“I’m sick of this. I want to join the Convent already.”
This country had an institution called the Convent, where noble ladies could find shelter. Many women who couldn’t get married for whatever reason spent the rest of their lives there as nuns. The nuns lived in honorable poverty, but I felt like I could adapt fairly easily since my lifestyle at the House of Evantail wasn’t exactly luxurious. I had to wear my grandmother’s hand-me-down dresses and timeworn accessories. My mother practically forced them on me, claiming that they were of high quality and exactly my size. My coats, bags, and even shoes were my grandmother’s; I didn’t have a single personal possession.
According to my household’s values, the heavy and bulky dresses of a century ago were of good quality, while the lightweight modern dresses were flimsy and of poor quality. As a result, I’d been dressed in my grandmother’s clothes for several years now. The same was true for the dress I’d worn during Count Lugre’s party. The bulky dress’s formerly white silk had yellowed over time—possibly due to improper storage—making its old age apparent at a glance.
Moreover, while my grandmother’s hair had been black, mine was a shade of silver close to white, and my complexion was also on the lighter side. As one might imagine, dressing in white with my natural features left me looking like a pure-white statue. When I’d stood among Count Lugre’s brand-new tablecloths, even someone who paid close attention would have barely noticed me, and only because my dress’s yellow tint was slightly out of place. I was the odd one out in the gathering of brilliantly dressed ladies. Anyone putting a little thought into it would have realized there was no chance a count’s son would choose such a dowdy woman as his future partner.
By the way, before being told to court the count’s son, I’d been forced to participate in the contest for the position of the second prince’s consort, but I’d been knocked out without even getting to speak to the prince in question. The memory still left a bitter taste in my mouth. I didn’t want to go searching for a marriage partner ever again. I just wanted to stay holed up inside.
Please just send me to the Convent, I beg you.
However, my father—whose pride was the one thing he had an endless supply of—would never give up on getting me engaged. Even if I stayed single, he’d consider sending his daughter to the Convent a disgrace to our house.
What’s the big deal? My brother will succeed him as marquess no matter where I end up. Don’t expect anything from your worthless daughter.
The maids arrived some time later to change my clothes and remove my makeup. It took several of them to carry the heavyweight dress I’d been moving around in all by myself.
“I’m sick of dealing with engagement turmoil. I only make miserable memories no matter where I go.”
With my body now unencumbered, I lay down on my bed and opened the book I’d left by my pillow. I enjoyed reading because it helped me escape my unpleasant reality. I’d read every last book on the bookshelves. The one I was reading at the moment was a bulky magic tome I’d ordered from the town bookstore.
In this country, everyone could use exactly one kind of magic. Many nobles got an appraisal at the church at an early age. Appraisal was a type of magic that could determine what kind of magic others possessed. People who could use that magic were called appraisers and were recruited by the church. They were guaranteed an above-average lifestyle in exchange for examining visitors’ magic.
Our territory had a small, old church in it. When I was little, my parents had taken me to the appraiser there who’d apparently said, “Her magic is one that can reinforce things,” after looking at me. I had little memory of the event, but in any case, my magic was called “matter reinforcement.” It was unusual yet plain and deemed not particularly useful. My household was generally apathetic toward magic, and although my magical education had been neglected, I could at least reinforce the objects on my person. Magic that could change someone’s size or let them transform into other people or animals was highly valued, while magic that could manipulate nature itself was said to be the most outstanding. According to legend, healing and purification magic beyond our understanding used to exist too.
While I was running away from reality by immersing myself in the magic tome, the door opened and a woman with thick makeup—just like the kind I’d had on earlier—walked briskly into my room. She was a woman in her prime, wearing a grim expression and glasses with pointy silver rims—my mother.
I’d appreciate it if you at least knocked.
Unfortunately, my mother had never once respected my wishes. She glanced around my room, cramped with large furniture, and marched in front of the old sofa where she struck a daunting pose. Having my tall mother towering over me was awfully intimidating.
“Good grief, I can’t believe you simply backed down all dejected after the engagement was rejected, you pathetic excuse of a daughter! Show some more grit!”
After my father, the servants, and my younger brother, it was my mother’s turn to unload a pile of complaints onto me. It was generally the same kind of lecture every time, so I ignored her and reviewed what I’d just read in my head.
She’s still talking, huh? Does she never get tired?
A short time later, my mother finally came to a conclusion as she desperately gasped for air.