73 - Pieces of the Broken Glass Slipper
Shattered Glass Slipper Shards 73
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Madame reopened her mouth when the second cup of tea she poured had cooled.
“No one acknowledges a path paved by a whore. It’s not too late. From today, you will be sick. So sick that you won’t even be able to move. Understand?”
“Yes.”
Pleased with the obedient answer, Lavalliere continued in a much more relaxed voice.
“Rumors are like dust in the wind. They spread far and wide, but their impact is so minimal that unless you rub your eyes, you’ll forget they ever existed.”
“But Aunt, please understand just one thing.”
“What is it?”
“That I have no choice. And that I am always obedient to you.”
Even if I were in great pain, I would have to crawl to Madame de Châteauroux if she called me.
That’s why I’m preemptively excusing myself in case I’m given something close to an irresistible task, even though I want to obey your orders.
Madame frowned, expressing her displeasure, but this time she didn’t spew out the same anger as before. She merely repeated that I should behave myself, as if trying to instill it in me.
I nodded and said I understood. But we both knew that once I became a topic of gossip, ‘behaving myself’ was no longer in my control.
It was merely a question of how to use it to my advantage. In any case, Madame de Lavalier didn’t offer me a hand this time either.
She, who boasted an almost animalistic sense, seemed to have detected a small snake hidden within me.
I bowed my head once more, gazing at her shapely ankles hidden beneath her splendid dress. I thirsted for the day I could bite them and make her fall. I simply wished to grow up quickly and become a giant monster that could devour everyone.
My mother, thinking I would be disheartened after being scolded by Lavalliere, rushed to me, busy checking my complexion.
Perhaps the terror of the time when she had women standing in a circle under intense pressure was still alive in her mind.
But she gave a hollow laugh, as if dumbfounded by my nonchalant embroidery. She even gaped at my calm tone, as if she couldn’t believe it.
“I’m going to be sick now.”
“What? Could you repeat that? What did you just say?”
“I’m saying that I’m going to be very sick and won’t be going anywhere.”
“Good heavens. Does that mean your outings are being forced now? Did your aunt tell you not to go anywhere?”
“It’s not such a bad choice. It’s necessary to make them anxious at this point.”
“Sissae, dear. What are you saying?”
“Mother. I’m doing well. So don’t look at me like that.”
“Even though you’re the subject of everyone’s ridicule because of the Emperor’s whore?”
“It’s an insult I would have had to take anyway. Surely you know that Roena is the only one who can be praised in this mansion? What’s the problem with taking the insults I would have taken anyway, starting now?”
How many people are a perfect fit in the eyes of high-ranking elders? My mother hardened her expression and asked me.
“Do you want to gain the same power as Chatoul? Is the Bishvarts Family name not enough for you?”
“No. It’s not that.”
“Then, what is it?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t think of a word that could be stated definitively. What I wanted was simply to avoid the suffering of the past being repeated. If I had to pick one, would it be inferiority?
Yes, it could be that. Or is it a lack of affection? That could also be true. Love was what I thirsted for most in the past.
Then is it greed? The closer I get to Chatoul, the more power will come as an addition, so I can’t help but be greedy. So I can’t deny it. And hatred?
Ah, it’s probably hatred after all. A twisted heart born from the extremely selfish desire for my miserably crumpled life.
My mother reaches out and pulls me into her arms. As if she can’t bear to see me in such a pitiful state. My eyes are slowly closing in her cozy and warm embrace. The hand stroking my back is very gentle.
“Please let me know if you hear from the palace.”
No words flowed from my mother’s mouth. But I knew it was a tacit agreement. No, even if she hadn’t agreed, she would have granted my request. My mother had always been that kind of person. That’s why I feel so comforted in her arms.
After meeting Madame de Lavalier, I feigned illness and stayed indoors. I said I was too sick to go outside. But despite these rumors, my side table was always full of invitations from people trying to invite me.
Most of them were either trying to get in touch with Chatoul or were bold enough to dig into the truth of the rumors.
Marie, using a paper knife to open the letters, chattered incessantly.
“I don’t know why they’re doing this when you’re sick.”
I leaned back against the cushions and said, ‘I know, right.’ Surprisingly, even people who thought of Roena’s letters were subtly asking me to meet them using her.
Ah, these people are so sensitive to gossip. The extremity of it is beyond words.
“But Young Lady, is the palace owned by Madame de Châteauroux really that beautiful?”
Marie asked me, looking curious. Seril, who was sitting next to her sorting the letters, was also perking up her ears as if she was curious. I answered with an indifferent expression.
“Yes. It’s worth seeing.”
“I heard you even went into the ‘Extreme Room,’ which no one has ever been allowed to enter except those invited by His Majesty.”
“Of course.”
“How was it?”
Instead of answering, I stared at Marie. Surely my expression was plastered with boredom, as if I was too lazy to speak. In the quiet silence, Marie quickly shut her mouth.
Before I fell ill, I wrote a letter to Irene. Aside from asking about her well-being with various pretentious words, I needed to soothe her heart, which was wary of me because of my meeting with Chatoul.
Because I knew very well that there was nothing more foolish than turning someone like Irene into an enemy.
So I deeply confided in Princess Dieunzel that I was not as favored as the rumors suggested and that I was in a very difficult situation.
[……I’m always in the same place. It’s just that there are people who don’t believe it. I’m just so frustrated about how I can show my sincerity to everyone. Everyone is criticizing me and sharpening their blades. Oh, what should I do in this situation…… Can you feel my despair? So please, Princess Dieunzel, no, please protect me, Sister.]
Her reply arrived unexpectedly early. The contents were written in words so cliché that they were stale.
I believe in you, don’t be swayed by the gazes of those around you. The contents of the letter, melted into the excellent handwriting, were quite affectionate, but just as dry. The silk hair tie embroidered with flower buds that was enclosed with the letter was a cheap price for comfort.
But thanks to that, I was able to let it be known that I had become completely close to Princess Dieunzel, so it could be said to be a success in its own way.
Not only my mother, but also my adoptive father, and especially Madame de Lavalier, were relieved that my relationships were not biased towards Chatoul.
In particular, the bouquets of condolences sent by the Young Ladies I had met at Princess Dieunzel’s mansion reinforced that thought.
However, I never expected Michael Ayres to send me flowers as well. This was a variable I hadn’t even anticipated.
But he showed off his unique, sleek handwriting and sent a note with his name on it mixed in with the bouquet, and even strongly imprinted his presence on the maid who came out to receive the flowers.
People were amazed that the noble knight had sent a beautiful bouquet to a girl who hadn’t even debuted in society yet.
Since he was reluctant even to do the escort that a gentleman should naturally do, this action was bound to be close to a shock.
More than anything, they were more shocked that he himself had set foot in the Count’s residence, not a servant.
Unbelievably, he had told the maid who came to receive the bouquet, ‘Please tell the Bischwartz Young Lady that I sincerely hope she recovers soon,’ and gave her a gentle smile.
That Michael Ayres! It was a natural thing that not only the Bishvarts Family but also the social world was turned upside down.
Inconveniently, the flowers he sent seemed to have been carefully chosen and were very fresh and vibrant. Even I, who had no aesthetic sense for flowers, felt they were beautiful.
Marie repeatedly exclaimed in admiration, saying, ‘How can there be so many pretty flowers?’
“Young Lady, shall I put them in a vase and put them on the table?”
Most of the flowers sent by the other Young Ladies had been torn apart to be used for bathing, so I wanted to use these as bath tools as well.
However, Marie and the people around me desperately stopped me. Especially my mother’s opposition was severe.
My mother seemed very excited by the fact that Michael Ayres was showing interest in me.
With a flushed expression, she often talked about good rumors about him. She seemed even more excited, oblivious to her daughter’s indifferent expression.
Ah, my lovely mother seems to think that a good marriage proposal called Michael Ayres will soon come to this insignificant daughter. As if she had forgotten that I was only 16 years old.
In fact, it was common for young girls to become lovers of sturdy and handsome nobles or knights - and sometimes have affairs - so my young age was not an obstacle. Only the point of contact with Michael Ayres was important.
That’s why people tried so hard to guess why Michael Ayres sent me a bouquet and what emotions were hidden behind it. Because what is needed to make a romantic love is a dramatic encounter.
Thanks to this, my mother became busy. People in society wanted to know the truth of this incident through her.
People were recklessly handing out invitations to my mother, trying to somehow lead the story. My mother seemed inwardly pleased, even though she was afraid of this situation. Even more so when she thought about the past mistreatment.
Until now, the social world’s opinion of my mother had been extremely bad. She was known as a whore who seduced my adoptive father to enter the Count’s family.
A widow with a grown daughter is always caught up in such misunderstandings. Well, even a stuffy virgin can become a femme fatale if you skip a few tongues!
Due to these rumors, even at gatherings that my mother had to attend because she was the mistress of the Bishvarts Family, she could not say a word and wasted time standing blankly in the corner. Enduring the unspoken rebukes and contempt poured out on her.
But these days, as if she had become the main character, everyone was listening to my mother’s words and was eager to talk to her even once more. It was as if the long, drawn-out sneers were a dream.
It’s like I’m dreaming. My mother was purely happy. So happy that it made those who saw her feel sorry for her.
That was even more so as the frequency of flowers sent by Michael Ayres increased.
