I'm Fine
Humans are animals of deceit. We habitually, even unconsciously, live by telling lies, and we call the aggregate of those countless lies society. People say they like honest folks, but in truth, it's a world gathered by liars who claim to value honesty.
Schuett's most frequent lie was "I'm fine." To her brother who worried over her frail body and cared for her, to her seniors who dumped unwanted tasks on her citing rank and age, to the lady who bullied her so viciously that even calling her prickly didn't cover it. Schuett always forced a smile and said it.
I'm fine.
"P-please wait just a moment... Miss?"
That was Schuett, now in an incredibly awkward spot. If asked whether her usual situations weren't even more awkward, she'd have no choice but to agree. But still.
The lady she served—Bathory Mirhane—was human trash. There might be a more elegant term, but "human trash" was the limit of Schuett's knowledge and vocabulary.
The strong bully the weak. Anger management issues. A vile sort who, despite lacking any nobility or dignity, lorded over others solely on birthright. It had been seven months since she became Bathory's exclusive maid, yet she'd gained not a single good memory or impression.
"Don't be too late. Urtic Mirhane's waiting."
"O-of course! I'll get ready quickly and come right out!"
And yet Bathory had changed. So abruptly.
Like a completely different person? It went beyond that. She looked the same, but that was it.
"Hoo..."
Only after entering Urtic Mirhane's room and closing the door could Schuett finally exhale the breath she'd been holding. Long and deep. Time with Bathory was always tense, exhausting.
"Ugh..."
Why the sudden change? Schuett wondered. Bad food? A head injury? Even her not-so-sharp mind could pinpoint one likely trigger.
"Near-death experience, maybe..."
Frederica Mirhane's mocking taunt toward her pathetic youngest sister. Bathory fell for it, chased after her sister recklessly, and returned half-dead. That's when it started. Bathory's change.
Strictly speaking, she'd been off since waking, but no doubt the cause was that incident. Head trauma? A brush with death bringing maturity? Or just a whim?
"Haa..."
Smile gone, Schuett stared at her sullen reflection in the mirror and muttered.
"What a fool I am..."
People don't change. Not their essence. Innate nature can't be altered. To Schuett, Bathory's shift felt like mere pretense. She knew Bathory Mirhane better than anyone, or so she believed—that made it feel all the more false.
"..."
The sensation still lingered on her wrist. Bathory's grip, vivid as ever.
"...Hehe..."
Shaking it off, Schuett forced on her foolish smile again. Not time to drop it yet, she told herself inwardly.
――
"...You're late."
Waiting in the bathroom with Schuett was, predictably, Urtic Mirhane. To add detail: tangled in clothes she'd tried forcing on, stuck and frustrated, pouting as she waited for me.
"Haa... What on earth..."
"It's cold..."
Yeah, naked in this weather? Obviously cold. Trying to dress made sense.
"How do you even end up like this?"
But beyond just clothes catching, they were knotted together. How?
"It's not that hard to put on."
Urtic's attempted outfit—correction: what she'd tried wearing—was fancier than loungewear but fit a fantasy setting. Not overly complex; even a high schooler could manage solo.
"Schuett."
"Sh-shall I help...?"
"No, wait outside. Leave the clothes. Oh, bring scissors, just in case."
This might need cutting. Bound tight enough for BDSM vibes.
"Relax. I'll ease it off slowly. Sleeves first..."
"W-wait... Ngh, ow, ah, it hurts...!!"
Yeah, way messed up. Better to cut. Noblewoman; plenty more clothes.
"Have you ever dressed yourself? Ever?"
"No... Maids did it since I was little..."
Expected, but still.
"Meals and baths too, I assume?"
"Here!"
"Hand it over."
Schuett's scissors sliced clean. Sharp blade.
"You're the same..."
"Yes, probably."
If that's noble daily life, complaining would be weirder. Bathory lived likewise. No way self-conscious Bathory tried self-dressing.
"But as you know, you can't rely on servants forever."
École Berger and all Grands Écoles ban external staff except faculty—cleaners, cooks, launderers included. No personal cooking or washing needed. But dorm rooms aren't fully cleaned; laundry goes to self-serve. Miscellaneous tasks done outside? Handle solo here. Original Bathory griped about it. Eventually forced to adapt.
"For someone who avoids people, learning to dress alone seems best."
"..."
Even lazy—especially lazy—better to manage basics solo. Nothing grand. Just daily stuff.
"Shall I teach you?"
Buttoning properly. Washing clean. Eating without spills.
"...Please."
Urtic nodded, even saying "please."
"Tomorrow, step by step. You look exhausted today."
Willing to learn? Teacher's duty to teach.
"Back to your real room. Not the library side-room."
Probably deep-cleaned by now.
"Okay..."
Surprisingly, no protest. She headed off agreeably. Expected anger or whining.
"Hm..."
Side-room use won't last. Assassination threat was just excuse. To mend ties with Urtic. Unsure if efforts hit Eclair's mark.
"Schuett."
"Yes!"
"Hungry. Fetch dinner. No spit this time."
"I-I'll never do that!"
Still... it'll work out. If not, oh well.
――
Months had passed since Urtic Mirhane started living in the study for meals and sleep. Parents dispatched abroad as diplomats two years back; she'd holed up there since—nearly two full years.
Returning to her room felt alien more than familiar. Impeccably dust-free despite her absence, but furniture subtly shifted.
Meow~
"...Ah."
A cat's cry turned her head. Black cat at the window, bundle in mouth, scratching.
"Master...?"
"Ngh... Jaw's about to drop."
Window open, cat shifted to girl—witch Eclair au Chocolat—perching on the sill.
"That idiot. Dumps 'gift' in study and vanishes."
"Gift...?"
Then Urtic recalled: Bathory's bundle from the study.
"Yeah, from your hated brat sister. Nicely wrapped."
"Gift..."
Former Bathory wouldn't gift her sister, let alone something decent. But now? Different. Indefinably so. Worry mixed with faint hope, Urtic unwrapped.
"...An egg?"
Inside: small egg, warm in cotton and cloth.
"Owl egg."
"Owl...?"
"Yep. Nocturnal witch gifts nocturnal bird."
Urtic stared at the owl egg—Bathory's gift. Odd, unlike old Bathory.
"...Owl..."
Ridiculous, yet not unpleasant.
"...Cute... maybe..."
Urtic smiled faintly, poking the egg ever so lightly with her fingertip.