Chapter 6: Remembering regrets becomes a dark history.

“Big sister, are you feeling better now?”

“…Yes, I’m sorry for missing last night.”

“No, your health comes first!”

Her bright smile is like soft sunlight.
It has a calming effect, her honest nature shining through in her unclouded expression.
To worry about a stepsister who skipped her celebration—truly, she’s a girl with a pure heart.
And yet, Violette, unable to graciously accept that kindness, must be fundamentally warped.
On a grand scale, she might seem upright, but her path is a slightly crooked line.
Honestly, she wishes Maryjune would just enjoy her family time without worrying about her.
She wouldn’t mind if they moved to a separate estate altogether.

“I told everyone last night, but Mary will be attending the next tea party.”

“…I see.”

As expected—or rather, as remembered.
In her first life, she heard this at the celebration dinner, but avoiding that event didn’t change the future.
She knew it was coming, so it’s no surprise.
Whether it’s a noble custom or their nature, tea parties are held at regular intervals.
Some occasions escalate into full-blown parties, collectively known as “high society.”
It’s a critical duty for nobles, a stage where appearances and etiquette are paramount.
No leniency is granted for being a child; in fact, interactions among young nobles often spark their own issues.

Amid swirling rumors, sending someone at the center of gossip—good or bad—to high society doesn’t seem wise.
Her father is likely oblivious to such concerns.
Not indifferent, but simply unaware.

With his beauty and talent, her father has won many allies, a realist with a dreamer’s contradictions.
He knows the darker sides of human emotions but never imagines they’d target his beloved daughter.
Perhaps he misjudges the tolerance of adults versus children, or maybe in his era, mistresses were more openly accepted.
Either way, the result is the same.
In matters of work, he can make ruthless decisions with a straight face, yet his blindness toward his daughter mirrors Violette’s own in some ways.
Indifference and blindness are worlds apart, but considering how her own actions once provoked others, her situation might be slightly better.
Maryjune will likely be the center of the tea party, and not in a good way.

There was no time left to devise any countermeasures.

As days filled with foreboding passed, Violette tried to plan against the inevitable sparks, but to no avail.
Perhaps there wasn’t enough time, or maybe her detachment played a part—a sad truth she can’t deny.
Since Violette has no intention of harassing Maryjune like in her first life, all she needs to do is stay away.
As for the troubles Maryjune might face, Violette hopes she can handle them herself.

“Mary, that looks wonderful on you!”

“Oh, you’re absolutely beautiful.”

“Thank you, Mother, Father!”

Surrounded by her parents, Maryjune’s face blooms with joy, oblivious to the concerns Violette harbors.
Maryjune’s kindness, which Violette knows all too well, seems tied to a naivety.
It’s her virtue, but in this case, a flaw.
The line between strength and weakness is thin.
Maryjune, delighted in her dress, and her praising parents form a picture-perfect family, a scene that might inspire celebration.

“Lady Violette.”

“…I think I’ll stay in my room until we leave.”

If only they didn’t ignore the person who should be part of that scene.
To an outsider, they’d look like doting parents cherishing their only daughter.
Ignoring the eldest daughter’s existence, this “family harmony” is so familiar to Violette that it no longer stirs any emotion.
Feeling hurt would be absurd at this point.

“Then I’ll prepare some tea.”

“Before a tea party?”

“I know you hardly eat or drink at those events, Lady Violette.”

“Heh, you know everything, don’t you, Marin?”

“Everything about you, Lady Violette.”

Marin has served Violette for seven years, spending more time with her than her parents ever have.
She knows Violette’s personality, her likes and dislikes, far better than those bound to her by blood alone.
Her weaknesses, strengths, worries, and insecurities—Marin knows them all.
Though Violette ultimately chose a path of sin, Marin’s presence saved her from longing for a family.

“Then I’ll leave it to you. Choose whichever tea you like.”

“Understood… Lady Violette.”

“What is it?”

Turning her back on the door where cheerful voices spill out, Violette lightly lifts the hem of her dress.
The flared skirt adds elegance but is far less practical than it appears.
Her half-sister, thrilled to be dressed up, likely hasn’t noticed, and no one around her will point it out.
Her father wouldn’t know, and her mother, attending her first tea party alongside her daughter, is just as clueless.
Perhaps Violette should be the one to teach her, but she can’t imagine disrupting their harmony or explaining it well.
Despite rightfully bearing the Varhan name and being part of the family without any blemish, Violette remains oddly distant from their unity.
In the end, she’s forever estranged from family.

“You look absolutely stunning today, Lady Violette. The dress suits you perfectly.”

“…Thank you, Marin.”

A vibrant red dress complements her gray hair and eyes.
Chosen to match her mature appearance, its design prioritizes elegance over cuteness.
Her hairstyle and accessories, decided by Violette and executed by Marin, are just as refined.
Marin’s compliments are undeniably genuine, not mere flattery or courtesy.
Violette knows this well, yet her mind flashes to the image of a family so complete it lacks even a space for her.
She’s not hurt, nor does she feel resentment.
She no longer holds expectations or wishes, but a sudden realization hits her.

‘Come to think of it… I was never praised.’

Not for achievements, nor for dressing up like today—not once has her father ever praised her.
A family she never shared a life with, never spoke to, never even met eyes with—she could build a better relationship with a stranger.

‘The more I think about it, the more pointless my actions were.’

The more she reflects, the darker her past memories become—a true black history.
To crave love without ever being praised was laughably absurd.

“…Let’s make use of this moving forward.”

It feels like a stray bullet hit her out of nowhere, but dwelling on it would only deepen the wounds.
Shaking her head a few times to clear her mind, Violette returns to her room to await Marin’s delicious tea.