DDP 11

chapter 11

So Velita leaned against the back door and eavesdropped on their conversation.

Eventually, because she found it all too frustrating, she couldn’t suppress her demonic instincts and suddenly stepped out.

“Up until then, I was staying in a room nearby.”

Velita spoke after pausing just the right amount, and Roman sighed lowly as though he had been waiting for her to open her mouth.

“Ah…”

Meanwhile, whether Roman reacted or not, Sylvester just stared blankly at Velita.

She’s only talking, and yet…

Velita was truly a demon with a gift for captivating people.

If ever there was someone who knew how to wield their appearance, it was her. To Sylvester, Velita right now looked like some indefinable traveler.

The mature image that only Velita possessed was nothing like that of an ordinary human being, and it made her seem like an unfortunate foreigner who had accidentally drifted into this shabby village.

In many ways, she was someone who didn’t belong here at all—almost like a mirage. Someone who might disappear and leave at any moment…

“……”

For a fleeting instant that almost felt eternal, that imperfect thought was broken when Hubil asked again:

“Nearby… you say?”

Velita gestured toward her portrait.

“Yes. I lost that while traveling, and when I traced its whereabouts, I ended up here.”

A faint, melancholy smile lingered on her lips.

“It was… quite precious to me.”

She was, after all, a demon who knew how to make full use of lies, the devil’s exclusive weapon.

“Oh my, to think you came all the way to such a miserable place…”

The truth was, the centuries she had lost were much closer to “time travel,” so technically it wasn’t a complete lie.

“…While I was here, I realized Sylvester was a better person than I expected, and we got along. We became lovers. I had nowhere else to ‘go back to’ anyway.”

Velita drove in the nail firmly. Practically spelling it out: I’m a woman with nowhere to return to, so stop prying into my business.

“Ah… so that’s your story.”

At that, Roman removed his hat and pressed it briefly against his chest. He gave a short introduction of himself, then smoothly pulled out a chair and sat right across from Velita.

He handed his hat to his servant, kept his eyes fixed on her, and even removed his gloves.

Then, pulling both of her hands into his own, he clasped them tightly.

The way he did all of this so naturally—Velita was dumbfounded.

“But is it really true? Even hearing it from your lips, I still cannot believe it. That such a lady would be in a place like this…”

Roman’s eyes drifted briefly over Velita’s surroundings before returning to her.

Well, Sylvester’s home really is in shambles… but I’ve lived through centuries in far worse.

Roman leaned toward her cautiously, as though he had something important to say.

At that instant, Sylvester’s eyes gleamed dangerously.

But since Velita wasn’t looking at Sylvester, she didn’t care. She simply offered her ear, and Roman pressed close, whispering secretly.

“Could it be… that painter is threatening you? If so, please, let me help you, my lady.”

Honestly…

His misunderstanding was set in stone. Velita leaned in to whisper back at his ear.

“No. I’m perfectly fine, viscount.”

I stay because I want to. She deliberately whispered with a tone that carried distance, then leaned back against her chair.

Once she pulled away, Roman seemed embarrassed. He coughed, adjusted himself, and leaned back with forced dignity.

“I see. I’m relieved to hear that.”

“Yes. I appreciate the concern, but your imagination has run too wild. Surely there’s nothing more to bring up?”

“Why would I raise an issue with you, my lady…?”

“In fact, I’ve already been getting interrogated enough, so I wasn’t feeling too great about it.”

With that, Velita cut him off, elegantly uncrossing her legs and rising to her feet.

The short exchange had told her enough. If she let this man linger, he’d only become troublesome.

“So, well… are you done with your commission? I’m not feeling well, so I’d like to rest.”

It was essentially an eviction order: You’re annoying, so leave.

Roman could not cling on once Velita had dismissed him. Though he was handsome, his greasy smile overshadowed it as he extended his hand.

“…Then I’ll send someone later. The work will take some time, so stay at our estate. I’ll send a carriage.”

The angle of his hand wasn’t asking for a handshake, so Velita did not move.

Then Roman took her hand himself and kissed the back of it.

“……”

Witnessing this, Sylvester wrapped his hand firmly around Velita’s left shoulder.

He made sure Roman couldn’t touch her further, guarding her as he glared and saw him off. Velita felt his grip tightening more and more on her shoulder.

“I look forward to the day we meet again, my lady. You must come!”

Climbing into his carriage, Roman waved so theatrically he could have been mistaken for an actor.

As the carriage departed, Hubil—who had been awkwardly stuck between Sylvester and the noble—also left.

Only then did Velita glance at the now-empty yard and give Sylvester a small laugh.

“Your hand’s all right, isn’t it?”

For a moment Sylvester misunderstood, thinking she meant the hand Roman had kissed. He almost said of course it wasn’t fine, then realized she was referring to his wounded hand cut by a blade earlier.

“…It’s nothing.”

Instead of looking at his wound, Sylvester quietly looked at Velita.

Before she had given him the key to hide her, Velita had treated the wound on his hand.

Thanks to their contract, he could use a little more strength than before.

Of course, a deep cut couldn’t be healed completely.

But when Velita used her power, the split flesh closed together, stopping the bleeding.

Thinking about how she had used her power for him filled him with gratitude, and he was glad she had just stepped up and handled the situation…

And yet, his mood was not good at all.

“…Wash your hands when you go in.”

The reason was clear enough.

He hated that another man had shown interest in Velita. He hated even more that someone had forcibly taken her hand and kissed it.

“I didn’t touch anything dirty.”

“But he kissed it.”

“Well…”

Velita looked down at the back of her hand where Roman’s lips had touched. It wasn’t as though he had slobbered all over it, but still…

“I guess… maybe I should.”

You seem more sensitive about it than I am. She muttered slyly and went into the washroom.

“…Haa.”

Sylvester watched her retreating figure with heavy eyes.

Earlier, when he thought she resembled a mirage, it wasn’t unfounded.

Velita was radiant and confident wherever she went.

Even in front of nobles, she could say whatever she wanted, never cowering, and calmly respond no matter what was said.

Even when Roman leaned in close, whispered at her ear, and even kissed her hand, she hadn’t flinched in the slightest.

Couldn’t she have just pushed him away a little?

So, for someone like Velita, who could handle anything alone, he probably wasn’t necessary at all.

If she left him one day, like a mirage disappearing, it wouldn’t even matter much.

She might even feel freer without me.

“……”

Velita was, in every way, someone completely different from him.

Sylvester trudged to the table and slumped over it, propping his chin in irritation. Somehow, he felt like he had lost—to both Roman and Velita.

He couldn’t get the scene of them together out of his head.

That infuriating hand kiss, the secretive closeness, and Velita’s equally intimate responses.

I’ve never kissed her hand before.

Sylvester’s eyes darkened ominously.

I’ve never whispered so closely either.

Of course, if he were nitpicking, he and Velita had shared far more intimate contact.

Before Roman and Hubil had arrived, their tongues had tangled, saliva mixed, even blood was exchanged.

And earlier still, they had shared passionate nights together.

Still… I don’t like it.

What did it matter what he and Velita had done together?

When faced with greasy Roman and tolerant Velita, none of it comforted Sylvester.

He recalled her voice, the one that lied so smoothly.

“Yes. I lost that while traveling, and when I traced its whereabouts, I ended up here.”

It was such a convincing excuse.

“It was… quite precious to me.”

A woman traveling alone.

Perhaps she had once been given the portrait as a gift, lost it, and after much searching, ended up here…

“……”

…A gift, huh.

Sylvester’s gaze drifted to the portrait propped against the wall.

Then that means someone else painted Velita before I did.

When Hubil had first given him the painting, he had been extremely curious about who had painted such a masterpiece.

Later he became curious about who the subject was, why the portrait had been commissioned, and under what circumstances.

But he had never wondered much about how old it was, or what kind of relationship existed between painter and subject.

After all, it had seemed like just some antique with an unknown origin.

And yet, without realizing it, he had begun painting Velita himself.

A work that should have taken three or four days stretched out over months of painstaking effort.

He recalled the features of the now-lost portrait.

The colors were faint and murky, suggesting natural pigments. A glaze had been applied over it, which meant it was very old.

Who could have painted it?

How long ago—perhaps in an age when pigments were even harder to come by—had someone captured Velita in a portrait?

And why was she trapped inside it?

“……”

The thought left him unsettled.

He shook out his hair roughly, trying to think.

If someone painted her portrait, were they simply commissioned? Or were they close? Family, a friend, perhaps a muse…?

But then why was she trapped in that portrait, one someone close had given her?

Sylvester ruffled his bangs harshly. His mood soured.

Velita had too much of a past he knew nothing about.

He didn’t know why her portrait had been painted, nor why she had been trapped inside it.

“…You don’t look anything like her.”

“I’ve never comforted anyone before, so I wasn’t sure how. Sorry. I’m sorry you don’t look like her…”

And on that day, when Velita emerged from the portrait—

“Huh?”

“I said, you don’t look like her.”

He still didn’t know why she had cried.

“What are you doing?”

It was then.

“Ah.”

Sylvester flinched at the chill as Velita placed her freshly washed, cold hand on the back of his neck.

He must have been too lost in thought to notice her approaching. Looking up at her, he murmured her name.

“Velita.”

“What are you thinking so hard about?”

The playful face before him overlapped with the tearful one from that day. Sylvester faltered.

“Just… things.”

“Roman, was it? Don’t worry about that man. Nothing will come of it.”

There was something he wanted to ask, but his throat tightened as if blocked. He hesitated.

“…That’s not it.”

“Then what?”

“……”

“What is it?”

He glanced around nervously. Should he even ask this?

“…It’s not really something good.”

“Say it anyway.”

Velita’s eyes urged him to spit out his curiosity.

“……”

Why did his throat feel so dry?

“…I just have one question.”

Ignoring the parching thirst, Sylvester scratched the back of his head.

“What is it?”

Finally, he mustered the courage to ask:

“Who was the one… who painted your portrait?”