IDWP 3

Chapter: 3

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying on a bed.

“…Haa.”

A deep sigh escaped me on its own.

“My memories are unstable too. What a mess.”

Well, I had returned to the past—something like a few errors in my memories wasn’t all that strange.

Someone who saved me, I think.

Not remembering who it was left me uneasy and frustrated.

I let out another long sigh and rubbed my face.

“Right now, my lost memories aren’t what matter.”

What I needed to focus on was the fact that I’d been given a chance for revenge by returning to the past.

“What kind of revenge would be most effective?”

Now that I knew the truth of my birth, should I go back to the Duke of Hexwood’s household and reveal that I was their real daughter?

Or should I erase the very foothold Elodie could stand on?

“No. Unless I can cry, it’d be hard for them to fully believe me even if I claimed to be the duke’s daughter.”

When I turned my head, I saw my own face reflected in the mirror—frozen in a blank expression.

I still looked so sorrowful that it seemed like tears would fall if someone so much as poked me, but no matter how hard I tried, not a single tear came.

“So this is what it meant to have my sorrow taken.”

I could still feel the emotions, but their physical manifestations were gone.

A face twisted by grief, reddened eyes, falling tears—all of it had been handed over as the price of a contract.

“That means I can’t become either a duke’s daughter or a saint anymore.”

If I was going to take revenge on Elodie, I would do it with my own strength. I had no desire to rely on those who had mocked my death and rejoiced in it.

Nor did I want to stand by their sides, smiling foolishly and pretending the past had never happened.

Let’s organize my thoughts.

Perhaps because she knew the future, Elodie had surrounded herself with exceptional people.

The crown prince, a swordmaster and her fiancé; a priest hailed as the next pope; even a man who would go on to become the Mercenary King.

She had deliberately drawn people who would be useful to her into her circle.

“This life probably won’t be much different.”

Being rejected by those I wanted to grow close to—or even being abandoned by those I thought were my people—wouldn’t be such a bad direction either.

But I can’t rely on them blindly. To use others, I first need power and influence of my own to protect myself…

There was exactly one group, at this point in time, capable of standing against not only Elodie, but also the Duke of Hexwood’s family, the Temple, and the imperial family.

If it’s around now, then…

“Oh my, Ria! You’re awake!”

Startled by the nickname I hadn’t heard in a long time, I turned my head to see a middle-aged woman entering the room.

Ria.

A nickname only my mother had used in my previous life—one I had missed dearly.

Her dark navy hair was swept up high, her eyes a similar shade. Wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and mouth spoke of passing years, yet her gentle features couldn’t hide the worry filling her face.

“Your fever wouldn’t go down—I was so frightened. I was really worried about you.”

The woman sat beside me and dabbed at the corners of her eyes with her sleeve, pouring out her distress.

“You’re all I have, you know. If something had happened to you too, I can’t even bear to imagine it!”

Seeing her tears, an image surfaced in my mind—a navy-haired puppet in a puppet show, kidnapping a baby doll.

As she buried her face in her hands and even began to sob, my heart grew cold.

So this is the nanny who kidnapped me.

When I didn’t react, she lifted her head and examined me closely.

“Phew, thank goodness. Your fever’s gone down.”

The anxiety that had lingered on her face vanished the moment she confirmed my safety.

She stroked my cheek and asked,

“Your pillow’s damp. Did you have a nightmare?”

As I hesitated over how to answer, her sharp gaze swept the room.

“There’s nothing.”

Her quiet mutter was tinged with disappointment.

As if to prove her earlier worry had been an act, naked greed gleamed clearly in her eyes.

Remember this, Ria. Never cry in front of anyone. Never.

I couldn’t remember exactly when, but from a very young age she had whispered those words to me with unwavering firmness, like indoctrination.

Her insistence that my tears were different from everyone else’s—and that I must never let it be discovered—grew with me, becoming shackles that bound my life.

If this woman hadn’t kidnapped me, would such a tragedy ever have happened?

Resentment welled up inside me, and I lowered my head.

“Ria?”

Having failed to obtain her “pearl,” and now seeing that her usually obedient daughter wasn’t paying attention, she seemed irritated.

“It’s nothing. But why do you look so down? Don’t tell me it’s because I stopped you from working?”

She continued with the nagging I hated.

“Just because you passed the trainee maid exam doesn’t mean you’re guaranteed to become a lady’s maid later. Why can’t you understand even when I explain it to you?”

At her words, I finally realized exactly how old I was now.

I was fifteen when I first passed the trainee maid exam at the grand ducal household. Then this must be early summer, when I’m fifteen.

“You said yourself that you can’t focus on work if you’re not in your mother’s arms. Do you really want your mother to be so worried about you that she can’t do anything?”

Hardly the sort of things one should say to a daughter who had just collapsed and woken up.

“You still need your mother’s protection. I’m out there working day and night because of you—don’t you understand that yet?”

Her words made it sound as though everything was my fault. I almost let out a hollow laugh.

“You’re different from others. If your secret gets out, do you think people will leave you alone? They’ll point at you, curse you, call you a monster, and shun you. You might never see me again. Is that what you want?”

Now I knew the truth—she had been afraid that the secret of my tears would be exposed, and had tried to isolate me because of it.

“How many times have I told you? If you mix with others, no matter how careful you are, they’ll find out. So don’t think about working—just listen to your mother.”

This woman, whom I had loved my whole life thinking she was my mother, was the root cause of my life being utterly ruined, all for the sake of her own greed.

“You know you’re all I have. I don’t want to lose you.”

That was why everything she said now felt ridiculous.

“Ria, I understand how upset you are. I know you worked hard to prepare because you wanted to make me happy. But no matter how I think about it, until you can fully control your emotions, it wouldn’t be good for you to go out and work.”

When I still didn’t respond, she must have thought her persuasion insufficient, because she stood up.

“You want to live a normal life like everyone else, don’t you? I’m sorry I gave birth to you like this.”

Then she bent down, pulled me into her arms, and said,

“You may hate me right now, but every choice I’m making is for your sake. Trust your mother and follow me.”

Yes. Not a single one of those choices was the right one.

Choosing a life of isolation under my mother’s opposition, and later living almost estranged from her at Elodie’s advice—none of it had truly been my choice. I had simply been swayed by the sly words of others.

“If you want to cry, it’s okay to cry as much as you like. If that helps you feel better, then cry in your mother’s arms as much as you want.”

Even now, she subtly revealed her own greed. It was absurd.

I felt so disgusted I thought I might throw up.

“Ria, hmm?”

For the sake of a smooth departure later, it might have been better to simply humor her.

Then why don’t I want to?

I was suffering so much, my insides burning away—yet even if it was just an act, watching her smile like that made irritation surge up.

“Actually…”

Half of it was deliberate.

“I can’t cry anymore.”

And half of it was impulsive.

“It’s like I’ve completely dried up.”

“What?”

Facing her expression of disbelief, I repeated it clearly.

“It’s like the well has dried up. Not a single drop comes out. I think it might be because of the fever I had.”

Seeing her look as though she might scream at me to stop lying made it hard to suppress my laughter.

Ah, yes.

Now that I’d seen that expression, I didn’t regret it at all.

“Please don’t worry too much. I’m sure I’ll be fine soon.”

I gave an answer that, in my memories, would have satisfied her, and leaned into her arms.

But she hurriedly pushed me away.

“What are you saying? That you can’t cry?”

“I mean exactly what I said.”

“Then why can’t you cry?!”

As she grabbed my shoulders and shook me, shouting, I widened my eyes in feigned surprise.

“Why are you acting like this, Mother?”

Losing her composure over something like this—I couldn’t understand it.

She’s reacting more strongly than I expected.