It Doesn't Bother Me Anymore
A ballroom filled with countless men and women dancing in pairs.
In that murmuring space, every gaze began to gather toward a single point.
Ania Brontë.
The moment she descended the staircase, it was as if the very center of the ballroom had shifted to her.
The music might as well have stopped—that was how complete the illusion felt.
Yet Ania seemed entirely accustomed to those stares. She turned and held out her hand to me.
“Seobang-nim. Let’s go.”
I had been following slowly behind her. I took her hand and walked with her, unhurried, into the heart of the ballroom.
Has Ania always lived beneath gazes like these?
They were not blatant, yet the sidelong glances directed at us were unmistakable.
Just then the music was shifting, the classical rhythm slowly giving way to something jazz-tinged.
As we stepped into the center of the floor, I asked her in a near-whisper,
“How is your ankle?”
“It’s fine.”
She said so, though she still limped a little.
Dancing any further seemed unwise. The body has a way of feeling all right until the moment you push it—then the symptoms arrive all at once.
I was about to say as much when Ania lightly drew my hand toward her.
“Shall we dance, my handsome gentleman?”
The shameless little grin she wore as she teased me made laughter burst out of me before I could stop it.
Even with every eye upon us, I laughed without a care.
“Gladly, my lady.”
It no longer mattered if she was overexerting herself.
The stabbing pain from the wounds that had been throbbing through my body had vanished completely.
We stood among a throng of people, yet the ballroom seemed to have been made for the two of us alone.
“Just follow my feet, slowly.”
Since that clumsy dance in the restaurant, I had taken two or three lessons from her.
Calling them lessons was almost laughable—I had simply copied her movements—yet Edward’s excellent physical aptitude shone through.
Merely watching and imitating was enough to turn him into a proper noble.
So, whatever the onlookers may have thought, we held hands in the center of the ballroom and danced with soft, elegant grace.
Whether I was a man worthy of Ania… I still could not say.
But it no longer mattered.
Ania was shining like a star,
and Ania Brontë, smiling at my side like a soft Geumdonghwa, had become the star of the ballroom.
I needed only to remain beside her, like the darkness that lets a star burn bright.
Before long the music drew gently to a close.
As the slow jazz rhythm faded, the brass band struck up a classical measure once more.
I followed Ania as she slowly stilled her feet, ending the dance, and asked,
“How was it?”
“How do you think it was?”
The playful look on her face pulled a smile from me unbidden.
“I couldn’t tell—everyone was looking only at my wife.”
“Heh…”
I gave her hand a light squeeze; she had swayed a little.
“I don’t really know either.”
Ania leaned her head against me as if resting there and looked up.
“I was so busy looking at your face, Seobang-nim, that I don’t even remember how we danced.”
The unexpected words left me with nothing to do but laugh.
A ball is, quite literally, a gathering for dancing.
Nobles assemble in a glittering hall and move to music—a social stage.
Yet dancing is never the sole purpose.
Beneath the surface, schemes and slander wait, ready to strike without warning.
Thus the nobility formed factions and sought cooperation among their own.
The imperial faction, centered on House Brontë and a handful of other ducal and comital houses;
the anti-imperial faction, gathered around the eastern House Casey… and so on.
Beyond the factions themselves lay business ties and personal grudges, so houses that had once called each other brother could turn enemy overnight—a common enough occurrence.
From afar the world of nobles looked beautiful; up close it was almost too ugly to bear.
“Hmm…”
And in my memory, House Orland was firmly of the imperial faction.
They held no grudge against the Brontës and maintained a business partnership.
Count Orland therefore had no direct reason to harm Ania.
Which meant… if, as Ania claimed, the countess herself was the culprit, what possible motive could she have?
Had she truly tried to kill Ania out of sheer jealousy of her beauty? Was that all?
I was leaning against the terrace railing, gazing at the sky, when Ania approached and asked,
“What are you worrying over so hard?”
“Nothing at all.”
She held a wineglass in one hand.
Her ankle already hurt—why drink on top of it? I wondered, but kept the thought to myself.
“Care to join me for a glass?”
“Gladly.”
I accepted the glass she offered and we toasted lightly.
The clear ring of crystal spread into the cool autumn air.
One sip of the wine, fragrant with fresh grapes, and through the glass I saw Ania’s cheeks faintly flushed.
She was lightly hugging her own shoulders.
“The weather’s turning cold.”
“It is. Winter will be here soon.”
I slipped off my outer coat and settled it over her shoulders; she smiled softly.
Even those flushed cheeks, even the hazy look in her eyes, were beautiful.
Watching her, I found myself thinking she might be right.
Perhaps the countess really was jealous of Ania’s beauty.
“About the countess.”
When I spoke, the corner of Ania’s mouth dipped.
“Yes.”
“If that woman truly is the culprit, I keep thinking there must be some other reason. Something involving interests, for instance…”
“It isn’t ‘if.’ She really did it.”
“I’m not asking because I doubt you.”
“I know. It must sound forced.”
Her expression grew a little subdued.
She quietly took my hand.
“Will you come with me for a moment?”
I took her hand without protest and followed her back into the mansion.
Ania pressed a finger to her lips, signaling silence, and moved with careful steps.
“Where are we going?”
“Just follow me for now.”
She led me toward a secluded corner of the house.
There, several people in masks came into view.
From their silhouettes and dress they appeared to be noblewomen.
We pressed our backs to the wall, standing in a blind spot where they could not see us.
Their conversation drifted over.
“Poor man.”
“I know. To marry a witch like that. He seemed so decent.”
“He’ll be dead soon enough. Just like all the others.”
“It’s pitiful. He looked like a clueless young master… to be seduced and killed by a woman.”
“It’s all her fault. My cousin’s son died because of that witch too.”
“Vile little vixen… the way she shoved her chest at that young master was disgusting…”
They never named names, yet it was perfectly clear whose story they meant.
Ania and me…
“……”
Ania bit her lower lip lightly, lowered her head, and, still holding my hand, led us back toward the ballroom.
“Did you hear?”
“I did.”
She forced a smile.
“……Are you all right? Hearing things like that.”
“It doesn’t bother me anymore.”
“How could it not—”
“You get used to it after a while.”
Ania walked slowly, gazing out the window.
Darkness had settled thickly over the sky.
Following behind her, I opened and closed my mouth.
The question I wanted to ask only circled on my tongue.
What did it mean that she had grown used to it, that it no longer bothered her?
That she regretted the wicked deeds she had committed?
Or that she felt not the slightest guilt for them…
Or else……
“Shall we go back?”
But I could not ask.
In Ania’s eyes as she turned to me I saw a deep exhaustion.
“Yes.”
We left the mansion slowly. A few nobles glanced our way, yet the only person who came out to see us off was Count Orland himself.
He urged us to stay and enjoy ourselves a little longer, but Ania declined.
After hearing her words, the look in the count’s eyes seemed different.
It was not the gaze of a host hoping his guests would linger—it was a gaze that seemed to be hunting Ania.
“We’ve enjoyed ourselves enough. We’ll be going.”
Something about that look made my temper flare; I wrapped an arm around Ania’s shoulders as if drawing her into my embrace and helped her into the carriage.
Count Orland smacked his lips with a look of regret, and soon the carriage rolled away.
“I’m tired.”
“Rest your eyes. I’ll wake you when we arrive.”
I looked down at Ania’s face as she nestled against me.
Ania, the empire’s greatest villainess as I had known her.
The descriptions from the novel flickered through my mind.
This woman… is a villainess.
The woman who used Edward’s love and ultimately married another man.
The woman who toyed with the hearts of countless men and drove them to their deaths.
I must not be taken in.
I made the vow and looked out the window.
Beneath a sky thick with stars came the clip-clop of hooves, the rumble of carriage wheels.
I slowly lowered my gaze to Ania’s face.
Beneath that beautiful visage I saw another face.
Like a wounded little animal…
I no longer knew what was what.
All I could do was gently stroke the hair of the sleeping Ania.