5.
“I… I don’t have any friends.”
Anita has no friends her own age. Of course, she wasn’t always this isolated.
Before moving to this house, she lived in a place that had been home to her family since her great-grandfather’s time. Everything that made up her world—relatives, teachers, friends—was anchored in that city. But while their roots were deep, her father looked at that city with nothing but contempt.
[“Vincent! Our business began here. It is too early to abandon it. Don’t you realize we could pass it on to the next generation?”]
[“No, Uncle, your thinking is flawed. We must reach a major hub like Shavalon before the opportunity slips through our fingers.”]
[“Why must you be so reckless!”]
[“The silver mines are dry; there is no need to stagnate. In a city teeming with people, we will acquire information faster and more efficiently.”]
[“Vincent! You are throwing away the wealth our ancestors bled for, all on a whim….”]
[“It is not I who throws it away, but you and the other elders! I refuse to stand by and watch this decay. Do not try to stop me.”]
Everyone opposed him, yet her father broke away from his hometown to relocate. That was only two years ago.
“My father doesn’t have a title. That’s why the other children don’t want to associate with me.”
Since arriving in Shavalon, her father had staked his reputation on aristocratic connections. At first, Anita hadn’t held any particular prejudice toward the nobility, but that had changed.
To them, she was nothing more than dirty, dull-witted livestock. For the first time in her life, she felt pure, unadulterated hostility. The sensation was a shock to her system.
“S-so….”
*Don’t be kind. If you’re going to leave, just leave quickly.*
Silence descended on the room, so heavy and awkward that she worried she had overstepped. It was Claunia who shattered the quiet.
“I don’t live here; I’m from the Hespain Kingdom. I only visit Shavalon once a year. Because I have no friends, I’m forced to spend my time with that social misfit. It really is a miserable ordeal.”
She flashed a bright smile and gripped Anita’s hands tightly.
“I was just about to go insane. This is great, Anita! From now on, let’s be friends!”
“…With me?”
“Yes! I’m Anita’s first friend. Right? Right? Say yes!”
A piece of the nanny’s cookie—she hadn’t even noticed when she’d finished it—vanished into Claunia’s mouth.
“But this is delicious. Where did you buy it? Won’t you tell me?”
She spoke with such velocity that Anita had no time to respond. Claunia looked at her with eyes that sparkled like dew on a blade of grass.
“I had so many things I wanted to do if I ever made a friend in Shavalon! First, we’ll ride the Ferris wheel by the fountain plaza, and then at the fancy restaurant next to it….”
Her lips continued to chatter, even as she swallowed a third cookie.
*Did I hear that right? A friend? Someone wants to be friends with me—me, the girl everyone avoids for being ‘dirty’?*
It was from that day on.
Anita began staying at the Edenbahir ducal residence every late winter. It was a vast, beautiful paradise where red poinsettias bloomed, and where Claunia and Lancelot waited.
“Anita! Anita is here, Lancelot! Wow. How have you not grown a single inch in a whole year?”
Claunia’s greeting always began with a fervent hug. To Anita, she was a small golden bird chirping lovely songs.
“Look at this map. While I was waiting for you this morning, I played a game with Lancelot guessing the names of countries, and I got nine out of ten wrong.”
“Really? Who did?”
“Me!”
Being with Claunia was always joyful and lively. Any serious trouble felt trivial when she was near.
“It must have been hard for Lancelot, too. Isn’t that right, Lancelot…?”
But Lancelot was different.
“Hey. Anita is asking you something. Answer her.”
He did not seem to regard Anita with any pleasure. It was an attitude so transparent that anyone with eyes could see it.
“Ugh. He’s always like that. Forget it, let’s go play!”
“But….”
“I said forget it. He can’t go out anyway; his health is poor. It rained yesterday, so let’s go find hibernating earthworms and play with those.”
Perhaps that was why Anita found Lancelot’s presence so daunting. Even when they shared the same room, he treated her as if she were air. If forced to speak, he would offer only an expression of weary annoyance.
“*Cough.*”
When his fever spiked, he disappeared into his rooms, unseen for days. Her father had explained that the sickly are often sensitive, and Anita had tried to understand.
But there was a winter when he was ill for an exceptionally long time.
Feeling unsettled, Anita took it upon herself to bring him some stew she had cooked, carefully mimicking the recipe while watching the anxious kitchen maids.
“Um, if you’re feeling ill, would you like to try this? It’s a stew my father makes. It has ginger in it, so….”
“I won’t eat it.”
She had expected a rejection, but it was sharper than she’d anticipated. Yet, perhaps she had become accustomed to his biting coldness. Anita placed the bowl on the table as if nothing had happened.
“It’s tastier than it looks. It doesn’t require much chewing, so it should be easy to swallow.”
Lancelot didn’t even turn his head, his gaze fixed on his book.
“Just in case… I’ll leave it here.”
About thirty minutes later, while she was solving a puzzle with Claunia in the next room, she heard the maid’s voice.
“Did you call, young master?”
“Clear away that stew. It smells.”
Anita’s hands, busy with the puzzle pieces, froze. A brief spike of hurt pricked her, but she quickly regained her composure.
*When he’s truly sick, he must have no appetite. I only made him feel burdened. Let’s not take it to heart. Expecting something in return isn’t true kindness. Who knows, maybe Lancelot just hates ginger.*
As always, only Claunia erupted in complaint on her behalf.
“Ugh. I told you, didn’t I? That he absolutely wouldn’t eat it? He hates everything—noisy things, smelly things, anything the slightest bit boisterous.”
Anita smiled awkwardly at her friend.
“He might be feeling worse today. He isn’t used to home-cooked food.”
“He acts like he’s some great prince! Of course… he does have a status that rivals one… but still, he isn’t a prince!”
Just as Claunia was gnashing her teeth, a rhythmic tapping echoed at the door.
*Knock, knock.*
“Claunia.”
Anita stood up even faster than Claunia. It was the Duke of Edenbahir.
“Claunia, Anita. The Great Mistress has arrived. Come out and pay your respects.”
The Great Mistress?
Claunia stood slowly, dusting off her knees without a hint of warmth.
“The Great Mistress is my mother’s mother and my uncle’s mother. She and my uncle have a terrible relationship, so we call her ‘The Great Mistress.’ That’s a secret, okay?”
Her mother’s mother and the Edenbahir matriarch….
*‘That means she is the Duke’s mother.’*
If that were the case, as a guest, Anita was expected to pay her respects.
The two headed to the parlor. The Great Mistress had an appearance that was, to put it mildly, aristocratic, and to put it bluntly, fastidious. Unpleasant memories threatened to resurface—the voices of those who had once called her a mongrel.
*‘No, it’s okay. It’s rude to judge someone you’ve never met. Just be careful.’*
Claunia skipped ahead, greeting the elder spiritedly.
“Hello, Great Mistress!”
A soft smile bloomed on the woman’s otherwise cold face.
“You’ve grown, Claunia. It would be no exaggeration to call you a full-fledged lady now.”
*See? First impressions are just impressions,* Anita thought, feeling a surge of misplaced courage.
“Thank you! This is my friend. Introduce yourself, Anita.”
“Hello. I am Anita Boellony….”
The words died in her throat.
There wasn’t even a cursory glance cast her way. The Great Mistress passed by her naturally, as if Anita were nothing more than a shadow in the hall.
It was absolute, chilling disregard.