Of course, every time Mel asked her to sell a piece or two, she’d say she’d pay her back, but she’d never believed it, because for as long as she could remember, Mel had always been poor, despite her inherent riches.

Belviana had always suspected that Mel’s father was a powerful nobleman in the capital. Mel’s accent was exquisite and delicate, as old families in the capital tended to be. Judging by the occasional glimpses of her past, Mel had endured all manner of indignities at the manor. The only thing that kept her from fleeing was her inheritance. Though she could not inherit the manor and its lands, the women of the family were entitled to an annuity upon reaching the age of majority, but when she came of age and claimed her inheritance, she was sent to a convent. It’s no wonder Mel refused to become a nun, claiming to be a prodigal daughter.

In an empire where children, even illegitimate ones, followed their father’s lineage, Mel was undoubtedly a noblewoman, and so those high nobles would disown even their own flesh and blood for a mere pension of a few hundred thousand sols. Sure, it was a lot of money, but it was probably trivial compared to the wealth they had amassed. Belviana swallowed hard as she watched Mel’s back as she squatted in front of the fireplace.

“I suppose it’s my turn to pick your pockets, then.”

Mel shrugged her shoulders as if she were being dismissive, then pulled a solid gold spoon from her apron pocket.

“What is it?”

Belviana asked, narrowing her eyes in suspicion. Mel put her hands on her hips in a cheerful manner.

“Do you remember a couple weeks ago, when I went to my house to write a memorandum giving up my share of the pension? I told you they were sending a lawyer.”

“Yeah. I remember.”

“Well, I snuck one in the kitchen while the maid on watch was away.”

“Just one ……?”

Belviana asked in disbelief. Mel smirked and held up a finger.

“Let’s see, a handful of teaspoons, three knives and forks, and a candlestick. I shoved what I could into the bag and left. I guess with the old man around, surveillance isn’t what it used to be. I’m not getting an inheritance, so I took what I could.”

“Wow.”

Belviana spat out an exclamation she didn’t know whether to admire or condemn. Torn between her remaining sense of morality and her respect for Mel, she finally burst out laughing. Belviana threw the cushion that had been propping up her back at Mel with all her might.

“You’re such an amazing woman.”

“I know.”

Mel deftly caught it and threw it back at Belviana. After a brief playful exchange, the battle resumed, with Mel leading the charge. Cushions, pillows, blankets, knitting yarn……. Throwing anything soft they could get their hands on, they were soon covered in dust, fluff, and fur. They looked into each other’s faces and let out a stifled laugh. Belviana sank back into the armchair and breathed a sigh of relief. One of the few moments of tranquility in an otherwise frenzied season.

Then, as the fall wore on, a letter arrived from Lester Manor.

*

“Miss.”

The nanny’s face was visibly withered. She wore a large bonnet, and several layers of black cloth wrapped around her thin body. Belviana stopped short, standing as tall as she had entered the room. She had heard that a letter had come from home, but she hadn’t expected her nanny to bring it herself. The Count and Countess of Lester were desperate to erase her existence. Not a single letter, not a single line of news for nearly two years.

When Belviana stood still and refused to move, the nanny stepped forward and took both of her hands in her own. The black fabric against the old woman’s graying face was ominous.

“I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

“Yes. It’s been a long time.”

“How have you been, and if you’ve been feeling uncomfortable in the meantime…….”

The nanny stuttered, unable to finish her sentence. With trembling eyes, she examined Belviana’s frayed cuffs, her lace-less collar, and her callused fingers. As if trying to fathom the years of suffering Belviana had endured. The nanny could not hide her dismay at Belviana’s degradation. The moment she saw the dark compassion in her old eyes, she was overcome with the urge to scream out loud. She brushed the nanny’s hand away and said coldly.

“I’m fine.”

She meant it. She was fine. It had already been three years, and what three years they had been: three years of being shunned like a plague, even by those who cared for her, and three years of facing down the nakedness of those she believed cared for her. There is no way there could have been any affection or longing left. The nanny was already a ghost of the past. As soon as they sat down across the table from each other, Belviana spoke stiffly.

“I heard you brought a letter.”

“I volunteered to see you my lady, and I insisted.”

“You went to all that trouble when you could have just mailed it.”

The woman’s haggard face was like an ominous pestilence. A pallor that seemed to spread anxiety like a plague just by looking into it. The freshness of the air sent a chill down her spine. The nanny stared at the letter in silence for a long time. It was as if she didn’t dare to speak. As if what she had to say would cause Belviana further misery. A sigh escaped the nanny’s shallowly pursed lips.

“My poor lady…….”

“What’s the matter?”

“… What should I do?”

Her words made her slowly start to feel nervous. It was a strange feeling. Some intuition, some ominous premonition, sounded a loud alarm. Unable to hold back any longer, Belviana took a step toward the nanny. She was going to take the damned letter and see for herself what it was. The nanny’s old face contorted in an instant as she grabbed her skinny wrist. Like a crack in the hard ground, the tears she had been holding back burst forth.

“M, my lord, hnggh…….”

“Father?”

“Hnngh, hng…….”

“……What the hell is wrong? Stop crying and talk to me.”

She stamped her foot and tried to get through. The nanny sobbed wordlessly for a while, then pressed her handkerchief to the corner of her mouth and managed to spit it out. The Count of Lester is dead.

It was something she had suspected since the nanny had burst in, dressed all in ominous black, but she hadn’t imagined in the slightest that it would be the Count of Lester, her father. Belviana could barely move her lips, which were stiff with shock.

“What the…… when?”

Belviana stammered, not for understanding or confirmation, but merely as a reflex, because it couldn’t be. The last image she remembered of her father was of a very stolid figure. The kind that reminded her of a castle made of steel, unyielding and unkillable. Someone had to be playing a very mean trick on her, or she’d been horribly mistaken. The nanny struggled to finish her sentence between ragged breaths and sobs.