Chapter 4.3

Mr. Salinger’s demeanor was calm, almost indifferent. Despite presumptuously suggesting that she had taken Mr. Wharton as a lover to heal a wound, he remained composed. His attitude, strangely enough, had a calming effect on Natalie as well.

“You’re right. I was hurt.”

Natalie began, clenching her hands tightly as she continued.

“Anyone would be hurt if they found out the person they liked had feelings for someone else. Especially if that someone is the person they love most and can’t even bring themselves to hate. But I’m not foolish enough to seek a lover just to console myself.”

Mr. Salinger averted his gaze, looking uncomfortable.

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

Their eyes no longer met, and Natalie’s gaze returned to the dancers. Among them was Miss Windsor. Surrounded by people, Miss Windsor’s smile was both natural and elegant. Dressed in Juliet’s gown, she fit perfectly into the grand, glamorous setting of the Flavium Theater.

“It seems clear that Edgar has feelings for you, Miss Maron.”

Mr. Salinger’s assertion was wrong. Mr. Wharton was simply an exceptional actor who played his role exceedingly well—the role of someone pretending to be in love with Miss Maron.

Mr. Wharton’s true lover was someone else. Juliet, the elegant Miss Windsor, who suited the beautiful theater like a protagonist straight out of a romance novel.

“Do you like Edgar?”

The question lingered in her ears.

She couldn’t answer.

The unfamiliar emotions that swelled uncontrollably whenever she was near Mr. Wharton made her uneasy. These feelings were undeniably different from her one-sided love for Mr. Salinger. Unlike the admiration she had felt from afar, this was something she couldn’t contain.

Whenever their eyes met, whenever their hands or lips touched, the emotions surged as if they were alive. They flowed like water, rose like waves, bloomed like flower buds, and raced like the wind—until she was breathless.

She feared that if she gave these shapeless emotions a name, everything would fall apart. Once named, they would be etched into her heart, impossible to erase.

But it must not happen.

How foolish would an actor look, confusing the role they were playing with their true self? How pathetic would someone be, giving their real heart while pretending to be a fake lover?

There was only one answer.

She must not like Mr. Wharton.

Because everything was fake.

The long silence was broken by approaching footsteps. Mr. Salinger’s gaze shifted toward the newcomer. Without looking, Natalie knew that the person at the end of his gaze was Mr. Wharton.

“I understand your feelings, Miss Maron. Then… enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Mr. Salinger gave her a slight bow before turning away. Natalie watched his retreating figure.

Mr. Wharton stopped beside her. Perhaps he had rushed back to keep his promise, as his usually neat blond hair was slightly disheveled. Draped over one arm was a black cloak, and in his hand, he held a mask.

“Did you run here?”

“No.”

But his breathless voice betrayed him. No matter how skilled a liar Mr. Wharton was, he couldn’t hide his labored breathing.

He added, 

“I just ran a little.”

What did “a little” even mean?

Natalie laughed at the strange mix of truth and lies.

A few strands of Mr. Wharton’s disheveled hair stuck out like tiny sprouts. Natalie raised her hand and gently smoothed them down. As she carefully tidied his hair, her actions slowed when she met his gaze.

Conscious of his eyes on her, her movements became awkward. Her hesitant hand eventually dropped.

Then Mr. Wharton lowered his head toward her, bringing himself closer to her hand. Natalie felt the soft touch of his golden hair against her palm. Mr. Wharton smiled playfully.

“I came back quickly, so you should praise me.”

Natalie couldn’t bring herself to recklessly pat Mr. Wharton’s hair, so she simply rested her hand there. His blue eyes gazed at her steadily, filled with kindness. Pretending to be in love with him was remarkably easy. A gentle and beautiful man could make anyone fall for him in the end.

***

Draped in a cloak and mask, Natalie spun around as if she were wearing a brand-new dress. The black cloak fluttered magnificently with her steps.

“Am I scary?”

She asked Edgar, who was looking at the ghost of the Flavium Theater, waiting for his assessment. Although her mask covered her face, it couldn’t hide her clear, bright eyes. Her upright posture, with shoulders squared, appeared brave, but she didn’t look like a villain. 

Still, if he answered truthfully, the ghost would undoubtedly be disappointed.

“You’re wonderfully scary.” 

Natalie blushed shyly at his answer. Edgar thought that if she reacted so innocently and joyfully every time someone told her she was scary, it would be difficult for her to become a truly frightening ghost. But he kept that thought to himself.

“Shall we go punish the one who stole the ghost’s seat?”

How would Natalie punish the man who hurt her younger sister? 

Edgar’s plan was simple. He would invite the wicked lover to the ball and lead him to the forbidden seat of the Flavium Theater—Box 5, which was always meant to be left empty for the ghost. While the bad man enjoyed a moment of happiness with his new lover, the terrifying ghost would appear. The ghost hated happy couples but despised those who betrayed love even more and would deliver a dreadful punishment.

That was the script Edgar had written. After that, he left the rest to the ghost’s improvisation.

As Natalie walked confidently, her cloak billowed behind her. Her determined strides, with fists clenched, were so resolute that Edgar couldn’t help but laugh. When Natalie turned to look at him, he quickly suppressed his smile, pretending he had never found the ghost of Flavium endearing.

As they neared the box seats, the sound of laughter from a man and a woman reached their ears. Edgar pulled out the pocket watch tucked inside his jacket and checked the time. The minute hand stopped precisely on the hour. Suddenly, the lights inside the theater went out. In the darkness, the startled gasps of the man and woman could be heard.

Edgar signaled to Natalie with his eyes. As she stepped forward, her cloak swirled, creating a gust of wind. The man occupying the box seat looked around nervously, searching for the source of the eerie breeze.

“Who dares to take my seat?” 

Echoed a voice in the darkness.

John Smith, the wicked lover of Sally Maron, was startled out of his wits.

“W-Who’s there?”

“I am the rightful owner of this seat, the ghost of the Flavium Theater. I warned you to always leave my seat empty!”

At the stern reprimand, John Smith flinched and gripped the armrests of his chair tightly.

Natalie continued her grave lines. 

“If you’ve done wrong, you must face punishment. Should I hang a noose around your neck and suspend you from the ceiling? Judging by your appearance, you seem to have committed many sins. You’ve likely cheated on your lovers, betraying love itself. There’s a punishment that fits such a crime—castration.”

John Smith’s panicked eyes darted between the ghost and the young lady beside him. He quickly pulled his legs together.

“But if you apologize to the woman you’ve hurt, I might feel merciful.”

“……”

“Have you chosen the noose?”

“No!”

“Or castration?”

“N-No!”

John Smith frantically waved his hands and sprang to his feet, flustered. Edgar, observing the scene, recognized it was his cue to intervene. If the ghost got too close, her identity might be revealed. Edgar hurriedly rushed in, heading toward the box seat.

“What’s going on here?” 

He asked.

John Smith’s gaze shifted from the ghost to Edgar. Edgar blocked his view and addressed him.

“What’s the matter?”

“……”

John Smith, dazed and speechless, simply stared. Edgar leaned in as if sharing a secret.

“Did you… see it? The one wearing the mask, the enormous figure…”

“Y-Yes!”

Feigning surprise, Edgar put on a troubled expression.

“You’ve seen the ghost of the Flavium Theater. You mustn’t tell anyone. Do you know how many people have already died? They were hung by nooses…”

“Suspended from the ceiling?”

“Yes. How did you know? It was quite the task to quietly dispose of the bodies. Oh dear, this is a secret.”

John Smith’s face turned pale. Hastily grabbing the coat he had draped over the back of his chair, he bolted out of the box seat. The young lady left behind hesitated before following him out.

A moment later, the ghost peeked her head out from behind the door. The way she hid her body made her look more like a mischievous little ghost avoiding people than a terrifying specter. Edgar’s lips curled into a smile.

“You’re a scary ghost indeed.”

Natalie, glancing around to ensure everyone had left, approached Edgar.

“Mr. Wharton, you’re an excellent actor.”

The adorable little ghost looked up at Edgar, as if asking him to teach her the secrets of tricking people. Edgar lowered himself to meet her gaze.

“It’s simple. You just have to be sincere. Don’t act surprised—be actually surprised. Don’t pretend to fall in love—truly fall in love.”

The mask covering half her face left only her eyes exposed. Her eyes, far from belonging to a ghost living in the shadows, were as vibrant as leaves that had basked in sunlight their entire lives.