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TMRDWMP CH 5

  • Mar 2
  • 7 min read

Chapter 5

• ────── ✦ ────── •

Lizzie



“Miss Monica, I’m introducing you sooner than expected. This is Martinel.”

 

“Hello, Miss Monica.”

 

The young boy nestled in Mrs. Mollet’s skirts looked remarkably like her. His soft brown hair and glossy black eyes were nearly identical. His gently curved eyes, as if filled with all the goodness in the world, made him seem completely untouched by anything dirty or sorrowful.

 

 

“Miss Monica, Martinel. You should call her Teacher.”

 

“Alright, Ma’am. Hello, Teacher!”

 

“And please stop calling me Ma’am, honestly!”

 

 

Madam Mollet scolded her son with a laugh. Martinel whined and tugged on Madam Mollet’s skirt. Under normal circumstances, Monica would have found the pampered boy adorable and greeted him warmly. But she couldn’t take her eyes off the young lady standing behind him.

 

 

“And this is...”

 

“I’m Riella Mollet.”

 

 

Just as Madam Mollet about to introduce her, the young lady, who was also intently focused on Monica, quickly replied.

Her tone was as if she were cutting Madam Mollet off. Madam Mollet’s eyes widened, then she smiled.

 

 

“That’s right. She’s my proud daughter. Did I mention she’s the same age as Monica?”

 

“Yes...”

 

 

Monica barely managed to reply.

 

 

“Riella, this is Monica, who will be Martinel’s teacher. Since you’re the same age, you might become good friends. She’s from the capital.”

 

“I see. It’s nice to meet you, Miss Monica.”

 

 

Riella replied in a detach voice, as if reading from a script. Madam Mollet tilted her head but didn’t seem overly concerned.

 

 

“Since you’re here, why don’t you two show Monica to her room?”

 

“Me?”

 

“Yes, Martinel. She’ll be using the room next to yours.”

 

“Okay, if you ask, Ma’am!”

 

 

The boy replied cheerfully and let go of his mother’s skirt. Riella looked reluctant, but when her eyes met Madam Mollet’s, she forced a smile. Madam Mollet quickly disappeared, saying she had something to do that afternoon.

 

The boy, Martinel, stepped forward first in front of Monica.

 

 

“Teacher, are you going to use the room next to mine?”

 

“That’s the plan, thankfully.”

 

 

Monica managed a smile. Martinel, unfazed, held onto her skirt and led her to one side. He was well-dressed, even though it was early summer. He wore shiny, thin silk stockings on his calves, and Martinel grumbled, noticing Monica’s gaze.

 

 

“Ma’am insisted I wear them so I wouldn’t catch a cold. But don’t they make me look like I’m seven?”

 

“Not at all. Boys in the capital wear stockings even in the middle of summer.”

 

“Really? Oh, Teacher. You can speak to me comfortably!”

 

 

Martinel puffed out his chest maturely. Monica smiled ambiguously and began walking down the corridor, following Martinel. Thick, blue carpets covered the corridor that their footsteps made almost no sound. Riella slowly followed behind them, occasionally stopping her walk, clearly showing her reluctance.

 

 

“Sister! Why aren’t you coming?”

 

 

But she couldn’t avoid Martinel’s eyes. Only after Martinel stopped and beckoned twice did Riella manage to catch up, staying just a couple of steps behind. Martinel was a truly lovely boy.

 

The boy skipped along, chattering to Monica about how he would soon celebrate his birthday, and once he turned eleven, he would be a proper adult and wouldn’t wear these short pants anymore.

 

 

“I have a cousin, and he has a really cool frock coat and woollen trousers! I asked for a frock coat as my eleventh birthday present...”

 

“Wouldn’t a frock coat be a bit hot in the middle of summer?”

 

 

Monica played along as she walked. But her steps were constantly slowed by her awareness of Riella behind her. Nevertheless, the three of them eventually reached their destination.

 

The first thing Monica noticed was a large white door draped with beautiful lace curtains. The door was open, and she knew it was Martinel’s room because he sighed and made a face,

 

 

“I really hate those curtains!”

 

 

So, was the small white door next to it her room? As Monica tried to approach it, someone chuckled lightly.

 

 

“That’s the storage room.”

 

Monica turned around. It was Riella Mollet. Riella, who had been standing with her arms crossed, walked a short distance out of Monica’s line of sight.

 

There was a door as large as Martinel’s. The door, adorned with beautiful mouldings, had no major decorations, though it looked elegant just the same. But Monica’s gaze rested on the tips of Riella’s fingers pointing at the door. Riella wore very delicate-looking chemical lace gloves.

 

The machine-woven lace was something every noble young lady who had to wear gloves even in the middle of summer desired. But the price was enormous, and with all the machines mobilized for wartime production, finding such gloves was nearly impossible.

 

Monica was overcome with a strange sense of futility. The heat that had dissipated after drinking the iced tea seemed to rush back to Monica.

 

 

“That’s your room.”

 

Your.

 

 

It was an unfamiliar and cool form of address. And a tone that suggested wariness.

 

 

Before Monica could respond, Martinel cut in.

 

 

“Sister, why are you speaking so meanly?”

 

“...Huh?”

 

 

Riella looked down at Martinel, flustered. Martinel, slightly frowning his dark eyes, questioned her accusingly.

 

 

“Speak kindly. Are you still angry?”

 

“...No, Marti. Why would I be angry?”

 

“Liar. You’re still not over me breaking your watch a few days ago, are you?”

 

 

The boy stomped his foot like a spoiled child. Riella hastily denied it, and Monica learned that Martinel had accidentally broken a watch Riella cherished a few days ago. She didn’t know what that had to do with anything... Anyway, Riella waved her hand.

 

 

“I’m sorry, Marti. I guess I was unfamiliar because there’s someone new in front of me.”

 

And Riella raised her head and looked back at Monica.

 

 

“...I’m sorry, your, last name...”

 

Monica raised her tightly set lips again.

 

 

“...Offen.”

 

 

Riella mumbled her last name as if rolling it around in her mouth. Martinel suddenly jumped up at that moment.

 

 

“What’s that?! Anvie!”

 

 

Both of them looked in that direction in surprise. Martinel suddenly dashed into his room. A maid named Anvie, who was carrying a large stack of something out of Martinel’s room, was startled and stumbled back into Martinel.

 

 

“Why are you putting my blocks away! I told you not to!”

 

“But Young Master, these blocks...”

 

“No! I spent so much effort building them!”

 

“The madam ordered me to clear them because you can’t even walk around the room!”

 

 

The boy had completely forgotten about the two of them, and scattered all the blocks the maid was carrying out of the room.

 

Craaash!

 

 

Monica staring blankly at the scene, suddenly turned her head. In front of her stood Riella, who had half-opened Monica’s door.


 • ───────── ☽༓☾ ───────── •

 

Madam Mollet was heading back to her room when she suddenly remembered that she hadn’t received Monica’s letter of recommendation. She could ask the butler to fetch it, but...

 

 

I remember giving the butler a few very important errands.

 

 

For example, going to the Soliven family’s townhouse for a message.

 

 

Well, I can get the letter myself.

 

 

The doctor had been nagging Madam Mollet to walk more anyway. She should at least walk more inside the mansion.

Thus, Madam Mollet turned her steps.


• ───────── ☽༓☾ ───────── •

 

“You can probably use that wardrobe. And the one in front of it is...”

 

 

Riella was continuing her dry explanation.

 

The room Monica was given was also a very good room.

 

The autumn meadow-green silk wallpaper and the wainscoting placed here and there to block the cold of the stone mansion made the room very cozy and luxurious. Not only that. There was a large black mirror above the fireplace installed in one corner of the room.

 

 

A black mirror!

 

 

It wasn’t just glass injected with black ink. It was a mirror made of genuine obsidian. And a very large one at that.

But Monica set aside even the black mirror and stared at Riella, half-dazed.

Riella’s beautifully voluminous brown hair was clearly the result of much effort. The maids must have spent at least an hour styling it with a curling iron.

 

 

“Excuse me. Excuse me?”

 

 

Riella, who was explaining perfunctorily, called Monica irritably.

 

 

“...Yes, Miss Mollet.”

 

 

“Ah, I’m sorry. I forgot your last name so quickly.”

 

 

Contrary to her tone, her smile was extremely gentle. Monica blinked, then suddenly looked at the black mirror in front of her. The contrast was strange.

 

Riella stood right in front of the fireplace where the black mirror was placed, and her pink striped dress looked very beautiful against the autumn meadow-green wallpaper.

 

The light and soft texture suitable for early summer. The fine-textured skin that showed below the short sleeves, and her soft, slightly plump arms. Below her wrist were the coveted chemical lace gloves.

 

Then, she saw herself reflected in the black mirror.

 

Her face was slightly flushed from the heat. Unlike Riella’s cheeks, which were coloured peach by applying red tin powder, Monica’s looked strangely dirty. Furthermore, her long-sleeved taffeta dress covered her wrists. And she had been wearing it for two days now.

 

The hands sticking out below were rough and thick at the knuckles. The black mirror was so clear and transparent that it showed every single stray hair that had escaped her painstakingly coiled hairstyle due to the lack of hair oil. Monica impulsively opened her mouth.

 

 

“I doubt you wouldn’t know.”

 

 

At first, she wasn’t certain. Because she had mistaken the young men, Sol and Louis, yesterday. The experience of thinking someone was an acquaintance only to find they were completely different, merely look-alikes, restrained Monica.

 

But Monica did not miss the black hair roots beneath Riella’s beautiful brown hair. Plus, the subtly hostile attitude...

This girl was Lizzie. It had to be.

 

Lizzie twisted her lips wryly upwards. Monica continued.

 

 

“Lizzie, right?”

 

 

The grey eyes did not show surprise. She merely observed Monica in silence.

 

 

“It’s been a long time, Lizzie. Have you been well? No, you seem to be doing very well. You look good. I never expected to find you here.”

 

 

Monica smiled, crinkling her eyes.

 

 

What should she say? A cheer for the long-lost orphanage mate? A word of happiness that she was living in such a splendid house? Or a wish for her well-being? Or...

 

 

“Why did you come?”


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