The Lady Who Catches Colds Easily
The young lady had always been prone to catching colds.
"Miss, why are you in the lake?"
*sniffle*…
"You're not protesting, so it doesn't seem like you were forced in. Looks like you went in on your own."
*sniff…!*
"I hope it wasn't because a butterfly was fluttering in front of you and pissing you off…"
*hiek…!*
"Spot on. Back in her snot-nosed kid days, the young lady caught colds for all sorts of outlandish reasons."
"No! I'm a flower, but they're all avoiding me! The butterflies pissed me off, so I fell in the lake."
"That koi from back then only eats the food I give it!"
"That's valid noble discrimination."
*eeeek! I'll feed it myself!*
"Ah… Miss!"
She'd throw herself into the lake like Simcheong because the carp discriminated against people and wouldn't eat.
"Ricardo, I'm gonna make a blanket out of snow."
"That's some creatively bullshit idea."
"It's not bullshit. Sometimes she'd come up with the bizarre notion of making a blanket from falling snow, fling open the window on a snowy night, and sleep like that—setting a prime example of eccentricity that left her sniffling all the time."
As she grew older, those antics faded, but the young lady remained frail, catching colds at the drop of a hat for all sorts of reasons.
*Today, another peaceful day at the Desmont mansion.*
The young lady twitched her nostrils at the tickle creeping in, her mood souring as she scowled.
"Eek… eeeeek."
She was holding back a sneeze. Whatever was bugging her, she clenched her fists, furrowed her brow, and fought it with all her might.
"Eeeeek!"
I sat quietly, observing her. Just to see how long she could hold out.
Sneezing wasn't a bad thing, but I couldn't understand why she insisted on fighting it. Still, cheering on the young lady's pointless efforts was part of a butler's duty, so I balled my fists and rooted for her victory.
"Hiet… hmnya."
"Oh…!"
"Hweeeek… whoa."
"Ooo…"
"Hweeeek!"
Her head jerked like a gourd puppet, but no real results came.
At this rate, she'd just stress herself into a fever, so I quit cheering and told her to give up. Sometimes, surrender was the smart play.
"Just let it rip, Miss."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Wiping snot's a pain."
Classic her—always a reason behind the madness. A face smeared in snot would suck, no doubt.
To solve her dilemma, I murmured an innovative solution.
"I'll wipe it for you, so it's fine."
"Oh…"
She nodded at my words, realizing she didn't have to bother herself. Surrendering to the breeze, she opened her nostrils wide.
"Hii… hiek! Hietchu!"
She stared at me with a lost look, as if the sneeze had vanished from the world.
"It didn't come."
"You missed the timing. Sneezes are shy bastards—once they say no, they don't come back easy."
She pouted at the tissue in her hand, lips pursed in emptiness.
"Feels hollow. Like all the sugar drained out of me."
"Can't be helped."
"Eeeeek…"
I wiped the snot trickling down her nose bridge with my handkerchief, then pressed the back of my hand to her forehead. Warm. Definitely feverish.
Her face was flushed, snot flowing like water. If this kept up, she'd be frying an egg on her forehead soon. I gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Time to lie down."
She shook her head no. When sick, she never listened—just stared stubbornly and dug in her heels.
"Don't wanna."
She usually loved lounging, so I gave a wry smile.
"Why not? You've got a fever. Lie down, rest up proper, and it'll break faster."
"We're going out today, you and me. I'll take my meds and we can go play."
"Next time's fine."
"I wanna go today…"
She gazed at me with pitiful eyes, like she'd collapse from disappointment before the cold if we didn't go. I touched her forehead again, voice gentle.
"Next time's fine. It's not just today."
"Today's the day."
"What day?"
"A day when I'm not bored."
"Pfft. What kinda day is that?"
"You're always busy. Haven't played with me lately… What if tomorrow's busy too?"
"From today, I've got time to spare."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
She asked again, serious-faced.
"For real?"
"Yeah."
"Okay then."
Her eyes sparkled as she urged me to tuck her in quick. She figured lying down alone lacked affection—lazy as ever. I chuckled softly, steadied her shoulders, and eased her weight down.
"Going down."
"Mm."
"Third floor."
"Oh…"
"Second floor."
"Ooooh…"
"First floor. Arrived."
"Not going to the basement?"
"Basement's still under construction."
"Heehee…"
Snug in bed, she beamed with a pleased sigh.
"See? Comfy, right?"
"Mm. It is."
"Shoulda done this sooner. Body rests better, all good."
"Yeah. Shoulda lain down earlier."
Her eyes glittered expectantly. I smirked faintly, dunking a towel in ice water at her scheming gaze.
"Why stare like that?"
"'Cause you're ugly, Ricardo."
"…"
"From down here, you look really ugly."
Her lips twitched. She was this close to bursting out laughing. I wanted to flick her forehead, but a handsome butler doesn't hit the sick, so I sighed and wrung out the towel from the bucket, draping it wide open over her face.
*Whap.*
"Hiiiik! Cold!"
"Can't be helped. Life's cold as ice."
"My life's warm!"
"Today's cold."
"Nooo…!"
I laughed at her flailing for a good while, then peeled it back and laid a cool towel gently on her forehead. Now she looked peaceful. I sat carefully by her bedside, tuning in for any errands.
Not that I'd fetch chocolate, of course.
She stared blankly at the ceiling for ages, pouty and sulky. Then, cautiously, she spoke up.
"Hey, Ricardo."
"Yes?"
She turned to face me. Those sparkling eyes bored into me wordlessly—intensely burdensome.
She smiled warmly.
"Tell me a fun story."
"Shall I read you a fairy tale? Wrote a new one—you might like it."
"What's the genre?"
"It's about realizing my dad's not rich but a bum—melodrama, soap opera, romance."
"Pfft… What the hell?"
She giggled and shook her head.
"Not that. Something else."
"Dunno if there's anything funner."
"I wanna hear something else today."
"Hmm. What to tell?"
"Just tell me something fun you went through. Like stuff from outside."
I brushed back her hair, smiling softly.
"Shall I?"
Fun stories, huh. Honestly, no confidence. My life's no barrel of laughs—stormy, more like. Anything starring me would turn gloomy.
Fun stuff? Mostly involved her, nothing fresh. Yuria or Mikhail tales might sour her mood. Especially no bragging.
She smiled faintly at my pondering.
"Why so burdened?"
"Wondering what'd make you laugh. Gifting smiles to the sick's a butler's duty."
"Heehee. Just anything. Some story from your life."
"Might be boring."
"It's fine. Your face is fun enough—no pressure."
"…Praise?"
"Mm."
With her enthusiastic cheer, I hesitantly began.
"Back when I roamed the slums, I had a friend."
"You had friends?"
"Plenty. Even played boss sometimes."
"Weird. Thought you had none."
"That hurts."
"It's fine. I got none either."
"That hurts more."
Slum days. A tale only I knew, maybe.
I skipped the depressing bits, picking only the fun parts for her.
"I'd beg, right?"
"Yeah. Gave you money too."
"Right. You were my VIP client."
"Yep."
"Caught a good mark…"
*Eeeeek!*
"Kidding."
She laughed. I laughed too.
"Sent that friend to beg once."
"Yeah?"
"He cried. Too embarrassed, didn't wanna."
"What'd you say?"
"Catch a good mark."
"That was me?"
"Yep."
"Oh…!"
"Ricardo's smart."
"I know."
Lots of tales fun for an evil lady's ears. Stimulating. Real. Human.
She loved that stuff.
Of course, only the fun parts.
An old story.
About first meeting her.
About Mikhail.
A very old story.