Old Junk
WHERE HAD I GONE WRONG? Where exactly had my life swerved onto the wrong path…?
It wasn’t that everything had gone seamlessly to begin with. I’d never lucked out; I had to claw my way to success, since I wasn’t particularly talented. I honed what few strengths I did have so that, when the time came that I was chosen for something, I could unleash their full potential.
I achieved my wishes—outdid them, even. As a person worthy of being chosen, I managed to give the one who chose me exactly what she wanted.
I wonder—what exactly was so wrong with me?
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Life was filled with turning points. You could call those “fate” if you wished. After making such subconscious choices, I always noticed something—but, in most cases, that realization came too late.
The first turning point in my life was a prime example. I had no choice in that matter to begin with. Rather, I was caught in the tide; my fate had already been decided.
“Welcome to the family, Auld.”
The woman’s bright-red eyes pierced me with a gaze sharp as the reaper’s scythe. That, combined with her cloying, lung-crushing voice, made me feel like I’d just been handed my death sentence.
My first impression of Bellerose was that she was a garish, overstated woman. She did have a beautiful face, but that was her only virtue. However, our marriage was settled before the bride and groom had even met, and it proceeded without me like a runaway train. Still, a political marriage was the chance of a lifetime to me. Being chosen by the sole daughter of a duke had used up all my life’s allotted luck—that was what it felt like.
Even if there was no love between Bellerose and I, I thought we could at least grow attached. I’d probably been wrong to brace myself for the long haul, believing that things would improve if we became a couple little by little.
Was it strange that I wasn’t able to care about someone I’d married barely after saying “nice to meet you”? Oh—Bellerose, at least, truly did love me intensely. I felt a little guilty that I couldn’t return her feelings. Yet sometimes, for a faint, blinking, momentary flash, that guilt turned into hatred.
Bellerose bared her fangs at every woman who came near me. She was like a vicious beast; one bite left her prey torn into a thousand pieces. She ripped into our female servants, my male friends’ wives, and even ladies with whom I exchanged polite hellos. The weapon wielded by the duke’s only daughter inflicted fatal wounds on most who encountered it. I begged her many times to stop, but that only increased her tyranny. She insisted it was all for me, all because she loved me.
Little by little, cracks started to form. In our familial bond, in the love that should’ve grown between us. It shattered, falling in fragments as those cracks shot through our marriage. My common sense and morals took such a pounding that I couldn’t even remember what the final blow had been.
I can’t bear this anymore… No matter what I do, I can’t ever love her.
Given how Bellerose had left me parched and exhausted, meeting Elfa was like finding an oasis. She was always kind, always peaceful. She was all-accepting, like the holy mother. She had the smile of an angel and the heart of a goddess.
Meeting her was fate. I’d been put in this world to love her—I truly believed that. To me, Elfa was like paradise on earth. The more I loved her, the more my resentment of Bellerose mutated into bitter hatred.
I couldn’t stand the sight of her. I couldn’t stand her voice. I didn’t want to lay a finger on her. Elfa was the one I loved; she ought to have been the only one. The only warmth I ever wanted to embrace was Elfa’s.
If my father-in-law hadn’t said anything, I wouldn’t have even touched Bellerose.
“Make an heir,” he commanded. Have a baby with Bellerose. He didn’t care what the child’s sex was—it would prove useful regardless. Since he allowed me a mistress, he demanded that I do the bare minimum in return—that was how he presented it. That man, who’d devoted his entire being to his kingdom, had no regard whatsoever for an individual’s rights. And since he had direct influence on the king himself, who was I—the mere son of a duke by marriage—to complain? He was already very gracious to let me have Elfa on the side.
It was heartbreaking. I would calculate the days, meet Bellerose only to produce a child, then return without sleeping to the house where my true love resided. Unable to accept my grim reality, all I could do was beg forgiveness of Elfa and wallow in self-pity.
When I learned that Bellerose was pregnant, I felt nothing but relief that I was finally free. I pitied our unborn child, but I had no desire to hold a baby containing her blood in my arms. The infant only needed be healthy; then my duty would be over. That was all I wished for.
The baby girl resembled me so strongly, it made my stomach churn.
Her hair and eyes, the color of her skin and the shape of her lips—everything about her resembled a younger me. The thought that, inside the child, Bellerose’s genes were mixed with mine crushed any love I might’ve had for the baby into intense hatred.
I couldn’t stand the sight of Bellerose, nor her voice. I didn’t want to touch her. The force of that sentiment doubled the day my baby was born. When I heard that Bellerose was obsessed with the child, my hatred only grew harder and more powerful. Unyielding malice flowed through my veins. The word “hatred” couldn’t express the feeling.
I hoped she suffered. I hoped she ached. I hoped she lived her life crying and begging for forgiveness. My first daughter, Violette, was no longer even a child to me.
Then an angel descended into my arms. A sweet, pure-white angel resembling Elfa.
I named my beloved daughter Maryjune. But, come to think of it, I didn’t even know when or how Violette received her name.
My darling angel; my beloved goddess. With those two, my life was blissful. And with Violette beside her, even Bellerose was satisfied. The caveats were that I lived in a hovel of a villa and that I forced Elfa to live in shame as my mistress, but otherwise, I was very happy.
When I heard that Bellerose had died, I thought that I would become even happier.
With her out of the picture, I could make Elfa my wife. I wasn’t sure how my father-in-law would respond, but I knew there were no more children in the Vahan family, so his duchy was as good as mine. Bellerose’s father still wielded massive influence and power, but he wasn’t entitled to force me to stay a widower.
My father-in-law took care of Bellerose’s funeral swiftly. I was a little upset to find out about it after the fact, but since I received permission to remarry, all was well that ended well.
Now Elfa, Maryjune, and I could be a real family. I could be Mary’s father. I could give them the finest lifestyles.
When I told Elfa of Bellerose’s passing, she wept. She sobbed like a child, wailing and cursing the death of the woman who’d kept us apart. What a purehearted woman, beautiful both in body and soul. My eyes hadn’t deceived me—she was my intended. The one I was meant to devote my life to making happy.
I had my beautiful, gentle wife; my darling, intelligent daughter; and no problems in my work or family. I had the ideal life; a perfect family anyone would admire. I didn’t possess a shred of doubt that that happiness would last forever.
Where exactly had my life swerved onto the wrong path…?
Like snowballs rolling down a slope, little problems turned into calamities out of my control and bore down upon me. The biggest calamity tumbled toward me from who-knew-where before I could dodge it. When had that turning point in my life taken place?
Then the giant avalanche cleared, leaving a crushed oasis in its place. My beloved holy mother, my sweet angel—there were no traces left of the bright future I’d envisioned for us. The witch with the holy mother’s face cackled, and the angel lay on the ground, her wings torn off.
Ever since the day I’d seen Bellerose in Elfa’s smile, I’d lost every bit of the bliss I once had. The daughter Elfa desired was gone, and Mary would marry someone to pass on the Vahan bloodline. I could pray that love would grow between her and her chosen husband, but she no longer had the right to make the choice for herself.
My happy marriage with Elfa, Mary’s smooth school life, the day she would eventually fall in love and walk down the aisle—the future I’d painted in my mind had been locked tight, and I could no longer open it.
The key—Violette—was gone.