| Chapter 3

Senar was lying naked on the floor, being whipped by a white-haired old man. She had an apple in her mouth, but at one point, she was hit so hard that she dropped the apple. I will never forget the expression on her face when she turned to look at the old man.

What filled her large eyes was fear. A kind I had never seen before.

I immediately turned my head and ran when I saw the old man throw the whip on the floor and approach her. Senar might have seen me. Soon, a muffled scream followed my shadow.

I cursed and resented them for doing such disgusting things without even drawing the curtains. It was much later that I learned it was Mr. Vernon’s instruction not to close the curtains.

Now, although I was living with a demon preparing to return to hell, I wasn’t envious of Senar like the other women.

After that day, even when I saw Senar coming out to work, showing off, being fanned by a maid, or snapping at a maid massaging her legs while sitting in a chair, all I could think of were the red whip marks crossing her white buttocks.

Along with those fear-filled eyes.

When I arrived home, I lightly rinsed the laundry and hung it on the line. The sun was good, so it would probably dry quickly.

The house was silent. As it always was. I was used to this long-standing silence.

‘Well, well, you’ve developed quite some curves, haven’t you? Your hips have widened too. You’re starting to smell like a woman.’

Remembering Marie’s husky voice, I stopped shaking out the laundry.

I knew. Since I started menstruating last year, my body had been changing little by little. My once flat chest had swelled, and curves had formed from my waist to my hips.

When I went to the marketplace, the number of men making pointless jokes increased one by one, and their gazes would invariably brush over my chest, bulging under my clothes.

The protagonist of social advancement. A way to live comfortably in this world.

I snorted.

In this world, unless you’re born a noble, you can never live comfortably. It’s just a matter of choosing what kind of pain you’ll endure.

For now, it’s better to wash shitty diapers than to crawl like a dog while getting your ass beaten.

Nodding my head, I wiped my hands on my skirt and headed to Mrs. Vino’s room.

The stench wafts even from just near Mrs. Vino’s room. Mrs. Almon always urged me to do something about this smell, but that was beyond my abilities.

The reason I didn’t say, ‘If we get rid of Mrs. Vino, the smell will go away too,’ was because after several trials and errors — mostly beatings — I had developed enough sense not to.

After knocking twice on the door, I entered, and Mrs. Vino’s rough breathing sounded rhythmically. I cleared my throat.

“Madam. I’m going to do some shopping. Do you need anything?”

Mrs. Vino hadn’t ‘spoken’ since I came here, but I sometimes just asked like this.

In a way, Mrs. Vino was to me what I was to Laurel. Someone who silently listened to my words.

“I’m going to buy bread, butter, tomatoes, and milk. For dinner, we’ll have bread and potato soup.”

As I approached, I could see the saliva dried sticky around her mouth. I wet a handkerchief with the water beside the bed and wiped her face, causing the old woman’s body, like a dried tree, to tremble slightly. Hoping it wasn’t a signal for defecation, I let out a faint sigh.

“I don’t want to catch men’s eyes. These days, they all look at me strangely.”

Mrs. Vino’s half-open eyes wandered aimlessly. I put down the towel and walked to the wardrobe, opening the door. Despite frequent airing, the clothes inside still had a strange mustiness.

“So I’ll borrow this. Is that okay?”

I took out a gray lace scarf from the corner of the wardrobe and shook it out. Though the edges were worn, it was still usable since it doesn’t have holes. Roughly draping it over my head, it covered my face and hair. Looking in the mirror, I nodded and said to the lady,

“I’m going out. Don’t die until I come back.”

Listening to the lady’s breathing, I went back outside and picked up the basket. Reciting the list of things to buy in my head, I headed to the marketplace, immediately feeling the lively atmosphere.

“Here, fruit! For fruit, come to our fruit shop! Apples are cheap today, apples!”

“Fresh milk here, milk! Ma’am, you should buy some milk. Kids need milk to grow strong!”

After finishing my shopping, I was buying butter and milk last when Mark, the son of the dairy owner, winked at me.

“Cute scarf. Want help with your shopping? Where did you say you work? Mrs. Willows, no, Mr. Roman’s place? Or Mrs. Almon’s?”

He was tall and lanky, probably a year or two older than me. With a dark upper lip and very curly hair, he had recently started talking to me often.

As usual, I gathered my things without replying, but Mark came out from behind the counter, seemingly determined to stick by my side.

“Is it hard for you to go out? We hang out in front of the theater every night. Sometimes we get in for free if there are empty seats. The ticket seller is my friend. You can come too if you’d like.”

“Tonight’s curtain rises at Turner Theater. The epic tale of ‘The Flower of the Wind and Desert’. Ladies must bring at least two handkerchiefs, as it’s impossible to watch without tears!”

A barker suddenly shouted loudly.

Theater, huh. I started walking, thinking that there are indeed people who live leisurely even if not born noble, but Mark put his hand on my basket.

“If you’re done shopping, I’ll carry it home for you. It must be heavy.”

“It’s fine. I have somewhere to go.”

“Where?”

Mark smiled, his eyes twinkling as if pleased to hear my voice. Unable to think of a suitable place, I hesitated for a moment before pointing to the temple on the left side of the town square that had just caught my eye.

“Why there?”

While he wore a puzzled expression, I quickly blended into the crowd. Glancing back, I saw Mark seemingly having made up his mind to follow me, which startled me and made me move towards the temple.

Until a few days ago, he would leave if I refused or didn’t answer, but today he seems to have decided to make his move.

I ran up the few steps and flung open the temple door. A quiet and somehow clean scent wafted gently.

It was my first time entering a temple. As I looked around the surprisingly spacious interior, I heard Mark’s voice from behind.

“Hey, why are you running away when I just want to talk?”

Frowning as I searched for a back door or a place to hide, I saw a man coming out of what looked like a wooden box.

I had heard of it before. A place to confess sins to God and repent.

The man, wearing a hat pulled low, brushed past me. He was dressed in quite luxurious clothing. Hearing what sounded like Mark’s footsteps approaching, I quickly entered the box the man had come out of without thinking.

As I caught my breath, I could hear Mark grumbling something. However, he seemed to know the temple rules, and soon everything became quiet.

The wooden box soon began to fill with the smell of bread and butter from my basket. I pulled down the scarf that had slipped. It was only hot and completely useless.

“What brings you here?”

At that moment, a low voice startled me, and I hugged my basket tightly. Through the small latticed window in front of me, I could see the silhouette of someone sitting on the opposite side.

So there’s someone listening. Priests or monks, perhaps.

If I didn’t say anything, they might tell me to leave. Rolling my eyes, I opened my mouth.

“I have committed a sin.”

“…Repent.”

“Yes.”

An ambiguous silence fell. I didn’t know the meaning of that word, but I understood from context that it meant to confess my sins, so I started wracking my brain.

“Ah, well, I had bad thoughts.”

“What kind of thoughts?”

I heard the sound of the other person adjusting their posture. There was a faint sigh mixed in that voice. A voice that seemed to be surrounded by a languid and soft air.

“Well, I thought about running away.”

As only our voices echoed in the space, my voice naturally became quieter. I felt the other person pause for a moment at my answer.

“Is that all?”

“Pardon?”

“No adultery, or wanting to kill someone, or actually killing someone. Nothing like that?”

“What’s adultery?”

Only then did the person who had been tilting their head slightly look this way. Though I couldn’t see the face well under the black hood, I could make out the clear green eyes. They were shining like expensive jewels.

I swallowed dryly at the gaze that seemed to pierce my heart, slightly cold but vivid. He briefly scanned my face through the bars and chuckled, shaking his head.

“Running away isn’t a sin.”

“But isn’t it a sin to run away when I was sold for money?”

At my words, he stared at me directly once again. I heard the sound of a light sigh.

“Just thinking about it isn’t a sin. And if you’re only going to think, don’t think about running away, imagine killing the other person instead. Wouldn’t that at least make you feel better?”

I clenched my fist unconsciously at the languid voice that seemed to whisper right into my ear.

Killing someone is clearly a sin, yet he’s telling me to think about it? Is it okay for a priest to say such things?

“I absolve you of your sins. You are now as clean as a newborn baby, so you may go.”

The man made a quick sign of the cross. I urgently spoke while checking for any signs outside.

“Um, Father. I have nowhere else to ask this. Could you answer a question for me?”

The man who seemed about to stand up sat back down. His hood fluttered.

“What do you want to know?”

“What kind of woman do men not take interest in?”