“Ugh, it hurts.”
As I pushed myself up, Vincent was calmly changing his clothes. Seeing how composed he remained despite hearing me hit the floor, I realized he had stepped aside on purpose. I swallowed my rising bile with a sharp sigh.
I’d brought fresh bedsheets, but changing them was another ordeal. He refused to lift so much as a finger, so I ended up just draping the linens over him.
The physical exertion left me winded. When Vincent finished dressing and reached to pull the soiled sheets back over himself, I snatched them away and forced the clean ones into his hands. Thankfully, he covered himself without a fuss.
Good. Done. I left the laundry by the door, returned, and cleared the empty dishes. I wiped up the spilled dessert and mopped the sticky trail of rice porridge that looked like a jagged, beige path. After gathering the clutter from the floor, I finally began to sweep.
The rustling of the broom echoed in the silence. Vincent remained unnervingly still. He likely knew I wouldn’t bother him further. Thinking back to the days he used to shriek for me to leave, this silence was a significant change.
“Why are you here?”
“Pardon?”
He spoke suddenly. I jumped. It was unbelievable—he, who usually spat out only sharp commands like *Get out*, *Go away*, or *Don’t touch me*, was attempting a conversation. Was he ill? His complexion was pale, but he didn’t look feverish.
“I asked: why are you here?”
“……Because I need the money.”
“If I pay you, will you leave?”
“Why? Are you trying to bribe me into disappearing?”
“If I could.”
Does he want to flaunt his wealth? I’m truly grateful for the offer, but if this were a problem solvable by gold alone, I wouldn’t be suffering here under these conditions.
“Even if you chase me away, another maid will simply take my place, Master.”
“I will drive them all away.”
“And then they’ll just come back.”
“So you’re saying you won’t leave.”
“Yes.”
I swept again. He turned his head, tracking my movement.
“Do you like this mansion?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t thought about it.”
“Then do so. This isn’t a place for harborng vain dreams.”
Vain dreams, huh. I considered it for a moment, then shrugged. I had no intention of holding onto any.
“Where did you come from?”
“Pilton.”
“Pilton… You’ve come from quite far away.”
“It’s not that far. You just have to cross one mountain.”
There were times I traveled even further on my father’s errands. After walking for days, my calves would swell until I could barely stand. But even when I wanted to rest, Father and Alicia would never allow it. I was the only one who could manage the housework.
In a way, I felt more at ease away from home.
“It was fascinating, like an adventure. Just like the protagonists who set out on mysterious journeys in fairy tales.”
“What a dreamlike sentiment.”
“True. You can’t have such beautiful adventures in reality. But I still liked it. When I was young, I worked at the oldest bookstore in town. The owner was a kind soul, and thanks to them, I read many fairy tales.”
“You turned a child into a delusional fool.”
“Perhaps.”
But I still love books. Though I’m too old now to enjoy fairy tales, I love stories. They are windows into worlds I’ve never known—worlds I never dared to dream of. Whether they were lies or truths didn’t matter. Imagining the worlds within those pages was the only joy of my youth.
“I remember a passage, too: ‘When God creates and bestows you, you shall be drenched in blessings for your mere existence, so love without reserve. All of that shall pave the path before you.’”
“*The Sorrow of Love*.”
“Have you read it?” I asked, surprised.
He replied dismissively, “It’s a famous book. Even children read it.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You have poor taste.”
“Is that so?”
“It’s not a good story.”
That’s true. The ending is tragic. It isn’t that the protagonist dies; it’s an ending where they choose to abandon everything and live alone, leaving behind even the person they loved.
*Ah, it’s over now.*
The story ends with the protagonist saying that and walking into the vast sea alone. The image of them shedding everything that had tormented them and walking away felt strangely magnetic. If the end of my life ever comes, I want to say the same: *Ah. It is over now.*
“I actually liked that part.”
“…….”
After saying that much, I felt awkward. I wasn’t usually the talkative type, but I had been so relieved he was speaking to me that I had blathered on. I warily watched his reaction.
“D-do you have a book you enjoyed, Master?”
“I don’t read such trash.”
*Trash.* Isn’t reading considered a mark of refinement for a noble?
Alicia used to complain about the local lord’s son rambling about the books he’d read, calling it ‘cultivation.’ Nobles frequently visited the bookstore when I worked there; new arrivals always sold out instantly.
Vincent lay back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Thinking he might be trying to sleep, I stopped talking and focused on the floor.
“I haven’t read since I lost my sight.”
Ah. The realization hit me late. I looked at him; his closed eyes made him look drained of energy.
“There are books that the blind can read.”
“It’s not as if I can read every book.”
“Then hire someone to read to you.”
“So you’re telling me to go around and blabber about my condition to everyone?”
He was being cynical again. He was such a twisted person. Even if he hired a reader, it was obvious he would chase them away within a day. Then maybe I could ask someone I knew who understood the situation… Ah!
“Shall I read to you?!”
I couldn’t hide my excitement.
There was no way a mansion this large lacked a library. Why hadn’t I thought of that! I realized my mistake when his suspicious gaze shifted toward me. I suppressed my trembling heart and feigned calmness.
“If that is what you wish, Master.”
“With that pig-like voice of yours?”
“……I have never heard anyone say my voice was unpleasant.”
“Maybe everything else about you is unpleasant.”
“…….”
He latched onto my words with such ease. I felt like smacking him with the broom. However, I decided to take a step back. Now was not the time to clash, but to indulge him.
“You must be bored, having to sleep all the time. You don’t go for walks, you don’t even get out of bed. That’s why you feel lethargic. People need a routine.”
“Don’t beat around the bush. What is it you want to say?”
“How about you try listening to a book?”
“I can’t read.”
“That’s why I will read to you.”
“I refuse.”
The answer was instantaneous. I let out a deep, rattling sigh.
“I thought if you found a hobby, you might temper your anger a little…”
“Hey.”
“You don’t even think about the servants who are suffering… You just shout and throw things dangerously every time. Because of that, you’ve left a wound on a woman’s face… Yet I’ve held it in and let it slide… I don’t know what you’re so high and mighty about…”
“Hey!”
“It’s so sad, so very sad.”
I decided this was the moment to air every grievance. His hand groped the nightstand, but he had already thrown everything within reach; there was nothing left to launch. Watching him clench his fist, I forced a bright smile.
“Now, Master. Please listen carefully.”
*Ahem.* I cleared my throat. There was no response. He turned his back to me, but I opened the book with a cheerful heart.
“‘It was a day when the warmth of the sunlight seeped into the body.’”
“It’s boring.”
“The—excuse me?”
“I said it’s boring. Read something else.”
I thought he was asleep, but he had been listening. How could he judge it as boring after only one line?
“I’ve only read one line.”
“I don’t like that line.”
“Perhaps if you listened a little more…”
“Something else.”
“Then I will read something else.”
I calmly put the book down and picked up another. I had brought several, unsure of his preferences. I cleared my throat again.
“A young girl’s day begins with a walk in the garden.”
“Boring.”
“…….”
“Something else.”
I hadn’t even finished a single sentence, you bastard.
For the first time in a while, my insides were boiling. *Calm down.* The man in front of me is the Master who pays my wages. I took a silent, deep breath, suppressing my rage.
“Why aren’t you answering? Something else.”
“Yes. Understood. Something else.”
I picked up another volume.
“The young boy—”
“Boring. Something else.”
“Are you really going to be like this?”
I dropped the book onto my lap, my frustration finally bubbling over. But Vincent Bellunita was brazen.
“Is it wrong to call something boring when it is?”
“You don’t even listen before passing judgment.”
“I don’t need to hear it properly to know it’s garbage.”
“By what standard are you saying that?”
“Are you talking back to me? A mere maid, daring to?”
“…….”
When he put it that way, I was left speechless. How cowardly.
“There are no more books here. I have to go get more.”
“Then go get them.”
“……If there is a book you like, please tell me. I will bring that one.”
“I don’t read what I’ve already read.”
“At least tell me the kind of content you like. Or the genre.”
“I don’t have any.”
I heaved a deep sigh. It was clear he was retaliating for my earlier outburst. I had gone out of my way to be helpful, and for him to act this way… it was truly childish.
“What are you doing? Why aren’t you going?”
I ended up springing to my feet. I grabbed the three books I hadn’t been able to open and stomped out of the room, *thump, thump*. The library was on the floor directly below. I marched straight down the central staircase.
Stay calm. Now more than ever, I needed to be composed. The Master’s temper wasn’t anything new; I just needed to be a little more level-headed.
I entered the library and scanned the shelves packed with volumes, pondering what kind of stories he might enjoy. In truth, it was clear that no matter what book I brought, he would complain.
Still, I searched the shelves carefully. Then, my eyes locked onto one specific section.
“This is it!”
I pulled every single book from that shelf.