Does Pinky Dream of Strawberry Cake?
"Haa..."
I'm melting. Like ice cream on a summer day, my whole body feels like it's dissolving. This is why full-body baths are the best. It's nothing like a shower—just pure, gooey jelly softness.
"Mm..."
And this water... it doesn't feel like plain water. Whether it's laced with medicine, bath salts, or both, it carries a pleasant scent and loosens my stiff muscles.
Come to think of it, after tumbling down that hillside, is it okay to soak like this? No cuts, but I've got bruises here and there.
"Haaah..."
Whatever. It'll be fine. Right now, I just want to lie here and let my body melt away.
"..."
"Still not used to the water?"
Unlike me, Urtic Mirhane was still shrinking away from it like an armadillo, clearly uneasy.
"...Hot."
"Can't be helped. Cold water would give you a cold."
"..."
Her face showed lingering reluctance—discontent and gloom mixed in. Was she still resisting the whole washing thing?
"But it's not as bad as before, right? Better than earlier."
"...Yeah, but..."
She'd made it into the tub, at least. That counted as major progress.
"You should get used to it. No, you will get used to it. At least once a day."
"Once... a day...?"
Her gloomy expression twisted into shock, as if she'd heard something unforgivable. Was bathing daily that shocking?
"...Fine, every other day then. That okay?"
If daily was too much... well, no choice. Forcing it would just breed resentment.
"...Even every other day... is a lot..."
"..."
"...Ugh, fine. Every other day..."
I wasn't compromising further. Twice a week kept the smell down, at least.
"You probably think: if I don't move, I don't sweat, so no need to wash—right?"
"...Not true?"
"Not even close."
Even for a noble, even for a sheltered young lady ignorant of the world—this was too much.
"The body's waste isn't just sweat. Eye gunk, dead skin, oils, flakes—all waste from your body."
If this world was medieval Europe, I could understand such hygiene horrors. An era where dandruff from a monk's head symbolized piety. But this fantasy world's baseline was at least the 19th century, when hot, clean baths for hygiene were common knowledge—or earlier fantasy norms. What noble lady skips baths until she reeks?
"Waste..."
"You don't think waste is dirty, do you?"
"Well... no, but..."
"Then why skip baths?"
Good, she knew what was filthy. Progress.
"Can't see it... don't feel it much."
"...Fair enough, let's say."
"Do I... really smell that bad?"
Her voice shrank, cheeks flushing as she asked me. Finally realizing her state, feeling the shame?
"...Yes. Bad. Really bad."
"..."
No sugarcoating now, no dodging or downplaying to spare her eyes.
"...No one but Master said anything..."
"No one else could. Servants can't badmouth their lady's body odor. Parents are away. Your sister..."
In my memory, Frederica Mirhane nagged Urtic plenty.
"But behind your back? Gossip for sure. Humans are shady, sly—like hyenas."
"...What's a hyena?"
"Think wild dog."
Even if less than Bathory, Urtic got trashed behind closed doors. Humans turn petty gripes into venomous blooms when comrades appear.
"Won't happen anymore."
Not 100% sure, of course. Maybe the Mirhane servants were all saints who didn't mind the second miss's stench.
"I'll make sure."
But... does truth matter? People believe what they want, facts be damned.
"Don't worry."
I'm a seasoned liar, skilled at fooling folks.
"No one will mock you again."
I know what you'll choose to believe.
――
Out of the bath, the changing room held a neat basket of fresh clothes instead of our scattered old ones. Schuett's doing? Thought she was sloppy, but she handles this well.
"...Ugh..."
As I dressed, groaning came from behind.
"...What're you doing?"
"Hard to put on..."
There she was: an adult woman, fully grown, struggling naked to dress.
"This... isn't pajamas..."
"...Do you not own non-pajama clothes?"
"I do, but... maids dress me..."
Ah. That... explained it?
"...Baths?"
"Maids..."
"Meals?"
"Maids handle it..."
What could this woman do alone?
"Ha... wait here. I'll fetch a servant for pajamas."
"...Okay..."
High-maintenance girl. Keeps reminding me of a little sister. Could help her dress, but her vibe screamed she'd bolt soon, so I skipped the hassle.
"Schuett? You there? Schuett—"
Dressed and out, but no Schuett waiting.
"..."
Stepped away briefly? Or slacking? Bathory's underlings shouldn't dare slack, but Schuett... maybe.
"Sigh..."
Have to hunt again. Don't know the way. Or send another servant? Bound to bump into one wandering.
"Nngh..."
Bath-loosened body moved easier as I roamed the mansion. Spacious, but intuitive layout—not hard to memorize.
Come to think: why bathe Urtic at all?
Not questioning motives. She stank, unbearably, so I did.
But to win her favor? Dragging her to the bath might've been worse.
Hygiene, health—simply put, I forced something she hated.
I could've endured the stench. Masking face and feelings is second nature.
But dragging her in... that was me, not Bathory Mirhane. My true self peeking through the role.
"...Sigh..."
Need more practice. Sloppy. Actor's heart doesn't matter.
Even a kind soul who won't kill an ant must play a serial killer convincingly if cast as one. No actor reveals their true self mid-performance. Do villain specialists pick roles because they're jerks?
I slipped. A fatal actor's error.
If I'd truly become Bathory Mirhane, immersed fully, it wouldn't happen. Urtic might even suspect more.
Prior weirdness? Blame traumatized Bathory's antics. But suddenly bathing her? Suspicious.
Snap out. This isn't my old reality. Somehow in this game-world, as the most hated villainess.
To survive: change. But not so much the character crumbles. From irredeemable trash to redeemable villain with backstory. Balanced.
"Hey Schuett, you getting bold lately?"
"S-sorry...!"
Focus on the act again...
"I told you: watch that crazy bitch close. That's what an exclusive maid is for, right?"
"I-I tried..."
"Oh? Talking back now?"
...What now?
"Why the hell do I have to clean that Urtic bitch's room I never even entered? What wind blew up your ass?"
The voice halted me. Found Schuett.
"You wanna get kicked out? You know I do the performance reviews, right?"
"N-no, not that...!!"
"No? Should've done your job then."
"..."
"Your job is keeping that crazy bitch in check. Beat her, kick her, drain her energy—got it?"
"..."
I'm pissed. Not as Bathory—as me.
Do you get it, you idiot—!!
"What the hell is this?"
But... different now. Can channel it through the role.
Not my rage—Bathory Mirhane's.
So.
"I'm asking."
Hide it/express it.
"You lowly maid bitch."
The fury.