DDP 26

chapter 26

“The history isn’t that long. Since you only came out of the portrait recently, you might not know….”

“We’re here. This is the place—what do you think?” Sylvester asked as he stopped in front of a clothing shop.

“It might be hard to get something extravagant, but if you’d like, I could at least have a dress or two made for you.”

He muttered this in a regretful tone as he opened the shop door.

Clothes—why did he want so badly to buy them for her? He’d go broke just to get her some dresses.

‘Even if you don’t buy them, it’s not like I’d run away.’

Velita opened her mouth.

“I don’t like cumbersome things. Just something plain that I can put on and take off easily will do.”

Sylvester laughed aloud, and with that, the two of them entered the tidy shop.

Unlike in the old days, shopping for clothes was now a bit of a hassle for Velita.

Before, it had been enough to grab some suitable cloth, drape it around in a way that was easy to move in, or wear one of the simple one-piece designs that were already made.

But even though this wasn’t some boutique for royals or nobles, the shop staff clung to her, eager to coordinate and dress her.

Velita picked out two sets of comfortable clothing.

Sylvester tried to get her to choose more, but she brushed him off, saying that was enough. He insisted, though, and added one dress and a top-and-bottom set.

When they were about to leave after paying, Velita stopped him—What are you doing?—and picked out two outfits for Sylvester as well.

They had left Roman’s mansion and didn’t arrive back home until after noon.

Unpacking and walking to the city had already taken a while, and spending the afternoon shopping had eaten up even more time. Soon enough, their stomachs were rumbling.

They ducked into a small restaurant for a late meal. It was their first time dining out together.

With the sun blazing and the heat heavy, they managed to escape the hottest part of the day there. Afterwards, they strolled through the market a little longer under the excuse of helping digestion.

Only when they returned home with food for dinner did the evening shadows start to stretch. As Sylvester opened the door, he asked:

“Was it tiring?”

“Not really. There was so much to see, I was the one who wanted to walk around more….”

Sylvester carried the bags in and set them on the table. Velita followed and began sorting the goods they’d bought.

By now, he had a rough idea of where everything in the house belonged.

“This goes here, right?”

“Yes. And that one goes in that cupboard.”

He nodded and continued putting things away. While he was in the kitchen with the flour, Velita picked up a long box from the bundle.

When she opened it, out came a bottle of wine.

‘I’ve never seen him drink at home before.’

She’d had her share of wine and ale at Roman’s mansion, but Sylvester’s house had never had a single bottle.

“Where should this go?” she asked.

Sylvester poked his head out of the kitchen, saw the bottle in her hand, and grinned.

“Just leave it on the table. I bought it so we could have some tonight, if that’s all right with you.”

“I didn’t see you buy it. When did you pick this up?”

“When you were busy looking at that owl ornament in the workshop.”

Velita looked down at the bottle in her hand. As she turned it, his voice drifted over.

He didn’t know much about alcohol, but since they’d said it was sweet, he thought she might like it.

“You’re quick…. All right, then. Once we finish tidying up, let’s wash up and try it.”

Sylvester’s face lit up faintly with joy.

Though they’d bought quite a lot, it wasn’t anything extravagant.

After putting away the clothes and other small things, Velita announced she’d wash up first and went to the bathroom.

While she was gone, Sylvester finished tidying, then set the table with their dinner.

The golden sunset gave way to deepening dusk. The last red traces of daylight retreated behind the mountains, leaving the sky a deep navy.

When Velita came out, Sylvester told her she could eat first if she was hungry, then slipped into the bath himself.

But Velita wasn’t that hungry. Even though he’d said it was fine, she didn’t want to eat ahead of him, so she just waited, glancing once at the table he’d set.

Instead, she watched the fading light outside, the shifting colors of the sky.

Before long, Sylvester came out, toweling his hair.

“Were you waiting?”

Velita turned toward him. Instead of answering, she smiled faintly and handed him a glass.

Since she stayed quiet, Sylvester didn’t say more either. He sat across from her and took out the corkscrew that had come with the wine.

“They say it works like a lever.”

He drove the spiral into the cork.

“Did you buy that too?” Velita asked, pointing at the opener.

“They gave it for free. Even packed it in a box.”

A few pulls later, the cork popped free. Sylvester tilted the bottle toward her.

“So what made you buy wine?”

Velita naturally held out her glass. Sylvester filled it.

“No real reason. I just thought it’d be nice to share with you.”

She accepted the filled glass and reached out. He understood and handed her the bottle, then filled his own glass.

The truth was obvious—Roman. Roman had paid him generously, and always offered wine at meals.

‘I guess he wanted to drink at home too.’

Velita quietly poured his glass, then set the bottle down after it was half-full.

Sylvester looked at her. She raised her own glass in response, as if to say, See? I get it.

Their glasses clinked, a small but clear sound.

Velita sipped the fragrant wine. Sylvester drank just a little as well.

No words passed between them, but the silence was more comfortable than awkward.

Only the occasional sound of dishes being lifted and set down punctuated the air.

……

Dinner passed in quiet peace.

Then, just as the faint chirp of insects drifted in from outside, Sylvester finally spoke.

“…Velita.”

She lifted her head at his call, wine still in her mouth, her eyes questioning.

But Sylvester hesitated. As if the words were hard to say, he stalled, sipping his drink.

Velita swallowed and looked at him expectantly.

“At Roman’s mansion…” he began. His fingers toyed with the glass, the dark liquid sloshing.

“Do you remember the promise we made?”

His eyes left the glass and met hers.

Velita recalled the wager: if she won, she’d tell him about her past.

“….”

She remembered sprinting across the lawn until she was breathless, Sylvester arriving late with that bitter smile on his face.

And the glimpse of his past he’d shared, the smile in his eyes, the whim that had made her speak of her own.

“Yes,” she murmured.

“Back then, you seemed to have so many questions for me,” she added.

“….”

“Looks like you’ve finally decided what to ask.”

She thought to herself: answering might take a long explanation. She hated drawn-out talk.

What would he ask? Why had she come out of the portrait? How had she been trapped? Maybe he’d ask again about the artist who painted her.

‘All boring questions.’

She snorted and tossed back the rest of her wine. No wonder Sylvester had once said his own stories weren’t interesting.

She leaned back carelessly in her chair, the backrest catching her neck like a pillow.

Sylvester still didn’t speak. His hesitant eyes looked as if to ask permission. Velita raised her eyebrows as if to say, Well? Out with it.

He set down his glass. After long hesitation, he finally said:

“…I thought about it a lot. Like you said, there are so many things I want to ask. But since I can only ask one, I didn’t know which it should be.”

She lowered her eyebrows again and listened, arms folded.

He swallowed hard. His gaze fell, and he rubbed his face briefly. He seemed small, oddly timid.

Velita realized it was probably because she’d bristled at his questions before. Maybe he feared she’d snap again.

‘Well, it’s true—anything about my past is hard to answer.’

Still, seeing him look so cautious didn’t suit him at all. That big frame, that bold personality—why tiptoe like this?

She tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling. Fine, I won’t look at you. Ask if it makes it easier.

A light breeze drifted in. She sensed his gaze return to her.

“….”

He breathed in and finally said:

“…So this is what I want to ask.”

His wavering voice grew firm at the end.

“Velita.”

And then, with certainty:

“Who are you?”

The words struck her like a thunderclap.

She jerked slightly, her head bowing. Or perhaps she felt dazed. Her eyes met his steady gaze.

“….”

Something stirred inside her. Like a stone dropped into murky water, sediment rose in a cloud.

“You’re asking… who I am?”

She couldn’t grasp his intent. But more confusing was her own reaction—the way the question unsettled her. Her eyes wavered, her thoughts churned.

“Yes. I think that answer alone would explain the rest of what I’m curious about.”

His golden eyes pierced her.

Uneasy, she reached for her empty glass. Sylvester poured. She wished he wouldn’t stop—the question was too jarring.

‘Who am I…?’

She thought: I’m me.

But if asked to explain who that was—what could she say?

“I only know that you’re a demon,” he murmured as he stopped pouring. “But that alone doesn’t explain you.”

Velita was struck silent.

To explain who she was, she’d have to know what defined her. What was the essence of Velita? What set her apart from other demons?

If someone asked, What is Velita?—what could she point to?

“….”

She lifted her glass and sipped. The taste seemed different now.

I am… me.

She looked down at her hand holding the glass.

She was a demon.

But a demon who had lost her power—no different from a human.

If asked why she’d lost it, her memories went back to being trapped in the portrait.

She swallowed the wine.

Inside that portrait, she’d been devoured by darkness, powerless in the endless void.

All she could do was cling to the last shred of strength, praying the humans who knew her wouldn’t forget. Praying not to disappear.

And if asked why she’d ended up in that state…

“….”

She drained her glass in one go.

“…Velita,” Sylvester said worriedly.

“…More,” she demanded.

Wine overflowed at the rim, spilling down her lips. She wiped it away with her hand and shoved her glass toward him.

It wasn’t what he’d expected. He hesitated, but slowly refilled her glass.

Velita stared at the slow pour. A moment ago she’d wished it would never stop, but now it felt agonizingly slow.

She suddenly clasped his hand around the bottle and tipped it sharply, filling her glass to the brim.

“Velita!” he exclaimed, pulling back.

“No one’s forcing you. If it’s hard to talk about, you don’t have to,” he murmured, as though regretting asking.

But Velita didn’t back down. She tightened her grip on his hand, meeting his eyes.

“No. I’ll tell you.”

Her eyes shone with a stronger, deeper green than ever before.