and blinked. The joy of realizing the dog I was training was a hunting dog was certainly great, but since there was no guarantee it wouldn't bite me, I felt the need for a strong leash to restrain her.
No matter how excellent a hunting dog, a mongrel is still a mongrel. So, what would be Marie's most fatal weakness?
“Miss?”
Marie called out to me. She seemed puzzled that I was staring at her without doing anything. Instead of answering, I smiled faintly and put down the comb. Then I said to Marie.
“I'm tired.”
Perhaps it would be good to let Seril tear into Marie. Or perhaps create someone else to keep her in check. If not that…
I reached out and pulled Marie's hair. So hard that she felt the pain!
Marie let out a yelp and lowered her head in the direction my hand pulled. Her eyes, already contorted, were already welling up with tears.
“So you do lower your head.”
“Miss?”
“You were so stiff, I thought you had caught some kind of illness.”
Marie's face turned deathly pale. Her eyes, wide with fear, and her trembling lips were a sight to behold. Now she seemed like the Marie I knew.
“My dear Marie.”
“…Yes, Miss.”
“Never make me worry about your neck again. Understand?”
I gently patted Marie's cheek as she barely managed to answer in a somber voice. She nodded with tear-filled eyes. I added one more thing to her.
“If that happens, I will have to find someone to replace you. How sad that would be, wouldn't it?”
Of course, there was no one as foolish, greedy, and gluttonous for power as Marie.
Perhaps the shock of the key was too great, as Roena remained secluded in her room for several days. She claimed to be unwell, but no one was fooled into thinking that was the real reason.
However, Margo, in a very ostentatious display, kept going back and forth to her room carrying a silver basin filled with soaked cloths, as if for show.
Because of this, talk even arose about whether the order to make the key by my adoptive father was a bit premature.
I summoned Blan a week after that. Blan stood before me, unable to hide her anxious expression, her chapped lips clearly showing her distress.
“Did you give Margo the money?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“She said she didn't need it and threw it at my feet.”
“She truly is a person without material desires.”
“But I am finished now.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Then do you have any good ideas?”
I beckoned her over. Blan's eyes widened in confusion, and then she slowly approached with reluctant steps. Her wavering gaze was a complex tangle of resignation, fear, and a faint glimmer of hope.
“The key?”
At my softly whispered question, Blan also replied in a low voice.
“I am keeping it safe.”
“Really? Then put it back in its original place.”
“What?”
“As if nothing happened, can you do that?”
Seeing Blan tilt her head as if she couldn't understand, I smiled faintly. And before she could ask anything else, I quickly continued.
“Then wait quietly. Just as you are now. Do you understand what I mean?”
Then Blan, with her hands clasped and tears welling up, spoke plaintively.
“Miss, please give me some assurance. I need hope right now. What will happen to me if I do as you say?”
Instead of answering, I patted her back to comfort her. This old, pitiable young rat seemed completely unaware that the morsel she was holding was poisoned honey. So, I spoke in a gentle voice so she could swallow it deliciously.
“All I can say is that the hope you hold may soon sprout and grow. It will bloom into a more beautiful flower than you expect.”
Blan let out a sound close to a groan and barely managed to nod. She rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand, but still, she couldn't hide the tears flowing down her chin.
After wiping her tears quietly for a few minutes, Blan left the room with a much brighter expression than before. She contacted me three days later to say she had put the key back in its place.
I let another week pass. It was a very quiet and peaceful daily life. Embroidering, drinking tea, reading books, enjoying walks – a monotonous pattern, but I couldn't have been happier.
Walking along the well-maintained dirt path, I thought of the pleasures I would soon taste and burst into laughter, unable to contain myself. Some say that waiting is the greatest pain a person can experience, but for me, time flowing slowly was like a supreme banquet.
And so, on the last night of that week, that is, the night three days and more than a week after Blan returned the key, I murmured as if talking to myself. Loud enough for Marie and Seril to hear.
“They say the one who stole the key was a maid named Blan, but surely that's not true?”
At this, Marie and Seril glanced at me with curious eyes, gauging my mood. Their bodies, as they tidied the bedroom, were turned towards me. Pretending not to know, I continued.
“Come and brush my hair.”
Marie was the one who quickly rushed to my side. True to her love for gossip, her flushed cheeks and perked-up ears were tinged with a strange tension, like an adventurer about to uncover a great secret.
But she admirably did not forget her duty. She was also very wise to be cautious, considering my temperament. Marie knew very well that my mood had to be better than usual for her to hear this secret story.
Perhaps because of this, her hand brushing my hair was more careful than usual, and her touch was exquisitely delicate. The way she gently brushed, lightly stimulating my scalp, was extraordinary. This contrasted with Seril, who stood further away, watching my expression.
After brushing my hair for a long time, I had Seril fetch some tea. Then, looking at Marie, who was watching me with expectant eyes, I opened my mouth and said.
“Do you know who Blan is? I think I know her, but I'm not sure…”
“She's the maid who received your favor last time. The maid who was punished for stealing the head maid's belongings.”
“Oh, now I remember.”
“But why are you asking about Blan?”
“It's nothing.”
“Um, did she do something else?”
“Something else?”
At my question, Marie fidgeted with her fingers and hesitated. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she mumbled, her gossip lacking confidence and certainty.
