Previously
Maurice taunts Cordelia and lewdly laments that her betrothal to Jonathan prevents him from claiming her. Later, Cordelia's aunt summons her to announce that Jonathan is returning from abroad to arrange their wedding, demanding financial support from her future marriage.
“Besides, you said it doesn't affect everyone in your family. I heard your mother was the only one in a hundred and fifty years of good health to catch it. So you should be fine too, shouldn’t you?”
“…”
“Even if there is a problem, you had better act like everything is fine. You understand what I'm saying, don’t you?”
To her family, Cordelia’s safe passage through the wedding and securing the bride price was the only source of money left. Swallowing down a familiar sense of nausea, Cordelia gave her assent. The sickening feeling wasn't directed only at them.
‘How am I any different from them?’
Wasn't she being just as insincere with Jonathan, thinking only of her own plight?
Cordelia had been staring blankly down at the cracked marble table when her aunt's sharp, irritated voice snapped her back to her senses.
“…so the carriage will arrive tomorrow. Hey, are you listening to me?”
“Pardon? What did you say?”
“Tsk, where are your wits wandering? Lord and Lady Devillers want to see you. We should discuss the wedding in advance, shouldn't we? It's not as though the groom will arrange the ceremony himself.”
Cordelia gave a hollow nod. Just imagining her aunt sitting before the Devillers' noble, awkward smiles, blithely demanding wedding dresses and jewelry, already made her stomach turn.
Yet given her circumstances, even walking on eggshells like this was something to be grateful for. Her aunt strictly warned her not to eat anything this evening, just in case—she might bloat or suffer indigestion, after all.
Cordelia's stomach rumbled noisily, having held nothing since the sausage and biscuit she had eaten that morning. But when she obediently bobbed her head again, her aunt's expression softened slightly as she poked through the leftover food. It was cheap tomato pasta, yet to a starving person, it looked like a heavenly feast.
Cordelia swallowed her saliva. The moment their eyes met, she hastily pushed herself up from the seat.
“I'll bring you more to eat.”
The last time she had lingered at the table, she had been kicked in the ankle and left limping for a week. Her aunt was unlikely to raise a hand against her with such an important matter tomorrow, but bruises on the legs could easily be hidden beneath a hemline, so one could never be certain.
Fortunately, her aunt found no further fault. Perhaps the thought of the large sum of money soon to arrive had put her in a good mood.
“Girl, go down to the cellar and bring up more liquor.”
“Um, Father drank everything that was left…”
“And how would you know that?”
The sudden flash of irritation in her aunt's eyes made her shrink back. Both her father and her aunt were dependent on alcohol; often, in the middle of a perfectly calm conversation, their eyes would roll and they would turn violent without warning. Every time it happened, Cordelia felt a chill in her spine and broke into a cold sweat.
In those moments, all reason and logic deserted them. Swallowing hard, she was just about to step backward when the door rattled open and a tall woman walked in.
With sparse hair, a crooked sneer, and a bleary, sideways squint, she could not be called pretty by any measure. It was her aunt's daughter, Dorea, her cousin who currently ran the household single-handedly—at least officially. The moment she spotted her daughter, the aunt raised the empty basket without hesitation and brought it down hard across Dorea's back.
“You worthless wench! Where have you been gallivanting off to without making dinner?!”
“Aargh! Why are you hitting me?! Did you down more liquor again?!”
“Watch your mouth! No wonder your husband kicked you out! An old, hideous bitch with nowhere left to pawn off! How did something like you crawl out of my womb?!”
Her aunt's prime target for venting anger was Cordelia, and the second was her easy mark of a daughter, Dorea. When she couldn't take out all her violent rage on Cordelia, who was their meal ticket, she would beat Dorea instead. But whenever the insults struck specifically at her plummeted value on the marriage market, the fierce-tempered Dorea would not hold back either.
“I was kicked out because this family has no money! And what about that little bitch? Is she lingering here until she's grown just because our house is dirt poor?!”
“Bullshit! Your husband dumped you because you're ugly, fat, and rotten to the core!”
When Dorea pointed an accusatory finger at Cordelia, who stood by mute, her aunt let out a contemptuous snort.
“She's the only asset left in this family. She'll soon be the mistress of Devillers.”
As her aunt excitedly rattled on about the fortune her wretched niece would bring in, Dorea's expression hardened into a venomous scowl, and she glared at Cordelia as if ready to murder her.
A sense of dread crept over Cordelia. Like a trickle-down effect of violence, whenever her father abused her aunt and Maurice, they in turn sneered at Dorea, and that misery was redirected in full force onto Cordelia at the very bottom of the food chain. To the lower rung, the fellow prey just above them was often a deadlier natural enemy than the predator at the apex of the pyramid.
For that reason, the person Cordelia feared and avoided most in this house was neither her aunt nor Maurice, but her cousin Dorea. When Dorea’s fierce glare abruptly turned into a mocking smirk, Cordelia nervously picked at her fingernails.
“We ran out of food, so I went to the village. Oh, by the way—”
A spiteful gleam flared in Dorea's eyes.
“I heard that little girl went to the village today and sold medicinal herbs. She couldn't have pocketed all that money for herself, could she?”
Ah. She had wondered why her luck had been so good today, managing to sell all her goods without getting beaten.
As a pale Cordelia turned around, her aunt's eyes flashed, and she lunged forward, grabbing Cordelia by the collar.
“You have money? And you kept it all to yourself? You wicked little thing!”
A hand swung up, and out of sheer habit, Cordelia shut her eyes tightly and ducked her head. But her aunt huffed, held back, and abruptly seized the hair of her giggling daughter instead. Slapping the shrieking Dorea across the cheek, she unleashed her fury.
“You stupid bitch! You just stood by and watched while your cousin siphoned off the family's money?!”
“I only heard about it! And why the hell is she my sister?!”
Even as Dorea took the blows and protested, her aunt was relentless. In truth, it seemed she cared less about a few meager coins than about finding someone to hit so she could blow off steam. Taking advantage of the distraction, Cordelia edged away like a frightened mouse and darted upstairs, Dorea's screech chasing after her.
“Stop right there, you thieving bitch! This is all because of you!”
“Worthless whore!”
Leaving the mother and daughter's brawl behind, Cordelia slipped into her room, shut the door tight, and dragged a battered chest of drawers across the floor to barricade the entrance. She had kept up this routine ever since the doorknob broke while she was fleeing from her drunken father. The room next door belonged to Maurice. She wasn't sure if it could truly stop a grown man, but it let her sleep far better than doing nothing at all.
Having set up the makeshift barricade, she scrambled onto the old bed, hugged her teddy bear Jeje close, and held her breath to listen. Only after swallowing down the musty silence of her own space over the faint remnants of noise did Cordelia finally manage to calm her frantic heart.
Her irregularly hammering heart tightened with an ache, then began to steady, slowing its pace at a sluggish, lingering crawl. It was a familiar pain, one she could endure.
Reaching into Jeje's little pocket, she took out a small pouch and tossed a medicinal pill into her mouth.
Then, dragging the layers of aged blankets tightly around herself and Jeje, she slowly closed and opened her eyes. Cordelia liked sleep. Only while asleep was she free of worry and dread.
Lying on her side, the world before her eyes tilted slightly. Blink. Her eyes shut and opened languidly, taking in the room.
The toddler chair and rocking horse her maternal grandfather had bought her when she was three, the scarf and princess doll knitted by her late mother, the keepsakes from her mother's life piled like junk around the room—this was Cordelia’s own little wonderland. She had nearly been beaten to death sneaking them away behind her father's back as he sold off anything of value, but she had managed to protect them in the end.
Once she married, all of these things would probably be thrown away or lost.
She squeezed Jeje tighter. For a moment, sorrow overtook her anxiety. Something bleak and bitter crept across her skin. She knew the name of that shadow that visited her every night since her mother passed away. Loneliness.
If she married Jonathan, would she finally be free from feeling so alone?
Yet what right did someone like her have to enjoy happiness with such a good man? She could neither love him nor offer him truth.
Born of love's deceit and betrayal, she was incapable of pure love. The blood coursing through Cordelia's veins, the soul she had inherited, cried out with hatred for love itself. The curse her mother had planted in her before dying would follow her to the grave. With a soft sigh, she closed her eyes.