Painted Memories
“Haah, I'm totally exhausted.”
After spending the whole day dealing with the crown prince and finally returning to my room, I was utterly drained. We'd exchanged pleasantries about the duke's health and kept up some mundane conversation afterward, but just encountering Michael Lux Rampas had worn me out.
True to his role as the story's male lead, the crown prince was diligently persistent. He'd skipped a few visits here and there, but otherwise, he showed up right on schedule every month. The original Abigail would have counted down the days in excitement to see her crush, but not me.
Unlike her, I had far too much to do. Wasting time on him once a month like this felt like such a shame.
“Damn it, there has to be some way...”
I was lost in thought, racking my brain for a way to get rid of the crown prince, when the maids suddenly swarmed toward me.
“Miss, please punish us.”
Annie, leading the group, spoke with grave seriousness, and they all dropped to their knees before me. I looked at them in bewilderment. I had no intention of punishing them, but their faces were set with such resolve. It seemed their pride wouldn't allow anything less.
And the old Abigail would have grabbed them like rats in a trap. No, she wouldn't have forgotten the crown prince's visit in the first place. In the end, this was all because I'd possessed her body—something I'd brought on myself, and no one else.
“Everyone, get up.”
“We can't do that, Miss. Please, punish us.”
“Hmm.”
As I gazed at them, memories of my old office days flooded back. I'd risen quickly thanks to early recognition of my performance, and by the time I died, I held a fairly high position. But it wasn't a great spot—subordinates pushed back, superiors chewed me out.
If it had been, I probably wouldn't have keeled over from overwork. Once, I needed to call a client but was swamped, so I asked a subordinate to handle it. They were buried in work too and forgot. The client CEO threw a fit, and in the end, I took the full blame.
Even though I'd delegated it, it was still my responsibility. “Too busy and forgot” wasn't an excuse you could give a client. My subordinate apologized profusely, but even now, I don't blame them. Ultimately, you have to shoulder your own responsibilities.
I finished reminiscing and looked down at the maids.
“Fine. I'll give you your punishment.”
“...Yes.”
I slowly scanned their tense faces—now all so familiar. Unlike the old Abigail, who'd ignored them completely, I knew every one of their names. Calling them out one by one, I issued my orders.
“First, Annie. Every time you take a day off, bring back a tart from that famous Bishop place. They say their citrus tarts are the best. Don't want to eat them every day and get sick of them, so just on your days off. Got it?”
“...Pardon?”
Annie stared at me in stunned disbelief, but I pressed on without a care.
“May, you make strawberry milk every morning. You know my taste— not too sweet, just right. The strawberries from the greenhouse here are delicious. The rest of you, help Shawn tend the strawberry plants there.”
“......”
“That's your punishment. Dismissed!”
I clapped my hands sharply with a crack, but no one budged. Annie, at the front, murmured in a daze.
“But Miss, that's... not a punishment.”
“Oh?”
So rigid. I let out a deep sigh.
“Should I whip you instead? Slap your cheeks? Or pull out your nails one by one?”
The words left a bitter taste. Those were things the old Abigail had done to them whenever she was in a foul mood. The memories flashing through my mind soured my mood unnecessarily.
“What's the point? It gains me nothing.”
Ruling through fear might make them obey better—at least out of terror. But how long would that last? Abigail's end was death. If she'd had trustworthy people by her side, she might not have met that fate.
But she'd treated everyone like dirt, leaving her utterly alone.
“What I say is the punishment. Got it? Don't question me again.”
I wouldn't repeat her mistakes. I wouldn't slap innocent cheeks or lash them with whips.
“...Understood.”
“Now get up, all of you. I'm tired and want to rest.”
“Thank you for your mercy, Miss.”
After sending the maids away, I collapsed into bed. Exhaustion tugged at my eyelids, and soon I drifted into sleep.
* * *
The first thing the duke did upon waking in his sickbed was, astonishingly, summon me. He remembered my impulsive request to see the paintings his wife had created.
Flustered by the sudden call but glad for the quick opportunity, I pulled out the magic letter paper I'd gotten from Ren in advance. Using the enchanted pen, I wrote the location and time for where he'd need to go invisible.
Ren wasn't familiar with the ducal residence yet and might get lost, so I described the route in detail. I set the pen down and folded the paper like a normal letter, slipping it into an envelope. After a moment, I opened it again—the letter inside had vanished.
It had safely reached Ren. Magic was so convenient.
I whistled lightly and called Annie to prepare to head out. Our meeting spot was a bit away from the main residence. The duke had summoned me there today.
I took only a few maids and headed to the annex.
* * *
Moments later, a grand building that hardly seemed like a mere annex welcomed me. Unlike the main residence, it was all bright colors, with even the windows made of sparkling crystal.
“So extravagant...”
“Miss?”
“Ah, coming.”
Ignoring the maids' puzzled looks, I entered the annex. I'd thought I'd grown used to it, but feeling the Carpoem family's terrifying wealth firsthand still made my hands tremble.
Stepping inside revealed a vast corridor. I stopped in place. It felt like entering a grand art gallery.
“No way, all of these?”
“Yes. All painted by your mother.”
“...Father.”
The duke, already there, approached quietly. I greeted him first.
“Are you feeling better now?”
“Yes.”
I glanced at his face, now with a bit of color returned, then turned back. The corridor brimmed with paintings large and small.
I stepped closer to examine them. Their feel differed from the one I'd seen by the lake—the brushstrokes so rough they stood out, making even me, no art expert, hesitate to call them good.
“These are from your mother's maiden days.”
“Ah.”
“She'd get angry at me for hanging her poor ones right by the entrance.”
His eyes darkened with reminiscence. Astonishingly, the duke seemed to be smiling—a expression absent from Abigail's memories. He must have loved his wife dearly.
I clicked my tongue and circled the corridor.
“There are more deeper inside.”
“Yes.”
I followed the duke past the corridor into the annex's interior, subtly scanning our surroundings as we went. Ren should be watching us from somewhere nearby by now. For safety, I needed to confirm he was there.
As we walked, I discreetly pulled out the item from my pocket. The crude brooch held Ren's magic; it would glow blue if he drew near.
Seeing the originally brown brooch now tinged blue, I grinned. Proof that Ren, cloaked in invisibility magic, was flawlessly carrying out his task.
Fortunately, few attendants trailed us in the annex. They'd minimized guards to let father and daughter enjoy the paintings in peace—perfect conditions for the bumbling Ren to hide.
Smirking to myself, I entered a spacious room.
“These are the ones she painted after coming to the Carpoem house.”
The vast room felt like an entire high-end gallery transplanted inside. I admired the works in awe.
The duchess must have painted a lot by the lake—many featured it as backdrop. Birds leisurely wandering the lakeside, flowers, and even her favorite maids as models.
She must have been close to them; the maids in their uniforms smiled radiantly in the paintings. And in one, the duke wore an awkward expression.
“......”
“...Don't stare like that.”
Embarrassed, the duke avoided looking at his own portrait. I chuckled, studying the young duke. He'd modeled at his wife's request but clearly hated every second. She'd captured even that ridiculous expression in exquisite detail. What a woman.
“Mother was truly talented.”
“Had she not married me, she might have become a famous painter.”
The quality was that high. Yet to keep it all hidden away instead of sharing with high society—such a waste.
As if reading my thoughts, the duke added an explanation.
“But your mother disliked fame from her art. She wanted even her posthumous works displayed only within the Carpoem house.”
So he'd turned the annex into her personal museum. I nodded and ventured deeper. The room was so large it would take ages to see everything.
As I browsed, I paused before one painting. The woman inside had honey-gold hair and an elegant noblewoman's style much like Abigail's.
Something felt familiar; I stared at it for a long while.
“No way, is this...?”
“Yes. Your mother.”
The duke had sidled up beside me unnoticed, and we gazed at the duchess's portrait together. I felt drawn into the canvas itself, pulled by some invisible force.
The duchess smiled softly. It captured her benevolent nature perfectly. If I called her “Mom,” she'd surely reply tenderly, “My baby.”
Abigail's body reacted on its own. My eyes stung as if tears would spill any moment.
“...Mother.”
“......”
But these weren't my true feelings. Just Abigail's body responding instinctively. The duchess had nothing to do with me.
Yet I couldn't stop the tender ache swelling in my chest.