Lingering Fragrance (5)
Lingering Fragrance (5)
Estelle traced Levina's neck with her fingers, then slid them upward to stroke her cheek.
"Estelle."
Levina's voice came out like a blade.
"Remove that hand. Now."
"And if I don't? What'll you do?
Will I be found hanging from my door one morning too?
Your brother's in hell, by the way. Suicide's a sin, remember? God said so."
Estelle spoke as if humming a tune.
She held Levina's gaze without flinching.
She looked like she was enjoying herself.
"Aren't you curious?
What happens when someone hangs themselves?
How many do you think I've strung up?"
Estelle whispered into Levina's ear.
Her tone was serene, like she was making small talk.
"The heretics might be different.
First, the face turns a lovely shade of purple.
Close to what you're holding there, maybe?
Then the swelling starts. Eventually it all goes black."
She paused, biting into her sandwich.
The sound of ham and cheese being chewed was unnaturally loud.
"Then the tongue lolls out and the eyes start to bulge.
They thrash and twist, but I always bind their hands first, so I can't say what happens after that.
Ah, maybe the fiancée over there knows better.
Don't you, Serepina?"
Estelle's gaze slid to Serepina, huddled in the corner.
Serepina dropped her head lower.
Like someone trying to disappear.
"You clung to his corpse for two whole days, didn't you?
Didn't it stink?
Bodies rot, you know.
I've seen people rot alive. Just never got to see one rot dead."
She burned them all, after all.
And even the one who'd rotted alive—she'd only seen that once.
"......."
"The smell gets unbearable once the rot sets in.
What were you thinking, breathing all that in?"
"Enough."
Levina's voice had dropped lower than before.
"I said enough, Estelle."
"They say the bugs start with the eyes.
Lots of new friends to keep you company. Could be worse.
I only ever had one.
And Ravin betrayed me! Ahahaha!"
Estelle walked toward Serepina.
Her heels carved through the silence of the hall.
A sharp click-click.
She crouched in front of Serepina and peered into her face.
Serepina's face was drained white.
Streaked with what might have been tears or sweat.
"What's wrong? You should be smiling.
You got your wish. I heard you were dying to break off the engagement.
God granted your prayer. Shouldn't you offer thanks?
Oh, you can make the offering to me. I'll put it to good use."
Serepina bit her lip.
Blood welled up, but she didn't make a sound.
Or couldn't.
Estelle watched and giggled.
A childlike, innocent laugh.
"Estelle. That's enough."
Kyle couldn't hold back any longer.
"Why? Did I say something wrong?"
"Yeah. This isn't the time."
"So should I pretend to be sad instead?
Is there a single person here who's genuinely grieving?
Kyle, you're not exactly heartbroken either. You just got dragged here.
Because the psycho who hugs corpses had bad luck."
Estelle was still smiling, but her right hand trembled.
"So shut the hell up, Estelle. At least show some—"
She grabbed her own wrist, and once the shaking stopped, she continued.
"Kyle. Know your place.
So you're good with a sword. So you've got talent. So what?
You've got no sense at all."
The amusement had drained from her face.
"Look. Just because you and I have chatted a bit and killed some demons together doesn't mean we're on the same level. Don't get confused."
She flicked Kyle's chin with her finger.
Lightly, with just a trace of contempt.
"I'm the Saintess of the Order. You're just a commoner with above-average ability.
Ah, you'll earn a title someday. Someone with your skills.
So what? Does that put you in a position to make suggestions? To give me advice?"
Estelle's words were aimed at Kyle, but she was talking to herself too.
The rank of Saintess.
Estelle hated being called Saintess.
She'd liked it when Ravin started calling her Estelle.
Even when others used her name, she knew it wasn't the same—Saintess Estelle was what they meant, and the difference barely registered to anyone else.
Who else would half-listen to the Saintess and blow her off, or shuffle away pretending not to notice when mischief started beside her right in the middle of a good novel, or casually accept a half-eaten apple and finish it without a second thought?
Estelle closed her eyes, then opened them slowly.
"Right now I could seize on any excuse. You, the esteemed Heir Apparent, that worthless bastard who barely looks sad about his own son's death—any of you could be declared heretics. Not that saying it matters."
Her voice was quiet, but it smothered every other sound in the hall.
People held their breath and watched.
Not one of them had ever imagined the Saintess could behave like this.
"Kyle. Learn your place. Ravin was very good at that.
He was supposed to die, so he died. Right?"
Estelle knew her words were wounding her too. She couldn't stop.
She couldn't stop.
If she stopped, she might start blaming herself.
She didn't want to believe this was her fault.
Ravin had known perfectly well that she was the one who'd let the monster be summoned in the Forbidden Archive.
He knew no one would believe him, so he never bothered to tell anyone. But he hadn't directed any resentment or hatred at her, even though he had every right to.
He was a strange friend.
He'd been through all that and still agreed to stay close when she asked.
He never pushed me away.
She'd spent so long playing the merciful, generous, devout Saintess, and now the moment she revealed a sliver of her true self, everyone stared at her with disgust.
Like they were looking at a heretic.
The same way Kyle was looking at her now.
But Ravin hadn't minded.
Maybe he'd already been preparing himself to hang. Who knew.
It didn't really matter.
Ravin—he'd seemed to know. That she was the one who'd opened the Forbidden Archive. That she was the type to run around doing whatever vile thing struck her mood, hoping something entertaining might happen, whether students got caught up in it or not.
She liked watching heretics dangle and die too, of course. But that wasn't something she wanted to show him.
And yet he never looked at her sideways. Never stared with resentment. Never acted like the Saintess he knew wasn't supposed to be this kind of person.
Ravin wouldn't have.
Estelle swept her palm lightly across Kyle's cheek.
It wasn't a gesture of comfort or affection.
Kyle kept his mouth shut.
He didn't know what to say anymore.
The silence in the hall deepened.
Everyone just watched, holding their breath, waiting for Estelle's next move.
"So."
Yeah. That was it.
How to put it.
He'd been something like family.
Just the one, of course.
My mother, my father—they'd looked at me like I was trash to be disposed of whenever I came home after tormenting someone, or when I smashed a neighborhood boy's head with a rock in a fit of childish rage. The way you'd look at a beast that had mauled a sheep inside the fence.
Ravin didn't look a thing like my little brother.
Like I said, my brother took after me, so if he'd grown up, he definitely would've been better-looking than Ravin.
But what they shared... I guess it was that no matter what I said, Ravin never looked at me with those eyes.
Eyes that couldn't believe what they were seeing. Eyes that asked how I could do such a thing. Eyes that demanded I meet some standard.
He never looked at me like that.
Estelle turned back to Levina.
The mischievous smile had returned to her face.
The unease from moments ago was gone without a trace.
"Let's chat. Tell me how it feels.
Now that Etoile's dead, how does it—"
Levina's expression went rigid.
"......Etoile?"
Levina repeated the name.
She'd never heard it before.
She stared at Estelle with confusion.
At the unfamiliar name from Estelle's lips, everyone in the hall tilted their heads.
In that instant, the smile vanished from Estelle's face.
She seemed to realize what she'd just said.
Her lips trembled faintly.
Etoile.
Her dead younger brother's name.
A name she had never once spoken aloud to anyone.
The faint afterimage she'd seen layered over Ravin.
"......Ah."
A short breath escaped her.
The wine glass slipped from her hand and hit the floor.
A sharp crash.
Red wine spread across the white marble like blood.
Jagged shards scattered in every direction.
Every gaze dropped to the broken glass.
No one saw Estelle's face.
"Urgh."
A dry heave surged up without warning.
The sickening sensation of bile rising clawed up her throat.
The sandwich she'd just eaten, the wine, and nameless emotions churned together in her stomach.
She couldn't stand there any longer.
Estelle turned and fled the hall.
Stumbling steps.
Her white priestess robes vanished down the corridor.
The funeral ended like that.
A rough week passed. Maybe.
Word reached Estelle's ears that someone had died.
In the room Ravin once used, a lovely girl with golden hair and blue eyes had hanged herself from the door handle—or so they said.
A door handle. What kind of contortion does it take to die that way?
Her name was Serepina.
The news swallowed the Academy in an instant.
Estelle barely cared. She listened with one ear and let it drain out the other.
She pulled a cheap cigarette from her robes, stuck it between her lips, and lit it.
She inhaled deeply.
Smoke flooded her lungs.
It tasted like nothing.
It was the cheap brand Ravin had always smoked. Still, it tasted like nothing—like inhaling the smoke of wet leaves.
What had he seen in these things? He'd even turned down offers of better ones.
The window showed another bright day.
A cloudless blue sky.
Leaves swaying in the breeze.
A peaceful afternoon scene.
Had that dead woman felt like this too? After Ravin died.
She couldn't tell.
She'd felt drawn to him, thought she'd like to be friends—sure. But it wasn't the kind of feeling that made you want to lay your whole body down in love.
Estelle exhaled slowly.
Hazy smoke clouded her vision.
She didn't want to see anything.