OTRNHB 129

Chapter 129

It was one summer day.

Staying locked inside the room felt like I would suffocate. After checking that no one was around, I tore off the ribbon and decorations that were choking my neck and finally decided to open the window.

The heavy, suffocating air that had been trapped inside rushed out like the tide pulling back, and a fresh, slightly cool breeze came in. I took a deep breath and exhaled, then, as if bewitched, stepped out onto the narrow balcony.

The garden had always been my mother’s space. Mother, who once commanded the earth spirits, used to say she couldn’t breathe unless she stepped on soil. Father gave her the entire wide garden, and instead of flowers, she planted many trees.

Even after she passed away, the trees she planted still grew. Cutting back the overgrown branches and maintaining them was left to the servants. Father ordered the gardener to keep the garden exactly as it had been when she was alive. Because of that, servants constantly came and went.

From my balcony, the garden lay directly below. Even if I covered my ears, voices drifted up whenever I opened the door. They laughed and gossiped—about the handsome Enoch Hains, about this household’s ill-tempered daughter, or about what they wanted for dinner that evening. Sometimes, I cracked open the window just to listen, not stepping outside.

I wasn’t curious about what they said about me. I simply wanted to hear people’s voices. Reading books all the time wasn’t the best way to pass time. Sometimes, while reading lines about magic or spirits that I barely understood, I felt so suffocated I wanted to scream. Especially on summer days when the door was shut tight, not a breeze slipping through.

I knew no one would scold me for opening the window. No one paid much attention to what I did anyway. The reason I hadn’t opened it, even when I was about to faint from the heat, wasn’t because of that.

“Put it here?”
“Not there—move it over here.”
“Ha… why not say so at once?”
“If you’re helping, can’t you just do it nicely?”
“I am helping. Just don’t make me do things twice.”

It was Enoch Hains grumbling, and the gardener clicking his tongue.

“Can’t you just flip it all upside down with your spirits or whatever?”
“Wasn’t maintaining the garden part of the job? That’s what I heard.”
“They say it’s the same as the late Marchioness’s garden.”
“That’s probably why they decided to sponsor me.”
“Still, spirit users are supposed to be… what’s the word… more nature-friendly, right? You know, like someone who plays with fairies.”
“Spirits and fairies are different.”
“I mean, as a figure of speech. But you and fairies… just impossible to imagine.”

If it had been about controlling monsters, maybe—but Enoch Hains with fairies was unthinkable. Perhaps Enoch thought the same, for he stayed silent, quietly criticizing the gardener.

This was why I hated opening the window. Below my balcony, the gardener and Enoch often—no, very often—talked.

Enoch used earth and wind spirits, and Father had ordered him to tend the garden. Maybe Father thought, since Mother had loved to touch the soil, Enoch would too. Knowing Father’s kindness to everyone but me, I believed that was the case.

Enoch often helped the gardener after studying. I disliked even hearing his voice, so unless it was midnight, I never opened the window. If I shouted at him to stop, I would only look like a mean girl bullying someone innocent.

Enoch Hains didn’t speak sweetly, but he got along well with people. With his cold face that seemed uninterested in anyone, he still remembered every servant’s name and asked after their well-being, even when there was no special reason.

A sponsored spirit user personally taken in by the Marquis, with a guaranteed future and sharp enough to handle difficult studies—there wasn’t a single person who disliked Enoch Hains.

Except me.

I wanted to be Enoch Hains. To receive Father’s, my sister’s, and my brother’s trust and expectations. To return more than what was invested in me. To help the gardener tend Mother’s garden. To exchange warm greetings, thoughtful words, and playful teasing.

But instead, I could only stab Enoch with sharp words, jealous of him and ashamed of myself for it. Even knowing how pathetic that was, I couldn’t stop envying him. Sometimes, anger burned so much that tears came out.

At fifteen, I had no way of handling emotions that shook me like a storm. I burned hot like fire, then after throwing it all out recklessly, sank into self-loathing. I wanted someone to hold my hand, but I hated pity more than death. I couldn’t understand myself—how could anyone else?

So I locked myself away in my room, sure no one would knock. And I also knew that, eventually, the suffocation would drive me to open the door on my own.

“Hey. I hear you breathing.”
“……”
“Does that window even bring in air like that?”

I ignored the voice leaking in through the cracked window. Answering felt like losing.

“Did you eat something?”
“……”
“If you sulk and don’t eat, you’re only hurting yourself.”
“……”
“You’re not even that strong… I’ll bring you lime and ice at least, so drink it.”

Why did the sound of Enoch Hains clicking his tongue feel so loud?

I wanted to yell back that I didn’t need it, but I held it in. Answering would mean losing. He was only three years older, but he still felt more adult than me. Yet he was still a boy. He surely knew I was being childish, refusing to reply—but even so, he must have been annoyed.

“You like lime, don’t you, Florence?”

Only you know that I like lime, Enoch Hains.
The only other person who cared about my tastes had been my late grandmother.

“Stubborn as always…”

With a sigh, Enoch finally walked away. He could have left me alone, but instead, he went and brought back neatly cut lime, ice, and water. He even checked carefully if I had eaten. I never turned to look at him—I didn’t want him to see me drenched in sweat.

The moment he left, I tore off my socks and shoes, flung the ribbon to the floor. Sticky sweat clung to me, making everything unbearable. My room, the farthest and darkest corner of the mansion, never got wind or sunlight, making it worse.

Only lime and iced water were left behind.

I chewed a slice of lime. It was so sour my face scrunched, but it loosened the tightness in my chest a little. Instead of drinking the water, I pressed the cold glass against my cheek. My flushed skin cooled with a sting.

I had always liked lime. Sour fruits were my taste. That hadn’t changed.

There was no reason why lime was my favorite fruit. It just was.

“The ice all melted,” Laila said, shaking the glass. The ice had shrunk smaller than her pinky nail—only water remained. She sniffed the glass and said:

“Too much sour stuff will hurt your stomach.”
“I’ll eat later with a meal…”
“But right now you’re empty. Eat something first if you’re going to drink that.”
“I told you, I have no appetite.”

Summer was hot, humid, and exhausting.

“It’s your turn to prepare the meal, Florence.”
“I know, I’ll do it… I will…”

The sunbed by the garden was far too comfortable. The shade had a nice breeze, and the rattan felt cool. Honestly, I didn’t want to move.

“No excuses. Get up.”

Laila kicked me until I rolled off, then stole my spot. Groaning, I stood.

“Ugh, I really hate summer…”
“You love it.”
“What? No way. It’s so hot I could die. How could I love it?”
“Every time, you complain and complain—but you wait for it. This is already your fourth summer, don’t pretend you don’t know.”
“That’s a misunderstanding.”

I truly hated summer. I just liked limes.

Laila ignored me, smirking.
“Go prepare the meal.”

It had already been four years since I left Redamas.
The fourth summer was passing.