#7.
For Hera, who had never once attended a social party, just wearing a party dress was enough to make her heart pound. So no matter what style it was, she would’ve liked it anyway.
“Hm, the ribbon’s not it. A thin gold necklace would suit better.”
But it still wasn’t enough for Cecilia. Half-lying on the sofa, Cecilia stood up and approached Hera.
As she personally untied the frilled ribbon around Hera’s neck, she said,
“You probably don’t know how proud I am of your pink hair, right? There’s no ornament in this world more perfect than this hair.”
Cecilia brushed Hera’s hair down along the curve of her neck.
Hera didn’t think Emilia’s hair color was anything special.
Sure, pink hair wasn’t exactly common, but compared to Cecilia’s lush, vivid red hair, it seemed almost plain.
“Never—under any circumstances—give away even a single strand of your hair to anyone. Got it?”
With a click, the cold gold necklace was clasped around her neck. Cecilia’s fingers withdrew from her skin.
“Especially not to someone like Marriott Laurent.”
“…Marriott Laurent?”
At the unfamiliar name, Cecilia smirked.
“Your poor memory turns out to be a blessing. You don’t even remember that name.”
To prevent further questioning, Cecilia started speaking with the servants about shoes.
For some reason, that name stuck in Hera’s mind.
Marriott Laurent. Marriott…
*
‘Wow… so extravagant.’
The ball held by Duke Anthony was as grand as his noble title suggested.
The Anthony family crest featured a pomegranate tree with three ripe pomegranates, and their family motto was: “Let each seed ripen and spread.”
‘This is my first ball ever—do I look awkward?’
Everything about the ball overwhelmed Hera: the beautiful music filling the hall, the hum of people’s conversations, the complex blend of perfumes in the air, the vibrant colors of the desserts, the uneven footsteps, the swishing of dresses, and even the slightly raised temperature caused by the number of attendees—it all came at her like a wave.
“Well, I guess it’s not bad. Right?”
Hera nearly lost herself in the atmosphere but was jolted back to reality by Cecilia’s cold assessment.
“They spent a lot of money, but it’s kind of tacky. I mean, Duke Anthony is already seventy—it’s too much to expect a refined sense of taste.”
Following Cecilia’s gaze, Hera saw a white-haired old man seated at the high table.
Even from afar, the luxurious texture of his blue coat was evident.
But regardless of the fabric’s quality, blue coats for men had long gone out of fashion.
“Good thing we look refined.”
Cecilia giggled mischievously.
Hera was wearing a delicate lilac-hued dress.
Ivory frills adorned the hem, sleeves, and neckline so lavishly that she looked like a well-crafted dessert.
Around her neck hung the thin gold necklace Cecilia had put on her.
The pendant was a high-quality pearl that split into several branches—perfectly matched with her dress.
“Well, if nothing else, the Anthony family’s white wine is excellent. You have to drink at least five glasses…”
“Cecilia!”
Just as Cecilia was whispering tips for enjoying a tacky ball, someone called her name excitedly and appeared.
It was a girl about Cecilia’s age, with a clear and flawless complexion.
“You said yesterday you wouldn’t be able to attend!”
“My sister woke up this morning. Sorry for worrying you.”
“Ah… Lady Emilia.”
When Hera turned around to face the owner of the voice, the girl’s expression darkened slightly.
‘She’s Cecilia’s friend… right?’
But Hera wasn’t sensitive enough to notice subtle emotional changes in others.
There was already too much new information to process—many things just slipped by her.
“This is Derilda, second daughter of the Baron of Buel,” Cecilia explained, closely observing Hera’s face.
She seemed to be hoping that recognizing an acquaintance might jog Hera’s memory.
Unfortunately, it was a false hope.
“I’m sorry. I don’t remember anything.”
Hera gently shook her head and offered an apologetic look to Derilda.
Though Derilda had every reason to feel hurt, she looked more relieved instead.
Of course, the emotion was so fleeting that neither Hera nor Cecilia noticed.
“It’s alright. We weren’t exactly close. Anyway, Cecilia—I have to talk to you.”
“What is it?”
“Just the two of us.”
Derilda gave a look indicating Hera was in the way, and Cecilia’s brows twitched in displeasure.
“Let’s talk later. I need to take care of my sister today.”
“Cecilia, please.”
A mist of tears formed on Derilda’s pale face.
Feeling instinctively that she should step away, Hera offered an excuse.
“Cecilia, I’ll go get some white wine.”
Cecilia, of course, knew it was just an excuse.
She pursed her lips in displeasure, then said in a worried tone,
“Make sure you come right back. Okay?”
“Okay.”
As Hera left, Derilda immediately began whispering rapidly.
Hera had barely taken a few steps before people began blocking her from overhearing anything between them.
“Oh my, Lady Emilia.”
“It’s been quite a while.”
While walking around the ballroom in search of white wine, several people recognized Hera and greeted her.
She returned their greetings politely, but one thing began to nag at her.
‘No one’s being friendly at all.’
Did Emilia not have any real friends?
She had already received greetings from more than a dozen people, but none of them asked how Emilia had been or treated her with warmth.
At best, it was just polite eye contact.
Some even seemed to avoid her gaze on purpose.
“I thought healthy people had lots of friends…”
To Hera, who had once been too sick to even step outside, having a healthy body had seemed like paradise.
She had imagined that with good health, she could have anything.
‘Emilia was such a fool.’
Instead of messing with prophecy books and strange contracts, she should’ve just made some friends.
After all, laughing until your chest hurt was a privilege only for the healthy.
“Ah!”
The moment Hera thought about the prophecy book—it appeared.
It must’ve been following her, hidden somewhere.
Spotting it floating in the air, Hera quickly snatched the book and hid it under her arm before anyone could notice.
[<The Black Tear of Baniol> has been discovered.]
Though she hid the book, the floating text in the air couldn’t be dealt with so easily.
Thankfully, it seemed no one else could see the glowing letters.
Even though they were clearly hovering in blue above her, no one gave it a second glance.
‘What does that mean?’
[Per the terms of the contract, the contractor must gather forty-four treasures and four sacred relics.]
She remembered reading that clause. But Hera desperately wanted to ignore it.
[The 38th treasure, <The Black Tear of Baniol>, currently exists within the mansion.]
The 38th? That meant Emilia had already stolen thirty-seven treasures.
If she were ever caught—even by accident—Hera would be forced to take the blame for all the crimes Emilia committed.
‘I’m not ready. I’ve never stolen anything in my life. Can’t I do it later instead?’
It was a pretty desperate plea.
The prophecy book gave no response for a while.
Hera was starting to believe it might actually consider her request—when new text popped up in front of her again.
Did it just look firmer in its intent than before, or was that her imagination?
[Please move to the right.]
Hera let out a deep sigh.
