~Chapter 73~
※ This chapter contains some violent scenes. Please keep that in mind.
Shariette’s room was so large, it felt like two rooms could fit inside.
And inside it, there was yet another smaller room.
Stopping in front of it, Shariette turned around.
“Lady Anette, what brings you—”
Suddenly, Anette shoved her into the inner room.
And then—
Smack!
Shariette’s head snapped to the side.
“Dare to lift your head? You? How dare you?”
The merciless slap instantly left her cheek swollen and red, a long scratch from sharp nails marking across it.
Smack!
“Do you like it? Does it make you laugh?”
Smack!
“You filthy little rat…!!”
This time, instead of a slap, Anette grabbed her by the hair and yanked hard.
“You didn’t bring a knight with you today, huh? Why? Did you think I was easy? Thought you could handle me alone? Hm? Answer me, Shasha!”
Shariette’s vision flashed again and again. Her cheeks burned as if set on fire. Her head spun from being yanked so many times.
From the way Anette pulled her hair, the rhythm of her strikes, the tone of her voice, the words she used—Shariette recognized it all.
“Blanche.”
Blanche Argen.
If it wasn’t the same person, it would make no sense.
Since the very first day in the garden, Shariette had seen the shadow of her half-sister in this “flower-like healer.” And ever since then… always… repeatedly…
Though she knew they were different people, her body remembered too well. Every instinct told her this was Blanche.
That was why she had convinced Janet to wait outside, saying, “If I don’t come out in thirty minutes, come in.”
And there was another reason—
“Lady Anette asked if you could come to her room.”
It was the first time since Anette Maze had stayed here that such a request was made.
The servant delivering the message had hesitated.
“I think… Lady Anette is very lonely. And since she may become the young duke’s fiancée in the future, wouldn’t it be good for you to get close to her?”
The servant had no malice. His words were only meant as kindness, for both sides.
But Nixia had overheard. She nearly exploded with rage until Shariette, Heron, and Janet held her back.
Still… the servant’s words weighed on Shariette’s chest like a heavy stone. She wanted to push that stone away.
She had thought Anette would never reveal her true nature before others. And her guess was correct—too correct.
‘She died. Blanche definitely died. How could she be alive… as Anette Maze?’
The same habits, the same tone, the same cruel violence—this was no mere resemblance.
First the cheek. Then the hair.
Next would be—
“Not kneeling? How dare you look straight at me?”
Anette kicked the back of her knees. Just as Shariette expected.
‘And then—the hand.’
As Shariette fell, she caught herself on the floor. But Anette’s heel came down on her hand, crushing her fingers, grinding them.
This wasn’t “similar.” It was identical.
Shariette let her body go limp. To keep her neck from breaking in Anette’s grip, she had to relax completely.
Anette shook her violently.
“You talked so proudly before. Why so silent now? Hm? Because your knight isn’t here? Speak, Shasha! Bark at me like before!”
At last, Anette flung her aside like a broken doll.
Shariette lay on the floor, unmoving.
“Oh. Now that looks like Shasha. For a moment I thought something was wrong—this white spiderweb hair, I thought you’d swallowed poison or something.”
Anette let out a short breath, then smiled with satisfaction.
“Why so quiet? You’re not drinking Silen poison anymore, are you?”
Silen poison.
No one but Blanche could have mentioned that here.
“Shasha, if you tell Noxian anything foolish, everything will be ruined.”
“You’ll recover soon enough. Drink it every day.”
Yes—this was Blanche. All the feelings, fears, and shadows finally made sense.
But one question remained:
‘How did she come back to life?’
A person’s head cut off, their body rotting—how could they live again, in another form? That was impossible for a human.
Anette pressed her heel on Shariette’s cheek.
“Surprised, Shasha? You should be. I died because of you—and here I am, alive in another body.”
Shariette’s eyes widened.
“Don’t pretend, you disgusting little rat.”
Anette crouched down and stroked her hair. Her touch was soft, but filled with domination, not affection.
“It’s your fault. You dragged in Rubellot, killed me, killed Mathias, killed Father, and wiped out House Argen. Tell me—did that make you happy?”
Shariette couldn’t answer. She couldn’t make a sound.
Was it because she had learned silence in front of Blanche? Because of the time spent under Silen poison? Or because of the crushing weight of guilt?
Anette sneered.
“Shariette, Verdette? You even put the rat and the rat’s mother side by side. How touching.”
Grinding her teeth, Blanche’s fury flared.
The name she had forced Shariette to throw away… the appearance she had forced her to hide… now brazenly displayed.
“You should have stayed a rat. I gave you a fitting name, but you bit the hand of your master and ran to serve another?”
“…Not… a rat.”
The weak voice slipped out.
“What?”
Shariette forced her lips to move.
“Not… a rat.”
From the day she first realized she wasn’t a thief, in the Rubellot library—until today, every night before sleep, she whispered to herself:
“I am not a rat.
I didn’t steal.
I am not a thief.”
She couldn’t say it boldly like Noxian, calling it “nonsense.” But at least this much, she could say.
Anette’s eyes gleamed with fury.
“…Say that again, Shasha. What did this mad girl just say?”
Shariette knew the rules.
Before Blanche, she should never argue. Never talk back. Never make a sound. Never provoke her.
But for the first time, she broke that rule.
“I… didn’t… steal… anything.”
Bang!
Anette slammed her head into the floor, stomping on her bleeding scalp with her heel.
“Hey, Shasha. You must be having fun with your new master, huh? Because of you, I’m not. Still, at least this body is healthy.”
“…This body.”
Even through her dazed consciousness, Shariette caught that strange phrase.
Anette clapped her hands once.
“Oh, by the way—do the Rubellots know you’re Argen’s illegitimate child?”
Shariette’s heart jolted.
“They don’t? Figures. If they knew, you’d be torn apart like me.”
At that moment, Shariette realized something chilling—her body, which should have been nothing but a husk, a puppet, a doll, was trembling with sensation.
Anette noticed and gently brushed her hair aside, whispering softly:
“Who knows? If you bring me details about Noxian Rubellot’s curse, maybe I’ll keep your secret.”
