The First Two Enemies
"Let go of me! No! Go away!"
Bree was still lying on the bed with her eyes closed, but she screamed, looking distressed, while her hands continued to reach out into the air, as if trying to ward off something that only existed in her dreams.
Sweat flooded her face while it turned pale. Her head shook in panic, and her eyes were tightly closed. Bree's dark reddish hair appeared disheveled around her head.
"Duchess?"
The call startled Bree, and she opened her eyes. She sat up, her bright gray eyes scanning the room in confusion. Her breathing was rapid and loud, and even her raised hand to cover her mouth appeared to be trembling.
Bree wanted to muffle her labored breathing. But her hands trembled too much, and it took a long time before they reached her face.
The dream seemed so real—a recurring dream of another event—that Bree wished to change her fate. After all the arrangements last night, there was one more incident that she needed to ensure changed.
"Duchess? Are you unwell?"
Aima stood beside the bed, startling Bree once again. Bree quickly shook her head.
"No. Just a bad dream." Bree clenched her fists to stop the trembling. She couldn't afford to appear weak, especially with Aima around.
"You slept in your corset; that might be the cause." Aima smiled politely, but her words carried a reprimand. Last night, Bree refused her help. The short sentence stung. Blaming herself for the nightmare she had just experienced.
"What does it matter if I had a nightmare while wearing the corset? That's none of your concern!" Bree replied cynically, making Aima pale.
"Forgive me, Duchess." The young girl, who was actually the same age as Bree—22—bowed to apologize.
Bree glanced at Aima, inwardly satisfied but also regretful for allowing Aima to act recklessly in the past. Bree got off the bed and stood near the window, while Aima began working on removing the corset strings that bound her.
However, this task required assistance. There were three layers of clothing before the outer dress, one of which was the corset, which was the most challenging because of its numerous tightly tied strings, molding the wearer's body into a slimmer shape. Honestly, Bree hated corsets. Apart from the cumbersome way of putting them on, involving someone else, the item restricted her freedom.
The two exchanged no words. Bree was, of course, unwilling to engage in conversation. She remembered how innocently she had asked Aima about the intricacies of this house when they first met. Aima realized Bree's naive nature, underestimating her as a result.
Bree now just looks out the window, enjoying the breeze and the blue-gray waves beneath the hill. Arranging her thoughts to be calm, Bree tried to forget the bad dream she had just experienced. The dream was a repetition of what happened to her when she was in prison, one day before her death sentence.
Bree closed her eyes tightly. She wanted to forget that incident. It was a horrific event that shouldn't be a problem now because it had not left any traces on her current body. The event didn't happen. But her memory alone seemed enough to make Bree have a nightmare.
Bree took a deep breath, again looking out. Observing the beautiful blue sea in the distance, glittering with foam dancing among the waves. She wanted her mind to be clear now, not distracted by anything else.
Soon, she had to confront someone much stronger than Aima.
"Your bathwater is ready," Aima said. This time, she didn't attempt small talk; she just served as usual. Bree nodded with a flat expression and walked to the bathroom.
***
Bree scrutinized herself, looking at her reflection once again in the large mirror in front of her. She chose her dress more carefully. Something she used to neglect. Bree thought a dress was just a dress, and it didn't matter which one she wore.
However, it wasn't that simple. The choice of dress and appearance became the subject of ridicule that eventually embarrassed her. It was a valuable lesson, and now Bree has ensured her appearance is perfect.
Her chosen dress was moss green, not too flashy, and it was the last gift from her mother before she passed away. It wasn't new, but it should be sufficient. The dress wouldn't make her look like a beggar.
Irene always used those insults to corner her. Le Mans might not be as wealthy as Marseilles; of course, her lifestyle was beneath Irene's. However, that didn't mean she looked like a beggar.
Bree stroked the sleeve of her dress; there was nothing to criticize. Bree looked at her face. Aima neatly arranged her hair. She also applied a thin layer of flour-made powder to make her skin look even smoother. She was perfect.
"Let's go."
Bree didn't turn or thank Aima; she just walked out. She could find where the dining room was, but it would be strange if she found it without Aima. This should be her first time going down for a meal.
They both now walked in, eyes squinting at Bree. She should have greeted and introduced herself yesterday upon arriving at the castle, but she arrived late at night due to the bandits.
Bree stepped back from her chair, put on her most beautiful smile, and then bowed while lifting the side of her dress. A respectful gesture that made Bree's hair stand on end, as if protesting that they weren't worthy of such respect.
"Good morning, Lady Irene, Blanche."
Irene was Rad's mother, and she had to address her as Lady, while Blanche was Rad's sister. Although she was two years older than Bree, she could be addressed by her name alone.
"Hmm... Apparently, the unpleasant aroma I've been smelling since earlier is the smell of discourtesy. No wonder!"
Bree, who used to bow and cry upon hearing that, now smiled as she rose, looking at Irene.