Chapter 36: Hurdles to Happiness.

Fun times fly by.
Unpleasant times drag on forever.

The hours spent in that café felt like mere moments, yet the moment Yulan’s carriage dropped me off and I stepped back into the mansion, my shoulders suddenly felt as if a lead weight had been draped across them.

It wasn’t exhaustion from being with Yulan, of course.
It was simply the melancholy I should have felt the instant I left the academy—temporarily forgotten—now crashing back with compounded force.

Even so, it was far lighter than usual.

Using the excuse that the pancake still hadn’t digested, I skipped dinner.
I had no idea what they thought of it… tomorrow’s breakfast would probably be even gloomier, but right now the sense of liberation outweighed everything.

“Violet-sama, I’ve prepared your change of clothes.”

“Thank you.”

I lightly toweled off after a shower and slipped into the neatly folded dress.
Pure white, unadorned, designed for comfort above all else—what one might call loungewear—yet refined enough that I could walk outside without issue.

Because my natural looks were already striking, anything that “suited” me inevitably leaned toward ostentation.
Even seemingly simple pieces ended up embellished with accessories.
They were beautiful and fitting, but for the wearer they were stiff and tiring on the shoulders.

I was exhausted.
In the one place I could be alone, I wanted to wear what I liked.
When I was little, everything Mother prepared had been boys’ clothes—replicas of what Father wore as a child—so this was pure rebellion.

Still, when I went out, Father would criticize anything that didn’t “suit” me, so for everyday clothes and gowns alike I chose what flattered me.

An A-line dress with no waist constriction.
Neat, elegant—and, I thought to myself, not really suited to me at all.
Something this cute would look far better on someone actually cute, someone like Mary-June.

“Violet-sama.”

“Welcome back, Marin.”

“If you’re going to sleep, shall I braid your hair?”

“Yes, please.”

“Of course.”

I sat before the vanity in the bedroom—a mirror so large the one in the dressing room felt unnecessary.
Marin stood behind me and began brushing slowly; my fine, tangle-prone hair drank in the air.

In dim light the dullness of the color stood out, but in sunlight it sparkled like scattered glass—Marin prided herself on knowing that better than anyone.
Better even than Violet herself, who disliked the color.
Better than Yulan, who adored everything about her.
It was Marin’s privilege, earned from countless strokes of the comb, from touching and braiding and tying.

She gathered the delicate strands, braided them as loosely as possible so it wouldn’t hurt yet wouldn’t come undone, and secured the end with a white lace scrunchie.

“Does it hurt?”

“No. Thank you.”

In the mirror I looked almost like a different person.
No one at the academy—no one in the family—had ever seen me like this.
I wore no makeup to begin with, but changing clothes and hairstyle alone altered the impression so drastically.

I sat on the edge of the bed, let my upper body fall sideways, and my cheek sank perfectly into the pillow.
The sun-scented sheets Marin had prepared—one of the few things in this house truly meant for me.

“It was fun.”

“Yes.”

“The pancake was delicious.”

“Yes.”

“…It felt like a dream.”

A time spent without caring whose eyes were on me, simply relaxing.
Eating what I liked without worrying whether it “suited” me.
Even eating my own hair and being laughed at and forgiven.

A happy memory I could share with Marin.

“If you’re tired, please sleep just like this.”

“I think I will…”

My eyelids grew heavy; keeping them open felt exhausting.

I had thought I had decent stamina, but this drowsiness wasn’t from fatigue.
My instincts were ordering me to fall asleep wrapped in this pleasant sensation.

With sluggish movements I lifted my legs onto the bed, and Marin immediately pulled the blanket up to my shoulders.

I buried my face in the warmth, and just before sleep took me I reviewed the day, realized that despite my talk of thanks I had been the one enjoying myself most, and felt a twinge of guilt.

Yet even that guilt was swallowed by happiness.

×　×　×　×

“Good night.”

A soft smile rose to Marin’s face as she watched her lady’s gentle sleeping breaths.

Curled small in the huge bed, she looked fragile and sacred, utterly unlike her usual glamour.

Dreams were surely kinder to Violet than reality.
Even if past events haunted her as nightmares, the madness she had already lived through could kill the heart far more easily.

Every night as she sent her lady off to sleep and saw that blank expression, Marin prayed the same thing.

Please let her have happy dreams.
Not nightmares of the past—carefree fantasies.
Let the world of sleep be the one place Violet can smile freely from the heart.

Tonight, surely, she would have good dreams.

Her sleeping posture—curled into a small ball—was the same as always.

But tonight it wasn’t the precarious self-embrace of someone desperately protecting herself.

It was the way someone falls asleep clutching a precious treasure, wrapped in peace.

As if savoring the day.

“…Well, at least we’ve made some progress.”

In Violet’s heart, Yulan was unconditionally loved and allowed to love her in return.
Someone she never doubted, someone whose love she could simply accept.

It fell under the umbrella of familial love, yet at present he was the only person—aside from Marin—Violet could lean on without reservation.

The one person who could definitely make Violet happy, for now, was him alone.

Marin knew where Violet’s heart was pointed, and if anything, she hoped that love would bear fruit.
But Violet herself was surely aware that what she felt was not truly romantic love.

If it was a love with slim chances in every sense, it would be better for her to fall truly in love with someone who could make her happy and be joined with them.

The surest way was for Yulan to turn Violet’s heart toward him and officially win the position of fiancé, not just “little brother.”

He already harbored clear love; the only question was how to shift its direction.
Easy to say, but Yulan himself knew best how difficult it was.
That was why until now he had obediently played the good little brother.

(I’ll give him credit for his skill.)

As long as Violet was happy, Marin had no complaints.
If anyone made her sad or hurt her, Marin wouldn’t hesitate to resort to physical measures, but Yulan himself was more considerate than anyone—she could trust him completely on that front.

That didn’t mean she would side with him and help while Violet’s feelings remained unromantic.

She genuinely believed “if it’s Yulan,” and she was rooting for him in her heart, but that was a separate matter.

She had seen more than enough of excessive love, one-sided love, relationships that never connected, blindly enamored men and women.
Both Marin and Violet had lived through the worst examples of love’s complexity and simplicity.

That was precisely why she wanted Violet to be happy, yet she had no desire to force anything.

(In the end, I’m leaving it to someone else.)

As a woman, Marin could never declare herself, could never even dream of making Violet happy.
Even in an age when same-sex love was no longer taboo, among nobles whose duty was to continue the bloodline, loving someone of the same sex only guaranteed a loveless marriage.

Then, if—if Marin had been born male…
Would she have mustered the courage to try to make Violet happy?

The answer was no.
If she had that kind of strength, she would never have left her precious lady in this house, same sex or not.

Even if she had been born male and cherished Violet just as much, she would lack the power and courage and only dream of the day Violet found happiness with someone else.

That was why she wished for it.
Precisely because Violet was forever out of her reach, she imagined smiles yet unseen.
She wanted Violet to have the ideal family that had been shattered for Marin in this very house.

“Well… I won’t let it be easy, though.”

Whoever would take her beautiful, lovely, wise, and lively beloved lord must suffer and strive accordingly.
To weed out fools taken in by surface charms, Marin would set the bar as high as possible.

But if someone appeared whom both she and—above all—Violet herself thought wonderful, then Marin would use every ounce of her power to prepare the finest seat.

Whether the one to sit in that seat would be Yulan, or some yet-unseen splendid prince—she did not know.